Tahoe Through LA
01 April 2008 at 11:30 pm

The past few weeks have been such a delicious blur. I have tid bits here and there, random thoughts that pop into my head that I jotted down there and here.

Basically:

(I haven't spoken to my father in over a month. He is the one who told me that only idiots use the word "basically.")

I got on a plane on a Thursday and went to Tahoe. My first time skiing in two years (which I only realized when I saw the date on the tag still attached to my ski jacket was dated February of 2006), it was amazing, amazing snow at Squaw Valley.

(I contemplated calling my father, only then realizing it had been weeks since we had last spoken, because I sorely missed him for the first and only time in my life.)

I flew into Sacramento and had a Day with Esp, complete with drinks here and there, shopping there and here, a screening of In Bruges with about six other people (I laughed. Like, a lot. You should see it), and discussion of whether it's possible to not love your father.

My relationship with Joanna will be delved into later, she who had invited me to Tahoe even though we were going to be seeing each other the next week in New York.

I completed my first law school application at an obnoxious "Irish" "pub" over a Guinness.

I completely fucked up my back and legs (months of physical inactivity and sugar binging followed by three straight days of black diamond runs will do that to you, apparently). I caught up on podcasts; I lost sleep; I relied on the kindness of Esp to chauffer my ass around town; I had tapas with Katie and P and E; I decided to move to Sacramento.

Back in town, I made preparations for Damien's departure. I worked for two days, then left for L.A. with the roommate.

We were celebrating her birthday and graduation; I was dropping Damien off in air cargo. I cried the whole of Wednesday, then got a little bit drunk. We ate at Waffle or The Waffle or something. We stood in an office building in the middle of LA, 30 floors up, admiring the view. We slept on the couch of a man whose birthday party the following evening was going to be attended by the likes of the former members of obscure 80s metal bands, which meant nothing to me, but might mean something to you, if you are an 80s metal band aficionado (please tell me if you are in the comments; I like to curry to a demographic).

We went to the Getty, as I had never been before and will probably never go again unless it is with the roommate, for the roommate is an artist and able to make me appreciate things I otherwise wouldn't notice, such as the way you can look at absolutely in direction in any place on the property and it is seamless.

The drive back to Santa Barbara was melancholy, as it always is. Damien would not be greeting me at the door; the roommate was moving back to San Francisco that weekend; I was off to New York shortly thereafter.

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About me
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.