59 Years and Counting . . .

Not long ago I was sitting in the Northwest Florida Regional Airport waiting for my flight to Dallas and then on to LAX. I was leaving Florida and had three hours to kill and I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do than tell you about a friendship that has lasted more than fifty years. But this is not just a friendship of two guys or even three. This is five guys who graduated from high school in 1965 and remain close friends today.

I was in the airport flying home to California after spending a week in Florida with my friends. Their names are Fast Eddie, The Load, Dr. Philippe, and Lucky Chesterfield. Since four of us are retired, we can come and go as we please. Dr. Philippe still works and was snowed under with work and had to take a pass on Florida. I'm the only guy who's single but oddly enough the other guys' wives don't seem to mind that much if they take off for a week -- or more. As I said we graduated from high school together but that wasn't the beginning of our friendship. I've known Lucky since kindergarten in lovely Fairborn, Ohio in 1953. A mere fifty-nine years. I 've known The Load and Dr.Philippe since fourth grade and Fast Eddie since we were sophomores in high school. That's a helluva long time. What's really amazing is that we are as close now as we were in high school even though we don't live close together any more. Since we were in our late fifties we've gotten together regularly a couple of times every year. We communicate by email on a daily basis. Well, as least The Load does. I believe he has a bit too much time on his hands.

We of course grew up in the same town and were constant companions throughout high school. By constant companions I mean we hung out together every day during school and after school. For reasons none of us can figure out, we never got into much trouble. In fact I can't remember the whole group ever getting in trouble at school or with the law or our parents. We sure as hell weren't goody two-shoes, but we weren't badasses either. Before high school we did have a gang - the Top Hats. We were scary little fuckers. We had jackets with top hats sewn on the back. I have no clue what this little adventure signified but there it was. We were freshmen in 1962 at a time where seventh, eight and ninth graders went to junior high and sophomores were the low rung in high school. As freshman, Lucky went to a Catholic high school and we didn't know Fast Eddie yet. -- By the way, I think we also called Fast Eddie Muscle Breath, but I don't think I'll use that name since he can still kick the shit out of me. -- So for a year it was just The Load, Dr. Philippe and me as the big shots at Five Points Junior High. By then we had started to develop separate paths at school. As a freshman I played football, baseball and basketball -- and wasn't worth a damn in any of them. Philippe and Load were in the band which would continue throughout high school.

As I said we were inseparable in high school and, damn, we had some fun times. The kind of crap that we still think is hilarious today no matter how many times we say "Remember when we . . . " Lucky Chesterfield has a unique mind -- he had it then and he has it now. He comes out with some stuff that is utterly hysterical, "Like what" you may say. I'll try to think of an easy-to-relate example but suffice it to say that he can make us fall out of our chairs laughing.

When we were seniors we had another member of the group. Large Louis. After high school, he and Dr. Philippe went off to get high in Vietnam and after they returned from their tour he headed for New Zealand where he has been since. During high school we did some really stupid shit like everyone else, but we seemed to be more clever about it. We were pretty well known and the bond amongst us was pretty strong. For example, when we were seniors I was going steady with this smart, pretty, sweet girl who was all a kid like me could ask for. Lucky was going with this overbearing bitch that I thought bossed him around too much. So genius that I am, I told him I would break up with the girl of my dreams if he broke up with his girl. He did and I did. How mature.

After high school there was Vietnam. As I mentioned Dr. Philippe and Louis went over there. The Load and Fast Eddie joined the Army but stayed in the states. Lucky and I dodged the draft - successfully. After that we really started to drift apart. I was married while in undergraduate school and I had little contact with the guys. We would attend class reunions religiously every five years and laugh our asses off, but that was pretty much it. We all had families and careers and were at times totally estranged from each other - almost. But for reasons that I don't fully understand, Fast Eddie always kept us together by setting up - what else? - get-togethers. Rarely were all of us there at the same time. Lucky had some dark times. The Load had two girls to raise and had moved one town over. Dr. Philippe was globe hopping with his daughter and wife - also a long time friend of mine. Fast Eddie had moved to Nerk - that's the way they pronounce Newark there.

