The One Hundred

I have this notebook. I write things in it. Here’s one of those things.

It’s a coffee bean that I’m waiting at this time. It’s the nearest coffee place to my former place of employment. I’m waiting on a different friend this time. It’s always amazing to me how many people start/spend their day here. Yes, I see the irony of my making that statement when I am doing that very thing — but still, it’s a lot of people. Mostly a laptop crowd. I wonder if people will ever stop writing things down in favor of typing them in.

The person at the table in front of me has their power cord going across a walkway. Stranger still, the outlet is at a table where someone else is sitting and they seem to be OK with it. Something strange is afoot at the coffee bean. Must be something in the java.

If I ever get another job – an actual job-type-job – I hope it’s not at a coffee place. It seems that there’s a never ending stream of people that come into these places (again: Irony. I get it.). I guess it would make the shifts go faster but I think doing something like that for so long leads to mistakes. But, then again, free coffee. I think there was a time that I preferred the coffee bean to starbucks but I think this has changed. I go to starbucks so much that when I come in here, I’m lost. “Large? What’s that? Is that like a Venti?” The coffee doesn’t taste as good to me either but what can you do? Any port in a storm.

Coming here – driving around an area that I used to drive Monday through Friday every week – is so strange. Familiar and different at the same time. I figure little things changed here and there but in the end it is all essentially the same. I wonder if the same applies to me.

I just realized that I’ve been listening to the same song for the last 13 minutes — and there’s still 29 minutes left to it. Damn. Skip. Beck. Thank you. Moving on…

I think a regular just came in. Can’t really tell because of the headphones but the facial expressions lead me to believe so. I’ve always wanted to be a regular somewhere. I was once. It was a pizza place in Westwood. Lamonica’s N.Y. Pizza. Fantastic then, still awesome now. When I was working at the Wherehouse I had 30 minute breaks for lunch. This limited where I could go to eat. Right around the corner was Lamonica’s and it became my spot. One slice of pepperoni, one slice of cheese warmed up some but not too hot otherwise I would spend most of my lunch waiting for it to cool down. TANGENT:: You ever notice how a pizza slice has to spend very little time in the over before it is about the same temperature as molten lava? Why is that? ::END TANGENT I came in and ordered this so much that when they saw me walk in, even if I wasn’t at the head of the line, my order would get started. Life was good. It culminated in my getting a free pizza when I got hit by a car and broke my leg. They noticed that I wasn’t coming by and asked my roommate about me. When they found out — one free pizza whenever I wanted it. Isn’t that awesome? Maybe it’s time to become a regular again somewhere. But where?

I see someone who looks A LOT like someone I used to know. I’m too afraid to go and talk to him. It was a lifetime ago and I’m not sure if it’s actually him. And now he’s gone and I will probably always wonder.

I really should sit down and listen to all the stuff on my ipod. When I have it on shuffle, songs will come up that I either forgot I had on there or I just don’t know altogether.

…

I guess there are worse problems one could have.

Pulling from the Notebook

I have this notebook. I write things in it. Here’s one of those things.

I’m sitting outside a Starbucks on Sepulveda. I’ve just finished my drink and pastry (Today scone wins — sorry cheese danish, maybe next time.). The birds are fairly brave here. Definitely used to people. They check me out a couple of times and decide that there’s a good chance I won’t leave anything for them to eat (they’re right) and leave.

I spot and iridescent green and purple hummingbird. I’ve never seen one like that.

Across the street sits the Hacienda Hotel. It still appears to be active but it also seems like it’s from another time. Three other times, really. From right to left you can see where they made expansions and it looks like the next designer didn’t care or try to follow who came before. What I assume to be the oldest part looks like it was originally a motel — with rooms practically on the street. The second phase has sort of an early 70’s feel. The third and final portion appears straight out of the mid-80’s with it’s tubular bars and curved windows. This building is the most jarring and as it stands a little away from the others, I can’t confirm that it actually is part of the hotel — but for now, I’d like to think that it is. As odd as the whole scene is, it works.

