I think I can do it

This post had to be made as a single post, at least for now. That is the only way to make sure the flow is maintained.

Ok. I am gonna try and detail SOME things that have happened over the last six weeks. Let us start at the beginning.

Ricardo and the Templeton… If I think back, you already know who Ricardo and the Templeton are, but just in case… I met them (Ricardo and Jessica) because of a WiFi connection that they offer up for free at their restaurant, the Templeton (www.thetempleton.com). After about two or three days of hanging out, we agreed that I would do their website. The fact that this exchange was cashless (I was feeling bored and just needed something to do) allowed for Templeton beers and burgers and soups to flow freely. It is amazing a how much beer come out of a cost price tap… so, talking and drinking and drinking and eating and going to movies and picking up diner supplies and mixing tunes and sawing wood and iPods and BMWs and the army of kids and one fine day later… “Do you think you could pick up a van for me in San Diego?”

So I arrive in San Diego after a tumultuous drive from Vancouver. What was the trouble? Ricardo is, in effect, a paradox. He is a father of four and a wicked nice guy, but about as organized as a… a… well, not very well organized. I was half asleep on a couch when he called at 2:30am to say “Ok. I’m ready. Let’s go!” He had about a month to get this trip together. At 2:29am I was convinced that we were not going make the flight. The paradox: you should see his CV. This guy has been places and knows things. I am not sure I understand how he does it ;) Good guy anyway…

We made the flight. I drove. He slept. Good times ;)

And onward… I get to Oakland, call Boris, meet my first Westie Americans, and connect to San Diego. San Diego is beautiful… and a great place to land. Like Florida without the Floridians, whatever those are tabernac. So I get on this shuttle and realize that somewhere along the way, I had lost my wallet. Ricardo had given me over $1000US to pay for a slew for repairs that were undertaken on van. I used my head and said “All your greens in one basket makes no sense. Play the odds…”… and the odds where against me. I lost $80 and all my ID and cards, excluding for my passport. After paying for the shuttle and the repairs, I was left with $6 and a headache. Calling all Boris’eses!!! 911! Boris didn’t call me until the next midday. After speaking with Visa and sorting out a solution (I got a new card less than 12 hours later), I bought myself a six pack of New Castle and sat in the van on the wharf. Strange word… wharf. I whunder…

About three beers into the six, a cop pulls up and sees exactly what I am doing. FUCK! Here we go with no ID or money in a van that I don’t own, etc… typical Soli style. I put the beer down and get out of the vehicle. The cop gets out and starts telling me how it is illegal to drink in a vehicle. I nod, agreeing with the law itself stating that people do the craziest things and that I am only waiting for stupid Boris (I forgave him very quickly ;) and that I, of course, am surely not one of those people. I am drinking in my motor vehicle R-E-S-P-O-N-S-I-B-L-Y. Yeah, whatever… The cop walks over to his trunk and pulls out a box and I’m thinking that my empty stomach and the way I inhaled the first two beers is going to land me SLAP BANG into the slammer. He pulls two devices out of this box and proceeds to rip the top off one of them. What is that? Am I supposed to pee in that? I have to pee really badly, but that’s container is just too tiny. He sticks the second device into the first and spoons out a creamy substance. What the fuck is this? This can’t be good? Then he eats the substance. Strawberry yogurt! SOB! He sits down and peels a banana.

“So where are you from?”

“Vancouver”

“Canadian, eh? What’s up with you guys up there? You and yer Marijuana laws? Flipin’ and floppin’…” I’ll mention here that I am driving a VW Vanagon.

“Yeah, eh? I blame/credit? the US their usual strong arm tactics.”

Waiting… waiting…

“Why don’t you just legalize it and open the door for us here in the US?”

You have got to be kidding!? We talked for an hour. He hates drunks; loves Po-Theads. He thinks that drinking causes far too many problems on the streets and in the domestic domain. HA! I was a hair away from asking for a number.

I slept in the van, woke up the next day, and it was off to Ocean Beach. Boris called me late afternoon. I picked him up and we headed to LA.

The trip to LA... was very tiring. The van was still new to me and my ability to roll this 6000lbs machine smoothly down the 1 was… just adequate. Are you supposed to sweat while driving a van? I never thought so. 1 to the 5 to the 405… and BANG! “I think I ripped one of those ‘reflecty deallies’ off the road.” Franka froonk scritch and pull over… da tye-her she is flat. Quelle dommage! B and I got the new tire on in under 7 minutes. He hates to admit it, but we make a really lethal team.

We got to LA too late for the Viper Room but just in time for Red Rocks. I end up going there two more times. We met our friends and had a drink. Double vodka and a Heineken. Dizzy and driving in LA… good times.

New tires… were a must. Venice beach ensued. We rented bicycles and rode the ride. Boris was starting to get irritated with me, and I with him. It’s hard to put people like us together. Boris is… for our purposes, a fascist monk. I am not the ideal traveling companion for a fascist or a monk. I am not a monk, nor a fascist. And by definition, neither is Boris… good thing I understand him… and he I? Maybe that little bit was just for Boris…

The next night we went to Hotel Marmotte for a few drinks. The place was gorgeous; a drive on Mulholland. Again, gorgeous. I really like LA, but for everything that it is not. It is not glamorous or exciting. There is no impact. It was almost boring. NY gives you this enormous BANG that sits with you for days after. LA was like a big suburb, void of any particular snap or kick. I was happy to see it that way. I was not intimidated or overwhelmed. I have been back three times since. My opinion has not changed.