Now our families have been raised, we've retired - most of us - and we have time to look back on fond memories. It is truly amazing and wonderful that we can still be good friends after all these years. Men and women are very different about friendships. Men's best friends are often guys that they have known all their lives. Something about the basic mistrust men have for other men, particularly in the workplace, that makes this true. That's why I feel so fortunate to have these guys as friends. The comfort we have around each other is a rare thing. It gives one a great sense of security to be able to totally relax and talk about anything that's on your mind to other guys. Rarely do men find that in friends they make at work. Too much competitiveness. The way these guys look out for me because of my health gives me a sense of absolute safety. I know that I don't have to hide my illnesses from them. Each one of them has been incredibly generous in their praise of my effort to rise above my illnesses and live a high quality of life. You can't imagine how much that means to me.

So I hope we will get together again this fall at Fast Eddie's farm or somewhere exotic, but wherever it is I know we will talk he same bullshit, laugh at the same shit we've been laughing about for fifty years and be totally relaxed in each other's company.

101 Blind Dates

Every time I heard something like "Your Southern California Toyota Dealers . . ." on the radio or TV, I think: "Holy shit. I live in Southern California." Honestly, I didn't think it was a real place. It seemed to exist only on television. The best way I can illustrate it is to think of sitting and watching Jimmy Kimmel. If I'm watching in Michigan I know I'm watching a show that was taped a few hours ago somewhere in Hollywood. But there's no physical location that you associate with it so it's like it's out there in the ether somewhere. When I'm watching it here I think "Oh yeah, that's just up the road on Hollywood boulevard." I know I'm an over-analytic nut case and you probably don't think this way but these strange little things fascinate me. . .

Little did I know when I woke up a few days ago that I would be having humble pie for breakfast. I'll explain of course, but first I have to figure out how to make it entertaining enough to read. . . I'm not sure that I've written an entertaining blog since 2009 but I'm going to write one today.

So back to the humble pie. I had my first California date. Here's how it happened. A really nice woman was the organizer of a mixer that I attended and we started talking. She is very interested in matchmaking. So we got into a conversation about dating and dating services. I have an extensive background in that arena. So I immediately puff out my chest and say "Well I've been on more than a hundred blind dates -- That's right; a hundred. And blah, blah, blah." (I can be such a dipshit at times.) She was very interested to know what I had learned. As we talked she told me that she was hosting a small group discussion on dating and that I should come to it. Which I did. Prior to the meeting she sent me the name of a woman, whom I'll call Sandra, and asked me to check her out. She said she was going to try to get her to come to the group.

Sandra couldn't attend but the discussion was fun and my friend did an excellent job of hosting it. It's not often that single men and women can openly discuss expectations and behaviors in dating in a non-threatening environment. Afterward it was over it was up to me to make a connection with Sandra; so I did. We agreed to meet for lunch in Laguna Beach. She suggested that we get food to go at this healthy Mexican food place and walk over onto the grounds of the Montage resort. It was stunning; absolutely beautiful surroundings and a gorgeous day. We had a very nice conversation and I really enjoyed it, and was impressed by Sandra.

However on the walk over to Montage we had to climb down several flights of stairs. As soon as we went down the first set of stairs I knew my cover was blown. I knew there was no way in hell I could climb up those stairs so I was going to have to ask here to drive down to the hotel and pick me up. You see, one thing I have learned on those 100 blind dates is that I don't give my entire medical history away on the first date. It's a real show-stopper. Since I generally don't look sick or act sick, I allow some time to pass before I recite the litany of shit that's wrong with me. Sandra accepted this information without reaction and even told me about her own medical stuff.