In front of the outside seating area where I write, there is the normal cluster of newspaper vending machines – most of them of the free rag variety. LA Xpress is there. I notice that it’s free now. Back in the day, it used to cost money. Go ahead and think what you will but I never bought one – I just know this because there was a stand in front of my first apartment in L.A. (classy!) and all over Westwood where I worked and hung out. I consider picking one up because I am, like I was then, curious. What is in there? Naked pictures? Big deal. I assume there must be more. Surely, there must be more. As I am thinking about this, a man comes up, nonchalantly opens the dispenser, grabs his copy (a few down from the top because the top one is always dirty) and goes on his merry way. I’m kind of surprised that he does this in full view of all who are sitting here. I get a feeling that I can’t pin down. Do I feel sorry for him? Am I jealous of his comfort level in going after what he wants? I chalk it up to feeling a little nauseous due to the Russian family that just parked themselves behind me and are smoking. Yes, they have kids.

Yes, I am leaving.

Pulling from the Notebook

I have this notebook. I write things in it. Here’s one of those things.

Whenever we go back to the Los Angeles area (Downey, to be specific), unless we fly, we drive out on Interstate 10 — and if we’re driving, I’m driving. It’s a long drive (about 6 hours minimum — but usually longer) but it is still so new to us that it remains interesting. Granted, a lot of it is desert scenery — rocks, mountains, rocky mountains — it is still a nice drive. Being the driver, I don’t get to see a lot of what’s happening around me — well, I do, but I am not able to concentrate on a passing sign or interesting building as much as the passengers can (if they weren’t playing their Nintendo DS’es or sleeping) because I’m trying to make sure we don’t, you know, die. While continuously saving all of our lives at 80 MPH, I still manage to let my mind wander and here’s some of the thoughts that I had on out last trip out there. UPDATE: I’ve also tacked on some updates in order to add a little more color.

1. Murray’s — I spotted a sign “Murray’s Restaurant & Hotel Supply”. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen it before but it looks old enough that I should have seen it countless times in my travels up and down this freeway (this would be the freeway I would also take to get to my hometown from L.A. when I lived there). Never in my life have I ever wanted to go into a store more. It seems silly, I know, but I wanted to see what the inside looked like and if Murray was actually there (or real). I don’t have a hotel or a restaurant but if Murray was there, I would have bought something. Who wouldn’t want to buy something from Murray? Is it just me? UPDATE: They have a website. It’s where I grabbed that picture of the sign and there’s pictures of the inside showroom. I still want to go there and I desperately hope that the inside is still very much like the “Design Services” picture — like they are somehow trapped in the late 60’s, early 70’s. I want so much for it to be that — but I know it’s not. I guess maybe it’s better that I didn’t go inside. In my head though — in my head, this place is AWESOME.

2. Tattoo Expo — I see on the animated electric billboard near the Pomona Mining Company that there’s a Tattoo Expo that’s happening while we’re in town. I don’t know why this surprises me. I worked in an industry that makes magazines solely for people in such varied lines of employment as School Bus drivers, Car Rental Shops, and Nail Technicians. And yes, they too have trade shows for them and them only. It never fails to amaze me how close something can be to you but if you don’t notice it or know about it, you don’t/won’t see it. UPDATE: I later saw a billboard for this on the 405 and considering the tight tank top the chest-thrusting girl was wearing and the barely noticeable tattoo on her left arm, you would think that the expo was for another word with multiple T’s in it. Actually, I wouldn’t bet against the notion that there is one. I also wouldn’t bet against the idea of me not ever getting to go.

3. Aristocrat Motel – The name here just makes me giggle. I shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover but I have to think that maybe this adage shouldn’t apply to places where you plan to spend money to sleep. I’m thinking you would like it to look as nice as possible. Not to say that it looked like a hovel but Aristocrat Motel? If that word means what I think it means, they wouldn’t be caught dead here. Love that they call it that though. Awesome. Coming soon – Royal Trailer Park.
UPDATE: Definition of Aristocrat (pay attention to #3):
1 : a member of an aristocracy; especially : noble
2 a : one who has the bearing and viewpoint typical of the aristocracy b : one who favors aristocracy
3 : one believed to be superior of its kind

Um, yeah. No.

