And we're out there having fun
Los Angeles is a very strange place, in that a twenty-mile separation there seems almost as insurmountable as the distance between Ohio and California. By a lucky coincidence, two of my friends from Northern California will be in the LA area over the next two weeks, and we have already entered logistical negotiations over when and where to meet, but all of us are keeping a wary eye on traffic reports. As one example of the power of LA traffic, my Google map to Simi Valley says that my 47.1 mile trip could take up to two hours, at just the times I will probably be making that journey. Yay.
In contrast to my concerns about traversing the 20 miles between Santa Monica and Irvine, I thought nothing of driving 200 miles to Visalia today to spend the night at my brother's house. Visalia is, well, an armpit, really. It's 30 miles south of Fresno, in the middle of hundreds of miles of agricultural land, and normally about 150 degrees fahrenheit. Today it was about 98 degrees, which felt positively brisk. The burst housing bubble has left the landscape littered with half-finished McMansions and tattered Reynan & Bardis pennants along the wide streets that disappear just as the asphalt turns to gravel and then rutted dirt roads, giving Visalia an apocalyptic feel. The heat really helps with that feeling too.
One thing that I didn't really notice while I was gone but am realizing now is that Californians have a lot of booze handy at a moment's notice. I guess that comes from being able to buy liquor at the supermarket instead of having to go to those dirty state liquor stores like in Ohio. Firewater may be one of the defining characteristics of this trip.
Oh, and the American-made rental car I will be using for the first half of my trip has an odd quirk: when I use the turn signal, the windshield wipers turn on until I wiggle the turn signal lever. That car hasn't needed to use windshield wipers since February, I'd bet, but it insists on wiping the glass every time I make a turn. Precision engineering, there.
In contrast to my concerns about traversing the 20 miles between Santa Monica and Irvine, I thought nothing of driving 200 miles to Visalia today to spend the night at my brother's house. Visalia is, well, an armpit, really. It's 30 miles south of Fresno, in the middle of hundreds of miles of agricultural land, and normally about 150 degrees fahrenheit. Today it was about 98 degrees, which felt positively brisk. The burst housing bubble has left the landscape littered with half-finished McMansions and tattered Reynan & Bardis pennants along the wide streets that disappear just as the asphalt turns to gravel and then rutted dirt roads, giving Visalia an apocalyptic feel. The heat really helps with that feeling too.
One thing that I didn't really notice while I was gone but am realizing now is that Californians have a lot of booze handy at a moment's notice. I guess that comes from being able to buy liquor at the supermarket instead of having to go to those dirty state liquor stores like in Ohio. Firewater may be one of the defining characteristics of this trip.
Oh, and the American-made rental car I will be using for the first half of my trip has an odd quirk: when I use the turn signal, the windshield wipers turn on until I wiggle the turn signal lever. That car hasn't needed to use windshield wipers since February, I'd bet, but it insists on wiping the glass every time I make a turn. Precision engineering, there.