I left feeling good. I was trying to piece together the signals she had given me and I couldn't quite figure out how she felt about the date. So that evening after I had been re-hashing the date and expanding it's significance in my head, I sat down to write her an email note. By then my exuberance had overtaken me and I wrote a message that was a bit over the top. I did have the good sense to stop myself and sent it first to my good friend Romy to ask her opinion. Unfortunately Romy didn't get back to me until the morning and in my impatience, I sent the message to Sandra. She came back shortly with a polite response which was open for interpretation. I took it as a brush off; my therapist took it as an invitation for more intimacy. (Yes, that's right. I talked to my therapist about it. I am crazy, you know.) So I waited three days and called Sandra. She was in the middle of something so I asked if I could call the following day -- Super Bowl Sunday. Before I got a chance to call, I received an email that was polite and contained the phrase "lack of chemistry". Now there's a signal that is not subject to interpretation. It means thanks, but no thanks. I was crushed -- at least for a while. I actually thought there was lots of chemistry. I did think my inability to climb stairs may have been a problem.

We've actually exchanged a couple of emails since and seem to agree that we each would like to be friends. Later today when I call her I guess I'll find out how much interpretation is necessary for the phrase "just friends."

You know I can see why my kids don't read my blogs. If I was their age it would freak me out that my 64 year old father was still dealing with dating and relationships at his age. I think kids think a guy my age should have his life settled long ago and just do old people shit. Whatever that may be. But some things never change. The complexity and silliness of relationships between men and women lasts a lifetime. If it doesn't, then you should stick to old people shit.

Thanks for reading.

Weight Watching

As Charles Barkley says "I joined Weight Watchers. That's right I said it."

Since I been a member twice before, it's really not that radical a thing for me to do. But it was at the top of my list of things to do when I got to California. Losing weight is only one reason to join WW. Equally as appealing is the social interaction with the other members, who are mostly women of course. I's say the ratio of women to men approaches twenty to one. Not bad odds . . . and that's just the half of it. The other men who join are -- how can I say this -- not much competition. Not because I am as big a lady killer as I think I am; but because they have either joined with their wife or they are unattractively obese. Hmm, does that me you can be attractively obese? I think that's a topic for a whole different blog.

Back in Michigan I found that my weight was depressing the hell out of me. Not only was I at my maximum density, but I was developing a revolting beer gut like 99 million other middle aged men. With the failing state of my body from the illnesses, living with a disgustingly ugly gut was just one physical insult too many. There's no denying that I'm vain. And of course, the illnesses also make dieting difficult because it lowers your blood pressure. An added benefit for most everyone, but not for me.

I've told all my family and friends how hard I work at looking and acting healthy even though I'm not. Any small thing I can do to counteract the degeneration that's going on inside me to make me look better on the outside is a big boost psychologically . . . and a little present to myself for fighting the good fight. Thus the weight loss.

My plan was to slowly and consistently lose about a pound a week for six months and then level off and stay there for good. I figured this might work for two reasons: it would be gradual enough to prevent lowering my blood pressure and it would allow me to permanently change my lifestyle with respect to food. In my previous tenures with WW I lost thirty pounds each time in about ten weeks. I was hungry ALL THE TIME but I can be so obsessive about achieving goals that I forced myself to lose the weight. When I got to target, I said "Thank God, I can eat again." and that was that.

I joined five weeks ago and I've lost 8.4 lbs. A little faster then I wanted to, but it feels really good. I don't feel like a stuffed pig and my digestive system has felt pretty good. The only way I can make it work is by going to weekly meetings. The meetings seem completely different than those in the past. First there's the group leader. Wow! Smart, energetic, great looking, fit, realistic, savvy, generous and enthusiastic. . . Imagine this -- somehow I find it easy to pay attention to a stunning woman. Who would've guessed! Since I'm paying attention, I'm really giving this WW thing some thought. I think it's really sinking in that it's about changing your lifestyle -- it's not a diet. As Kris (not her real name) says, it's like a wedding and a marriage. Losing the weight and reaching goal is getting through the wedding. Being married for the rest of your life is maintaining your goal weight. That's exactly what I'm trying to figure out. I know I can reach goal. Can I change permanently and stay there is the issue.

