And here we are again
I made it. The question is, did I even really want to?
Perhaps God, if such an abstract concept actually exists, was trying to do me a favor by throwing every possible obstacle in my way while I desperately tried to make it to Los Angeles.
The first, and might I say, quite blaring omen, should have been my dramatic departure from London. After having left my ATM card at the local grocery store the night before I left, I put my credit card in an ATM machine for a cash advance, where soon thereafter it was quickly eaten up - leaving me with no way to access money or pay for anything the night before I needed it most. Confident that my luck would turn around, I stayed up the night neatly (over)packing my luggage, despite the fact that I had already sent friends home with a lot of my stuff. The next morning a friend called the grocery store, which sounded more than happy to tell me that my card was, in fact, in their store. So, on schedule but not for long, the next morning I quickly ran over to the grocery store, where it took them 30+ minutes to tell me that they couldn't find my card, despite the fact that they told me they had found it a few hours prior, as well as show me every other card left there since 1982 - except for mine, of course. That compounded with the fact that my 4 carryons (2 of which had laptops in them) and two suitcases (weighing 90 lbs and 85 lbs, respectively) were way to heavy to even get down the street, put me in quite a precarious time situation. Confident that the excellent American Airlines customer service would be able to help, I spent another half hour going back to plug in my computer so I could call them to see about rescheduling my flight, where I soon found out that if I wanted to get home anytime before January 11th (such as for Christmas), it would cost me a $1000 to reschedule my flight. Quickly ruling that out as an option, I once again tried to make it down the street with my luggage, and once again collapsed on the street as I couldn't even get it to the tube station, much less the train station where I would catch the train to the airport. Now, with only an hour and a half to spare, I hailed taxi, which told me that a cab ride to Gatwick airport would be a mere 80 pounds ($150) - not chump change, but doable. However, I only had foreign currency with me, so the driver told me that we would have to stop in Covent Garden to exchange the money. Knowing that there would be no way I would make my flight if we drove into central London before we went to the airport, I told him that I would give him all 11,000 of my Francs (about 110 pounds or $200 USD) if he just exchanged it later. He of course happily agreed, and we literally flew to the airport. However, upon arriving there, I was more than delighted to find out that it turned out to be about 130 pounds (about $250 USD for a CAB RIDE), so I gave him all of my Hungarian hufs as well (about 20 pounds worth), and made my way into the airport, with only 25 minutes to spare before my international flight took off. The ticketing counter was quite accommodating despite my extremely tardy arrival, but informed me that because my luggage was so fabulously overweight (only 70 lbs are allowed per bag), I would have to buy an extra piece of luggage, and then they would have to charge me for having extra luggage. However, I of course, had no way to pay for it, so fast forward 5 minutes, and you see me furiously ripping stuff out of my luggage while looking at its weight on the scales, while four ticketing window women were quickly putting that stuff in boxes they had conjured up somewhere in the bowels of the airport and wrapping them with tape. I then left them to finish the job, while I cut through the huge security line with my four carryons, and then ran through the airport, making my flight with about 2-3 minutes to spare. 18 hours later, when finally arrive in San Francisco, after abhorrent delays in the shithole known as the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport, I still was confused as to how, exactly, I made it back.
