Efrem's Visit - Sun Drunk Biking and Skidoo

My friend Efrem came to visit again this summer. He is working on a phD in Math and for the past two summers has participated in summer academic programs at UCLA. Last year I caught up with him a bit - saw that he had his dreadlocks back, which reminded me of the old days when we used to play in a band together. I know Efrem's into biking and I had wanted to do a Midnight Ride with him, but the scheduling just didn't work out while he was here. So I met him in Westwood with the aim of biking down to the beach.

We biked down to Santa Monica and then headed south along the beach bike path. This summer has been hot as blazes in LA and Saturday was no exception. After an hour or so, we began to discuss getting some food. We were down around Playa del Rey and I knew there was a pier at Redondo with a restaurant that served deep-fried seafood. Efrem seemed into it, so we started biking for that.

But I had forgotten how far Redondo really was. I was looking for the twin smoke-stacks of the power plant that sits just off Redondo Beach. I have seen those when I have been diving there. As we approached the El Segundo area, I saw the smoke-stacks and told him, "We're almost there." But, it was a water treatment plant - false alarm.

My ass began to get REALLY sore. My bike is 12 years old and badly needs some chain grease and a new seat. It was squeaking and the seat felt like it was made of nails. We both started to complain of being tired. The sun really didn't help. I could feel my face and arms getting a good burn. I started to laugh everytime I told Efrem that it was just a bit further. We were both hungry, but I could not let us stop before we reached the seafood joint.

Eventually, I saw the pier.
We found the seafood place and got a couple of deep-fried plates of seafood and some beer. Efrem swatted at the seagulls who begged at our window. We noticed that the place was Korean, and we saw some delicious looking Korean seafood stew being served. Since we were still kind of ravenously hungry, we decided to order some. And more beer. And some soju to go with it. Efrem thought the soju was strong, so I drank most of the bottle.

Now exuding spicy garlic kimchee fish breath and alcohol fumes, we hobbled back to our bikes and began the trek back to Westwood. Having been the one inciting us to persevere on the way down, I was doing a lot more complaining on the way back up. When we got back to Westwood, it was about 9pm and dark. I had wanted to make my way to the Cinematheque for a screening of Otto Preminger's LSD-inspired 1960s comedy Skidoo, with Jackie Gleason and Groucho Marx. (I'm not kidding, either... I'd heard rumors that Jackie and Groucho and Otto all did LSD together before making this film. I can only confirm that Otto did.)
For some incomprehensible reason, despite the ridiculous distance we had just biked in sweltering heat, under the influence of large quantities of fermented hops and rice, and knowing that we were already late to the screening, which was in Hollywood - a 20 minute drive - we decided to go.
They let us in free since we were over an hour late, but the film had not started yet anyway. Since it is such a bizarre cult film that is rarely ever screened, there was an hour or so of introduction, which is what we walked in at the tail end of. For a review of the film, you will have to talk to Efrem, or Jeff and Teresa, who also showed up. I sat down, saw about ten minutes and the fatigue from the day caught up with me. I snoozed through Jackie Gleason's famous acid trip scene and woke up to Carol Channing singing "Skidoo" on a boat, while a bunch of people danced behind her in a samba line. I've probably slept through better films.

The next day, Efrem sent me this map of our trip. Just so no one thinks I am a complete wuss, we biked more than 40 goddamn miles! Drunk and sunburned!





Lastly, there's this: (I wonder if this was post-LSD Gleason talking..?)

(Buy Skidoo on DVD! Through the wonder of the internets!)

Hiking Alone

I made a loop. Earlier than I'd intended. Made an incorrect assumption. It happens. I returned to where I'd started and missed what I'd been looking for. Despite the near-constant stream of banter which passed between me and Jae, we somehow avoided making this particular mistake together. I guess internal monologues can be louder and more distracting than external dialogues.
Maybe the second head was the smarter one.
The worst wounds are the self-inflicted ones, the ones that strike at one's self-worth. The soul is what rebuilds the self when the world has struck it down. Rebuilding takes ingenuity.
Losses always seem to stir memories of other losses, other failures. We mark time by what's changed. Everything is a choice; sometimes our choices are unconscious. Morality is a choice.
Staring at a tree that's lost its leaves can be melancholy. But being melancholy is a choice. And so is staring.
Emotion is inherently irrational. We're equipped with reason and feeling. Are these not tools? If we find ourselves flailing, could we not choose a more appropriate tool?
Is it our confidence that blinds us when we trample off-road and lose our way? Or is it our doubt that leads us there?
No animal, man or beast, can destroy you. Only you can do that.
Love yourself, harm no soul.
Remember, and leave something wonderful to be remembered.