I don't know much about Alcoholics Anonymous but it seems that the concept of attending meetings for support and encouragement is the same with WW. Particularly for me, the new guy in town who doesn't really have any local friends yet. I really look forward to Tuesday mornings. . . and tracking the foods I eat on my iPhone fits my obsessive behavior to reach my goal. BTW, my goal is to lose 24.5 pounds.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Goodbye Michigan, Hello Sunshine

Six months ago when I last wrote a blog, I had made up my mind to move to California and reap the benefits of its magnificent weather. Now it's six months later and I did it. I actually did it! Frankly I think when I wrote that last blog I didn't really believe it would happen. I certainly had no idea the level of effort it would take to pull it off. I am very proud of myself for making it happen.

California is truly a strange and wonderful place. As many times as I have been here on business and holiday, I still had no sense of what it like to live here. Even when I am feeling depressed and angry because I'm alone, I still want to stay here. Of course the weather is amazing, but it goes well beyond that. First, the people are nice and generally happy. Probably because they live in such a pleasant place. Second, there is so much to do. Again, the weather makes being outdoors so appealing that life is built around it. And lastly, the people are so attractive. I swear in the first ten days I was here I saw 3 fat people -- three! In Michigan you can see that many in 10 seconds. If ever there was a place where I could have every possibility of meeting a woman that I could be with, I believe this is it. The attitude is so relaxed.

That doesn't mean it's that easy to make friends when you're my age and brand new -- and exude the standoffishness that I do. Sometimes I forget how often I was told that I give off an air of arrogance. Which is funny when you get to know me. Yes, I used to be an arrogant little prick but I'm all grown up now and I don't mind saying I'm really a nice guy. So my prediction in the previous blog that making friends would be the hardest part of the move has proven to be true. I have been doing -- and will continue to do -- all the right things: join Weight Watchers, sign up for yoga class, and join a social group. Still it is hard to find someone I can get comfortable with. All the old reasons why I have been somewhat of a loner are still there. All I can do is work to change them.

I can't say that I've had any real fun misadventures here so far -- nothing that entertaining enough to write about, so I'll go back to my last month in Michigan. I used to eat dinner at the bar at Friday's in Michigan four or five nights a week. It's one of those places where everybody knows your name -- in my case, they definitely did and treated me very well. But in all the hundreds of meals I have eaten there, I don't think I have ever had more than one or two women strike up a conversation with me. So I was taken aback one Thursday night when a very young girl started talking to me the moment I sat down. Despite her youth and my lack of recent practice, I immediately slipped into charming mode. You know; lowered my voice and tried to be mysterious. After a couple of minutes she got around to mentioning that she was born in Orange County California. Actually not that surprising since I had just said that I was moving to the O.C. in a few weeks. Next thing I know she has moved over next to me and I noticed she was drunk. She mentioned that she was 23 and started telling me about her mom. As always, I'm in a daze and asking myself why a 23 year old is hitting on a grandpa. Even though she was drunk, she occasionally said some pretty honest sensible things about age, people and relationships. Well she continued to tell me that her mom was 55 and beautiful -- repeatedly. Eventually she asked if I would like to do something like go to a casino with her and her mom. I said sure, why not. She was with her cousin and the two of them went off to the girls' room. I waited awhile then left.

The next day I asked myself if I wanted to sit home that night or go out with the mother and drunken daughter. I said "what the hell" and texted them to meet me at a restaurant at 8:00. The restaurant was jammed so I got a table. When they showed up I immediately chuckled to myself. As I could have guessed, the mother was not attractive at all. As the evening wore on I realized her personality was less attractive than her appearance. I mean, I know bitter and this woman was bitter. She talked about some crazy-assed books she had read that nothing to do with anything we were talking about. The climax of the evening was when I returned from the restroom and figured out that both the mother and the daughter had gotten into separate confrontations with management of the restaurant over issues that were very vague. As in they made no sense to me. As we left the daughter made us exchange phone numbers and hug each other. The mother was stalling so much to keep from leaving that it took her 15 minutes to write down her number. Neither of them bothered to say thank you for dinner. I was glad to leave and assumed I would never see them again.