But convinced that his powers over nature were not fully utilized, god managed to make my trip back from Reno as miserable as possible as well. Huntley had flown to Reno, where my dad had just recently moved, to meet me, with the intention of us driving back to SF for new years together, and then eventually to LA. After having maxed out every possible form of mediocre entertainment that Reno could possibly throw our way, we came home from a bar at 2:30 am the night before our scheduled departure, where we found that the torrential rains that day and night had turned a nearby creek/storm flow drain into a massive fast-moving river, which had jumped the road and was flowing directly into my dad's garage. Knowing that the garage was surely flooded - which was especially horrible considering the fact that because my dad and family had just moved into the house, and thus most of their stuff was still in boxes in the garage - Huntley and I trudged through the foot of water blocking the entrance to the house to wake up my parents to inform them of the recent natural phenomenon. We then stayed up until the wee hours of the morning (Huntley 5 am and me 7 am) helping my dad and step mom remove the destroyed wedding albums, almost every book we owned, school photos, boy scout memorabilia, and schoolmade crafts from the boxes sitting in 6 inches of water above a thick layer of mud. But confident that we were going to leave on time the next day in order to get to San Francisco, we got a mere 2 hours of sleep and we woke up, got ready, and then turned on the news, which lead to the discovery that the torrential rains had not just flooded my dads house, but all of Reno. Much of downtown was flooded and roads were blocked off, including the only one going from my dad's house to Reno. However, that did not make much of a difference, considering that even if we had made it to Reno, it would have been pointless, considering that the main (and usually only) way out of there was interstate 80, which was just closed for the next few days because of massive mudslides. In fact, the only way out of god-forsaken Nevada was the 2 lane 50 highway, which wound through the Sierra Nevadas from Carson City. However, that seemed almost equally as implausible, considering that 395 (the way to Carson City from Reno) was flooded, and Carson City itself was under so much water that it was declared in a state of Emergency. But determined to get ourselves out of the city that god forgot, we left around 12 to catch the weather at the best time and headed for Carson City. After floating down the highway at certain points and winding our way through Carson City, we then headed through the mountains, where at two separate times at two different summits we had to get out in the freezing cold to put chains on my tires - chains which are nearly impossible to get on by simple human means. Traffic then worked sublimely to our favor, as we sat at a dead stop at Lake Tahoe for 3 hours waiting for a fallen power line to be cleared off the road. But the traffic fun did not stop there, as we again encountered a closed freeway and ended up driving through "Historic Fairfield" with side roads to escape the dead stopped traffic we had been sitting in. All of this meaning, of course, that our normally 4 hour trip from Reno to San Francisco instead took 10 hours. We got into Dublin around 10, changed in a few minutes, and doublebacked to the Bart Station, where we took the train into SF so that we barely made it to the embarcadero by 11:50, albeit the fact that the rest of the night showed us we were too tired to actually celebrate New Years anyway.
But, oh, the fun did not stop there. Convinced that there was no possible way anything else could possibly go wrong, Huntley and I left around 2 for LA. The 5 freeway - which I have never seen move below 60 mph and where 70 mph is considered traffic - fell to a dead stop and then slow moving traffic not once, not twice, but three times on our way down, all the result of accidents. The 4th time we found ourselves at a dead stop, it was because of, again, a fallen power line that was blocking the freeway. Consequently, we were then diverted onto a random country road, where we drove down this barely 2-lane road in the pitch black for miles, often swerving to avoid the overgrowth and flooding blocking the poorly-tended road. We then finally navigated our way back to the 5, way south of where we were originally diverted off, only to find out that the freeway was STILL closed. We then had to drive to Bakersfield and navigate our way to LA from there. We ended up getting into LA at about 10:30, making the trip 8.5 hours, even though I can usually make it in 5. But, considering my previous luck, this seemed to almost not even phase me.
However, the ironic part is that I really can't find a reason why I made this tumultous journey. I mean, I know I go to school here, but ever since I left, I had been dreading coming back. I must have subconsciously convinced myself that the city was something else, but once I descended of the moutians in Castiac, I knew LA with still be LA - the miserable, dirty, polluted, narcissistic, socially stratified battlefield whose entire existence can only be explained by chance and a miserable lack of foresight.
All of this is making me think that god wasn't doing me a favor by trying to keep me from LA, but rather, in actuality, is quite a vengeful being - which would certainly explain a lot if that was the case - who is doing all of this so he can laugh in my face, probably as a result of my steadfast denial in his existence. The reason I say this is that such a journey would have made the arrival in LA that much sweeter, if I had wanted to be here from the beginning. But, coming from London and knowing that I have to be here, against my will, is just making it that much worse. I used to think that Larkin was a little overdramatic when it came to dscribing her intense hatred of this city, but I think I finally understand. Happy fucking miserable 2006.
