Uh, first things first: Titus Andronicus The Monitor. Just...yes. YES. Emphatically so. Get yourselves to iTunes and procure this little gem, y'hear? I've got "Four Score And Seven" on repeat, all 8 minutes and 30-some seconds of it, and I suspect it's going to carry my weekend away with it as well.
Now onto more important matters, more specifically: Have you all adventured like obedient sons and daughters of California this week? Despite the fact that my car battery died on Wednesday - actually, let's just pause for a moment so I can divulge that I am completely, magnificently bereft of any and all skills pertaining to car repair. Battery? Dead? Neutral? No power steering? Well HOW ABOUT I JUST CURL UP IN A SHALLOW GRAVE AND DIE. Luckily, thanks to the vehicular prowess of a roommate, neighbor, and friend, I was able to revive my lazy Volvo (HURRAH!) in no time flat. And here's another aside, in the interest of full disclosure: After finally getting my license (as a ripe almost-17-year-old-who-waited-way-too-long), I exhausted my first full tank of gas in a spectacularly idiotic fashion befitting only the most ardent of Seinfeld devotees. Remember the episode wherein Kramer takes a car for a test drive, and waits to see how low the needle can dip on the dial before the tank was dry? Well, I was convinced that I had miles and miles to go on my little Chevy S10 before I needed to even consider saddling up to the local Chevron for a refill. So when I (predictably) ran out of gas on the side of River Road on a rainy January night, I schlepped home, soaking wet, announcing upon entry: "Dad, the truck's broken."
Yeah. I know. Not out of gas, no, there was no way the truck was out of GAS. It was just broken, and I didn't know how to fix it, because as I mentioned before, despite all protestations I might make to being wholly self-sufficient, when it comes to cars, I'm about as effective as an indolent basset hound guarding a homestead. That howling you hear? Yeah, that's me, sprawled out in the corner, braying about the truck being broken.
So...where were we? Oh, yes. Broken Volvo. Trauma. Wailing and gnashing of teeth, etc. Soon enough that whole debacle was solved and I was off to adventure around Long Beach and San Pedro, camera and friends in tow. You're probably thinking right about now that it's baffling how a writer can take a two-paragraph detour to arrive at a one sentence destination, but welcome to the Verbal Map According To Ms. Dailey. It's a long and winding road to be sure...
And you know what? I just realized I didn't even touch upon the more exciting elements of the day, about how we (sort of) rang the Korean Friendship Bell, or how we (might have) saved a skunk from the perils of starvation at the bowels of a militaristic amphitheater. Or how it was so windy I think my hair whorled into one permanently disgusting dreadlock. Huh. Too bad I never got around to explaining all that. Bummer.