4. Jerky tastes better on the road — I don’t know why this is, but it’s true. Going on a trip? Get some road jerky. You’re welcome. UPDATE: Jerky’s still pretty awesome when you’re not on the road. Gonna watch some T.V.? Get some couch jerky. You’re welcome.

Pulling from the Notebook

I have this notebook. I write things in it. Here’s one of those things.

I didn’t sleep well at all the other night. I stayed up way too late playing Bioshock 2. I was so immersed in my role of the prototype “Big Daddy” (google it) that the dreams I had later blurred the lines of reality and served to freak me out further. I couldn’t tell what was real any more and a lot of it had to do with my mask. About a year ago, I was diagnosed with sleep apnea and before they gave me my machine, I had to choose a mask.

“So which one do you want to try?”

I looked at the disembodied mannequin heads that were modeling my choices. I picked the one that I had used in my sleep test some months prior and she got it down for me.

“This one is pretty popular,” she said as I tried it on, “but some people find it a little claustrophobic.”

*Click*

Suddenly, this little piece of plastic that was just big enough to accommodate my nose became stifling. Never underestimate the power of suggestion.

—

The first time I heard the term CPAP was when my friend Andy was diagnosed with sleep apnea.

“So what does it do?”

Andy explained that it basically shot air pressure through your nose in order to keep your airways open so you can breathe while you sleep. “But, it’s kind of weird to open your mouth and have air shoot out of it.”

“We should put a ping pong ball there and see if it hovers!”

“Very funny.”

—

I can’t remember when it started but what I do know is that I was becoming more and more tired and I didn’t know why. I would nod off at my computer in the middle of the afternoon – powerless against the waves of sleep coming over me, unable to keep my eyes open. The nights weren’t much better. I remember most of them simply because it didn’t feel like I was sleeping through them. I know I was sleeping but whenever I awoke (multiple times through the night) I was wide awake every single time — as if I hadn’t gone to sleep in the first place. Carla had mentioned before that I snored (I have to take her word for it as I’m always asleep when this happens) but that now it was getting progressively worse and that something else was happening too.

I wasn’t breathing.

—

Now, if you’ve been paying attention, you’ve already figured out that the “not breathing” thing was only temporary. I got over it. What we also figured out was that it was happening all night long. The pattern was as follows: breathing, not breathing, struggling for air, breathing again. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. All of this was happening while I was asleep.

I found out later that not treating this could lead to heart damage and possibly a stroke. This is what may have helped end Reggie White’s life and he was in much better shape that I am and possibly ever will be. It was time to see a doctor and get this taken care of.

Seeing the doctor led to a sleep test (which is a poorly named test as I don’t remember sleeping much at all — ‘A’ for effort?). This led me to being diagnosed with sleep apnea. And that’s why I was trying on masks.

“You know, now that you mention it, it does seem a little constricting. Can I try the one on the end?”

I debated asking which one the ladies would find more attractive but I eventually decided that this would amuse only me and so I chose not to subject her to my “humor”.

“This is a newer one and people seem to like it because they don’t have all this plastic all over their face. It does shoot the air straight up your nose though.”

This gave me pause. Did I really want this? It didn’t sound very comfortable or pleasing. In the end though, it was a good fit and it was the model I chose.

“Nasal pillows it is.”

Nasal pillows. I have to admit that I was hoping for something a little more manly like “Air Blaster 3000″ but I guess anything that comes with a built-in humidifier is already fighting an uphill battle.

As she walked me through how to operate the machine, my immediate and foreseeable future dawned on me: I am now attached to this machine. This is now a part of my life.

“Break out the ping pong balls,” I muttered to myself.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Pulling from the Notebook