I just hope I can survive this last year.
Perhaps God, if such an abstract concept actually exists, was trying to do me a favor by throwing every possible obstacle in my way while I desperately tried to make it to Los Angeles.
The first, and might I say, quite blaring omen, should have been my dramatic departure from London. After having left my ATM card at the local grocery store the night before I left, I put my credit card in an ATM machine for a cash advance, where soon thereafter it was quickly eaten up - leaving me with no way to access money or pay for anything the night before I needed it most. Confident that my luck would turn around, I stayed up the night neatly (over)packing my luggage, despite the fact that I had already sent friends home with a lot of my stuff. The next morning a friend called the grocery store, which sounded more than happy to tell me that my card was, in fact, in their store. So, on schedule but not for long, the next morning I quickly ran over to the grocery store, where it took them 30+ minutes to tell me that they couldn't find my card, despite the fact that they told me they had found it a few hours prior, as well as show me every other card left there since 1982 - except for mine, of course. That compounded with the fact that my 4 carryons (2 of which had laptops in them) and two suitcases (weighing 90 lbs and 85 lbs, respectively) were way to heavy to even get down the street, put me in quite a precarious time situation. Confident that the excellent American Airlines customer service would be able to help, I spent another half hour going back to plug in my computer so I could call them to see about rescheduling my flight, where I soon found out that if I wanted to get home anytime before January 11th (such as for Christmas), it would cost me a $1000 to reschedule my flight. Quickly ruling that out as an option, I once again tried to make it down the street with my luggage, and once again collapsed on the street as I couldn't even get it to the tube station, much less the train station where I would catch the train to the airport. Now, with only an hour and a half to spare, I hailed taxi, which told me that a cab ride to Gatwick airport would be a mere 80 pounds ($150) - not chump change, but doable. However, I only had foreign currency with me, so the driver told me that we would have to stop in Covent Garden to exchange the money. Knowing that there would be no way I would make my flight if we drove into central London before we went to the airport, I told him that I would give him all 11,000 of my Francs (about 110 pounds or $200 USD) if he just exchanged it later. He of course happily agreed, and we literally flew to the airport. However, upon arriving there, I was more than delighted to find out that it turned out to be about 130 pounds (about $250 USD for a CAB RIDE), so I gave him all of my Hungarian hufs as well (about 20 pounds worth), and made my way into the airport, with only 25 minutes to spare before my international flight took off. The ticketing counter was quite accommodating despite my extremely tardy arrival, but informed me that because my luggage was so fabulously overweight (only 70 lbs are allowed per bag), I would have to buy an extra piece of luggage, and then they would have to charge me for having extra luggage. However, I of course, had no way to pay for it, so fast forward 5 minutes, and you see me furiously ripping stuff out of my luggage while looking at its weight on the scales, while four ticketing window women were quickly putting that stuff in boxes they had conjured up somewhere in the bowels of the airport and wrapping them with tape. I then left them to finish the job, while I cut through the huge security line with my four carryons, and then ran through the airport, making my flight with about 2-3 minutes to spare. 18 hours later, when finally arrive in San Francisco, after abhorrent delays in the shithole known as the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport, I still was confused as to how, exactly, I made it back.