Flash forward to the night before I moved. My neighbor was helping me pack and I suggested that we take a break and have something to eat at Friday's. We sat at the bar and in about one minute I hear "Hello, Jim." It's the daughter - -and yes, she's drunk again. Three times I've seen her; three times she been drunk. She immediately mentioned that I never called her mother. I brushed that off and turned to my neighbor and told her that this was "the daughter." My neighbor is a woman, of course, and I had told her abou the prior encounter. After a bit more gibberish, daughter walks up next to me and says "You should have slept with my mom." What! My neighbor and I look at each other in amazement. Daughter proceeds to tell us that her mom was a Playboy Playmate in 1989 and the you can look it up. Again were smirked at each other. After shaking my hand for about 3 minutes the daughter left. All my neighbor could say was how sorry she felt for this crazy messed up little girl who seemed to be pimping her mom for a new dad.

Boy, I can really attract them can't I?

More to come. Thanks for reading.

One week into LaLa land

When we last met here I was freshly landed in Orange County and the world was my oyster. (What the hell does that expression mean anyway? The world is a slimy aphrodisiac? ) Now I have had a week to experience California by myself -- well, mostly and I'm still on the same track that I started from. I need to get my condo sold and close by the end of August and move out here the first of September. I have looked at twenty apartment complexes in Huntington Beach, Costa Mesa, Irvine and Newport Beach and there are a couple I could do okay in. My original target location was Huntington Beach close to the water, but after looking at a dozen complexes I realized that there hasn't been an apartment built there since 1975 and all the renovating in the world won't change a sow's ear into a silk purse. Actually the very first place I looked at was a much newer complex in Irvine that I liked, so I went back and looked to see if the builder of that one had others available. Well it seems that the Irvine Company owns half the city so they have lots and lots of places. A bunch of which are new and don't feel nearly as claustrophobic as those 70's places I was in. The final piece of the puzzle was being directed to a Rental Living office which manages 120 properties. Lovely little Mary interviewed me and set me up with five places I might want to visit and I did just that. The place I like most is by the Irving Spectrum Center, an open air mall next to a sports arena and an IMAX. So I think I know where I want to live and can afford it, maybe.

One big factor is surprisingly the number of planned community activities. You know the kind of stuff that I avoid like the plague in my own complex back home but now is center stage in my quest to make friends. Yes, a girlfriend would be nice, but a couple good friends would fit the bill just as well. At least that sounds good and I am trying to convince myself.

Now let's go back to something Denise said when we arrived here in early June after driving across country. "It seems like a different country." Boy, does it ever! Obviously the weather is better, but not just better. It's in a whole separate category of better. On the coast it's always sunny and pleasant year round. The whole environment and culture is built around the weather. That's why there are 22 bajillion people out here. The people are noticeably different from Midwesterners. They're friendly but seem superficial. They're not as polite as we are in the Midwest. But the punch line is that even if it is a different country that doesn't mean I can't live here. I can adapt as much as I need to and since I'm a cranky old man I can say, "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on" if I don't like the way someone acts toward me.

The experiment continues. I'm here for ten days to see how I feel; to see how it feels; and to decide if it feels right to try it. I've got lots of notes and have been very observant about those things that could be deal killers. The biggest obstacle remains making friends. That will only be determined when I try it, and it's totally under my control to put forth the effort.

On the other hand. Denise and I were walking through the open air mall near my home-to-be and I was thinking "Is this just of those impulsive things that Jim does from time to time only to fall flat on his face?" You know, like proposing to M or going to law school at Georgetown. I would say "Yes it is." But that doesn't mean I should stop and return to reality. Fuck reality. I live reality every day with these half-assed illnesses of mine. Just today I did something to my pacemaker while I was doing Yoga exercises that caused the damn thing to flare up again (I'm taking about the pocket in which it sits.) Then I had a panic attack and had a horrible morning riding out the panic. It took every ounce of mental energy I have to convince myself that this is not the first step in my next trip into the O.R. to have the pacemaker removed and replaced. That's major surgery and it's dangerous. That's the kind of shit that I deal with every day it seems sometimes. It can wear your ass out. So I'll chose fantasy over reality right now. I can be practical for the rest of my life if this doesn't work. All I can say is "Knock this off my shoulder. I dare you."