To Monterey… which was not our desired destination. We drove up the 1, loving it all, until the sunset and the twisters. I am, without doubt, a very good driver. I am because I have been driving and practicing since the age of 6. I have taken various courses and have raced and I drive a 115HP bike, etc, blah, whatever… This highway and this van pulled at EVERY SHRED of skill I had. In all my years of driving (123… 17 years in real cars while really driving) - I have never been UNABLE to smoke a cigarette behind the wheel. On this day, I tired and I failed. Boris even took a moment to say “Thanks man!” I assumed it was for not killing him. I wasn’t even sure we were done, and then… BANG. See ya later water pump, and as a result, the head gasket on the left block. “WELCOME TO BIG SUR!” read the sign at the foot of this hotel parking lot. My ass… they kicked us out of their gold plated parking lot faster than I could finish my phone call with the tow truck guy; literally.

The tow truck guy… was a special one. Boris said nothing to him the entire time, and I mean NOTHING. I tried and got frustrated after about 20 minutes. The ties for the van kept popping off. We are still on the 1 here. This means NO MISTAKES! I keep capping my letters, but I really do mean to. I was starting to get really pissed off. I dislike incompetence when you should be dealing with a pro. This was not a walk in the park… 6000lbs of metal needs to be secured… infallibly.

So we arrive in Monterey… and let me tell you… not a place to raise your kids… unless you want them saying “nigger’ and “fucking Mexicans” over and over. Meet Tony, our new mechanic. I hate racism. Firstly, because it is ridiculous, and secondly, because I am an Arab… Arab in America. I you hate Mexicans, what do you think of me? For all intensive purposes, I am politically “against you”. Hehe…

Boris and I slept in the van. I have to say, Boris was a surprisingly good sport about all this. I was waiting for the “Soli… why would I think a ride with you would be fun? Your choices are insane. You should have never agreed to this van deal.” But instead, he was reassuring and supportive. Kudos! Monk mode in effect!

The next morning... fuck it. More on this later, but in nutshell: up at 6am because of the 12 rosters in the Mexicans back yard, Laundry, ruined cell phone, near-fight with a guy that reminds me of that guy from Seinfeld that Kramer is afraid of… “Who doesn’t what to wear the ribbon!?”

There is bunch of stuff I’d like to say about Tony the ex-con, devout Christian, bigot, nice guy, but now is not the time. All I’ll say is that he tried to help us find a hotel, and when we failed, brought us blankets. I used them every van-sleep night.

I love you all.

We rented a car… and off to San Fran! On the ride there, there was a fatal crash not far ahead of us… and somehow, this ride still qualifies as uneventful. Wow. I hope they were old. In San Fran I met Joi. This was much like LA and much like any experience I’ve had with a famous or renowned person… a type of anticlimax. When I met Noam Chomsky, I thought that I would be… overwhelmed and impacted, but this was not the case. Just good times and I like it better that way.

Boris and I got a room at the Holiday Inn; very nice but far too expensive.

We hung out, drank a little, ate a little, looked a little, and then I drove the rental back to Monterey. I really don’t like it there, especially after a spot like San Fran. After a night at the “kiss my ass” hotel, I was started toward the garage. BANG. You have GOT TO BE kidding me; a flat. It took 12 minutes as I was still warm from the LA deal. The garage only made the day worse. I hadn’t yet realized that the gasket had been blow and just got the news. Ring, ring… Ricardo? I have some news. He now owes me $1900 USD. I had to go to UHAUL and get a truck with a trailer. So I drop off the rental, grab a cab, get the truck, go to the garage, pay with a Visa the garage doesn’t accept, load the van, and start the trip to San Diego. This is where the original mechanic was waiting for the mess of metal. I have never driven a tow before. I have never driven a tow down 7 to 12 degree inclines with winds of 12 – 30 - 50 mph… and I started at 8pm. By… yawn… 6am, I started seeing San Diego exits. I arrived in El Cajon (a.k.a. Vanland a.k.a. South Park) at 10am. Off to Ocean Beach…

I only got as far as downtown before… grabbing a hotel with a coupon I had found in a hotel discount magazine. I needed to get to Arizona. The van needed a week. I couldn’t rent a car because I didn’t have ID (again Kudos to Boris for trusting me with the vehicle). Off to the airport. $200 later I was off to Phoenix.

Guns and dust… summarize my trip to Phoenix. My sister lives there and my cousin flew in from MTL. Good times. We had fun, but not because Phoenix is fun. Sometimes, things get so bad that you have to laugh. I was laughing. I have another cousin that also lives in Arizona, Fountain Hills, and this place is… special. There are two things you need to know to understand the context. Firstly, I had mentioned to US cuz that I have never killed anything. He was shocked. “But you’re Canadian! You can hunt all kinds!” and he insisted I kill something as soon as possible. I declined. Secondly and a few days after, my sister, in his presence, passes me a pass for the local yoga studio.