But convinced that his powers over nature were not fully utilized, god managed to make my trip back from Reno as miserable as possible as well. Huntley had flown to Reno, where my dad had just recently moved, to meet me, with the intention of us driving back to SF for new years together, and then eventually to LA. After having maxed out every possible form of mediocre entertainment that Reno could possibly throw our way, we came home from a bar at 2:30 am the night before our scheduled departure, where we found that the torrential rains that day and night had turned a nearby creek/storm flow drain into a massive fast-moving river, which had jumped the road and was flowing directly into my dad's garage. Knowing that the garage was surely flooded - which was especially horrible considering the fact that because my dad and family had just moved into the house, and thus most of their stuff was still in boxes in the garage - Huntley and I trudged through the foot of water blocking the entrance to the house to wake up my parents to inform them of the recent natural phenomenon. We then stayed up until the wee hours of the morning (Huntley 5 am and me 7 am) helping my dad and step mom remove the destroyed wedding albums, almost every book we owned, school photos, boy scout memorabilia, and schoolmade crafts from the boxes sitting in 6 inches of water above a thick layer of mud. But confident that we were going to leave on time the next day in order to get to San Francisco, we got a mere 2 hours of sleep and we woke up, got ready, and then turned on the news, which lead to the discovery that the torrential rains had not just flooded my dads house, but all of Reno. Much of downtown was flooded and roads were blocked off, including the only one going from my dad's house to Reno. However, that did not make much of a difference, considering that even if we had made it to Reno, it would have been pointless, considering that the main (and usually only) way out of there was interstate 80, which was just closed for the next few days because of massive mudslides. In fact, the only way out of god-forsaken Nevada was the 2 lane 50 highway, which wound through the Sierra Nevadas from Carson City. However, that seemed almost equally as implausible, considering that 395 (the way to Carson City from Reno) was flooded, and Carson City itself was under so much water that it was declared in a state of Emergency. But determined to get ourselves out of the city that god forgot, we left around 12 to catch the weather at the best time and headed for Carson City. After floating down the highway at certain points and winding our way through Carson City, we then headed through the mountains, where at two separate times at two different summits we had to get out in the freezing cold to put chains on my tires - chains which are nearly impossible to get on by simple human means. Traffic then worked sublimely to our favor, as we sat at a dead stop at Lake Tahoe for 3 hours waiting for a fallen power line to be cleared off the road. But the traffic fun did not stop there, as we again encountered a closed freeway and ended up driving through "Historic Fairfield" with side roads to escape the dead stopped traffic we had been sitting in. All of this meaning, of course, that our normally 4 hour trip from Reno to San Francisco instead took 10 hours. We got into Dublin around 10, changed in a few minutes, and doublebacked to the Bart Station, where we took the train into SF so that we barely made it to the embarcadero by 11:50, albeit the fact that the rest of the night showed us we were too tired to actually celebrate New Years anyway.
But, oh, the fun did not stop there. Convinced that there was no possible way anything else could possibly go wrong, Huntley and I left around 2 for LA. The 5 freeway - which I have never seen move below 60 mph and where 70 mph is considered traffic - fell to a dead stop and then slow moving traffic not once, not twice, but three times on our way down, all the result of accidents. The 4th time we found ourselves at a dead stop, it was because of, again, a fallen power line that was blocking the freeway. Consequently, we were then diverted onto a random country road, where we drove down this barely 2-lane road in the pitch black for miles, often swerving to avoid the overgrowth and flooding blocking the poorly-tended road. We then finally navigated our way back to the 5, way south of where we were originally diverted off, only to find out that the freeway was STILL closed. We then had to drive to Bakersfield and navigate our way to LA from there. We ended up getting into LA at about 10:30, making the trip 8.5 hours, even though I can usually make it in 5. But, considering my previous luck, this seemed to almost not even phase me.
However, the ironic part is that I really can't find a reason why I made this tumultous journey. I mean, I know I go to school here, but ever since I left, I had been dreading coming back. I must have subconsciously convinced myself that the city was something else, but once I descended of the moutians in Castiac, I knew LA with still be LA - the miserable, dirty, polluted, narcissistic, socially stratified battlefield whose entire existence can only be explained by chance and a miserable lack of foresight.
All of this is making me think that god wasn't doing me a favor by trying to keep me from LA, but rather, in actuality, is quite a vengeful being - which would certainly explain a lot if that was the case - who is doing all of this so he can laugh in my face, probably as a result of my steadfast denial in his existence. The reason I say this is that such a journey would have made the arrival in LA that much sweeter, if I had wanted to be here from the beginning. But, coming from London and knowing that I have to be here, against my will, is just making it that much worse. I used to think that Larkin was a little overdramatic when it came to dscribing her intense hatred of this city, but I think I finally understand. Happy fucking miserable 2006.
I just hope I can survive this last year.