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Spring Break Day 7: Contact with the Outside World

March 25, 2010

Dearest blog,

I made contact with people outside of my house today, and it was lovely. I got dinner with some dear family friends at a lovely Italian restaurant. The dinner was lovely, the discussion was lively, and the atmosphere was splendid. But the thing that stuck with me most from the night was the journey — it was driving on the freeway. Let me explain.

I hate driving on freeways. I hate traffic, therefore, I hate driving on the 101 and the 405. But, today, I had the most divine driving experience, as it was not only filled with déja vu, but it was also cathartic.

It has been so long since I’ve driven down a freeway, with the windows down, blasting music. I did it over the summer, and I loved every moment. It’s the feeling when the windows are down, your hair is blowing all around you in a fine frenzy, and a great, GREAT song comes on the radio. Suddenly, the drive isn’t the journey — it’s the destination. You’re driving somewhere to have a good time once you get there, right? Well, when that song comes on the radio, you’re having a good time already! Hell, why can’t the ride just last forever as you cruise down an endless stretch of road feeling free and crazy? That’s how I plan on living my life — just one crazy rock show after the other. Rocking out in your car to the radio can be the best and worst thing ever. Here’s why.

The joy one can experience while driving in a car depends entirely on the music playing during. If the radio chooses to shit on you and play all crap, then the ride can go from being a potentially exhilarating rock show, to a depressing, boring, mindless purgatory of sorts.

But, for instance, when I was listening to KLOS today on the drive to dinner, and Born in the USA came on, and I was going 60 down the 101 with no one behind or in front of me, and the wind was working my hair into a Foxy Cleopatra fro, and the air blowing about me was lukewarm, and the sun was just about setting — well I gotta just say, I’m almost lost for words. It was the epitome of California. I hate the beach. I loathe shopping. I detest walking around the city — it’s dirty as hell. I never get star-struck, and most of the celebrities of today annoy the shit out of me. I don’t belong in LA, but for those 3 minutes Bruce accompanied me on my car ride, I was home. I was made for things like that. It was a nice reminder that even the least LA people can feel at home in a city so wrong for them — as long as the music is on their side.

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