“What the fuh is that fo’?”
“I like yoga.”
“Shut the fuh up wid dat shit. FUH! U gay?”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA too fuhin' fuhny. MANWICH!

In all fairness, he was a fantastic host. Please check the pics. Arizona would not be as beautiful without his contribution. Nor would I have heard all the stories he had to tell. This guy, at least from his descriptions, is both a murderer and a saint. He is the first killer I’ve ever talked with. He talked about his presumed “first time” in Nigeria during the riots over a decade ago. I was confused. I still am.

If a man goes temporarily insane, which he can and might and will, can we take a moral stand against what it took to make him crack? When is it “enough”? When is it justifiable to mow down an undetermined number of people from the sunroof of a car with an automatic weapon? How well do you know yourself? What would I have done? I just don’t know; perplexing.

Back to San Diego… and finally to a hostel. I went out that night, alone, and got pulled out of the bar for a discussion. The bouncer had this feeling that I was out to start a fight with him. He pulled me out as said that now was the time. I said “Wuh?” Five pints and four vodkas later… this was not a walk in the park. We made up. I went back in. Hot ladies in San Diego… but as is the norm, none for me ;)

I woke in the morning to start my venture to Ocean Beach. At this point, I was just looking for some R&R. I was waiting to checkout and I met Nic the Aussie. Great guy! We had a blast. He was waiting, like me, to figure out how to get to the beach. We discussed and went together. He stuck with me for “many” days. I can’t recall how many. He was once burned in a fire when he was 12 and got a big settlement. He was using these dollars to travel. We went to beach. OCEAN BEACH. I met Nadija, barley. I took me five days to talk her. I had left and returned before finding the confidence. I rarely lack confidence, but she made as shy. I like when that happens. Problem is that I’m a goof.

Shit. Unknown to you I just left the notebook for a little while. Thusly, I have lost track entirely of what I was talking about. Well in fact, I could pick it up, but the timing is off. I’d rather discuss where I just escaped to…

“So I was trying to score a joint” and I ran into a guy at a bar. Standard? No, not today; he invited me to the hood n’ home. I have knack of getting into these things. I trustingly followed this guy right back to his “white ghetto”. The whole way, STOP…

I can’t say why but I feel like I need to curb the truth here, to meet “the readers” expectations. I don’t want to. I don’t care how I got into this. I am young and able. I made a knuckle ring out of my key chain. I will take a picture. I wanted to see. I always want to see. I don’t think it is bad or wrong to pursue the unknown in this way. I do think that it is dangerous. I am young an able. I am searching. The desire for a joint brought to this guys house where his “wife” and two children waited. The banter and hip and hop that engulfed me and was overwhelming.

Fuckin’ distractions... I just ordered an empanada from this place where I am sitting and it is fuckin’ brilliant. Why mention this… because of the fact that I hunted down Jack’s Famous Crawfish b.s. and was sorely disappointed. It cost me $33 US and a missed expectation. ZUT! When will I learn!? Here, I walk in because the bus is outside and for $3… I am amazed.

Pensive Portland…

So back to the story… XBox – Grand Theft Auto. This is a terrible game to play in a ghetto with a 3 year old and a 6 year old watching. Moreover, the domestic situation was not at its peak.

Man, this takes forever. I’m actually exhausted. Typing is not the easiest thing to do right now.

The after a number of different “episodes’, we reach an agreement and moved things forward. “You hearin’ me” kept coming out over and over from the mouth of my host. I looked at his daughters for a long time. They were beautiful… and so young and so young. I set the notebook up with episodes of Family Guy and the Simpsons… yeah, I know, inappropriate viewing, but they were just watching us play Grand Tourismo, so…

Here it is… strHaight up… the place was dank. It smelled of… something old and worn and wet. When I walked in, “the girls” were just finishing up a bowl of starch and “package mix” cheese sauce, you know, the kind that you get with a box of Fettuccini Alferdo. Writing that made me cry. Think what you will. I think that alcohol is a depressant. So this chair the older one was sitting on was broken into about six visible pieces; three other pieces were obviously missing. The little mermaid was playing on the TV with some sort of nasty connection problem. The mother was perfumed and raring. As she left, he called a sort of warning to not “mess around” tonight because they had a day tomorrow. Back to the notebook and the cartoons… each episode runs about 20 minutes so I had to keep running in to check on them. Each time, I had a chance to talk to them without the implication of their father. At some point during our varied discussions, the older mention a pain she had in her midsection. I asked about it, thinking that maybe, using my very limited knowledge of medical information, I might be able to do something about the pain. She said the pain was probably bugs.

“Really? Bugs?”

“Yeah. Bug bites prolly frum muh beaid”

“Where… did you say?”

“Mah bed”

“Sweety, I gotta go. You need anything right now?”

And I just ate a “fuckin’ brilliant” empanada. Whatever.

I hope.

I’ll post now. I might change some of the wording in this post. I wrote it under the influence of Pensive and Pilsner.

Comments

[Brent]

So you're from Vancouver eh?