Know what I mean?

In 45 hours I'll be on my way back home to Michigan. Will it be the last time Michigan is my home?

Thanks for spending time reading my stuff. Guess what the picture above is.

In California, part II

Motive and opportunity. That's the answer but what's the question? The question that my daughter asked me was "What made you decide to move to California so quickly?" "Seems like there were a lot of issues last Fall." Well the motive was to feel better and the opportunity was the combination of two things: a trip to Southern California to relocate Denise to her new job and to find a buyer for my condominium.

In my most recent postings, I chronicled the car trip from Southeast Michigan to LaLa land. After three and a half days in the car we arrived at the luxurious Candlewood Suites in sunny Garden Grove, California. I noticed the nice weather. Imagine that! Mid-60's. Sunny. Breezy. In other words, just perfect for me and my crazy physiology. Meanwhile back in Michigan the highs were in the mid-90's.

I hung around for five days to make sure Denise was settled in her job before I left. After a couple days -- actually right away -- I noticed I could walk along the beach without overheating and I felt better overall. This phenomena continued the whole time I was in SoCal. This was not the first time I had thought that Southern California had the perfect climate for me, but it was the first time I seriously asked myself if I could live here.

The other half of opportunity was listing my condo again (fourth time) and getting an offer of $100 over my asking price from the first looker. Not really that surprising when you find a $300,000 condo for $170,000. That wasn't the end of it because it's a short sale. So I decided to fire my lawyer and handle the lenders myself. As many of you know, I got the primary lender to go for it in one phone call. I'm working on the home equity lender now. Assuming I can close that piece, I'm out from under my beautiful condo; which, by the way, I love. It's just in the wrong place.

I'm back in Garden Grove as I write and it's the middle of July and again it's cooler here than in Southeast Michigan. Love those ocean breezes. My idea is to move here on an continuing trial basis. As long as I feel okay and like it, I'll stay. If not, back to Columbus. Denise is right that it's a quick decision, but I don't make it lightly. At or near the top of the list is being across county from my one-year old grandson and his soon-to-be-born cousin. That's really a tuffy. But if I feel better I will live longer and maybe my grand-kids will remember me more. Next on the list is medical care. Then affordability and so forth. There's a dozen issues at least. But I know what will make or break the deal.

"I was one date away from staying." I'll 'splain. While I was in career No. 1 (teaching) I decided career No. 3 would be lawyering. Career No. 2 was computer programming while I went to law school at night. I enrolled at Georgetown Law School in D.C. as a full time day student. I was 32 years old. There were about 100-150 in my class and they were all younger than me. I was single and lived alone in Arlington, Virginia and drove into Washington each day. My son David was 10 years old and I missed him terribly. Each day in Constitutional Law class I would stare across the room at an attractive but wild looking woman whom I fancied. (Can I say fancied in the 21st century?) Of course I was scared shitless to speak to her so I would look for her around school and when I saw her I'd look away. Sounds like Radar O'Rielly doesn't it?

Somehow I met her and found out her name and phone number. I have no idea how. And I even called her once and chickened out from asking her for a date. I was 32-fucking-years old! Well as you might guess, I left Georgetown shortly thereafter. But if I had asked her out, the course of my life might have been entirely different. So I was one date short of staying.

That will be the test in California. Will I meet someone so I don't feel alone. In Michigan I have a ton of friends, even for an introvert like me. I have a very well established support group. So we'll see how I do at making friends here. If I do, then managing the rest of the issues like not seeing my grand-kids often enough will be more manageable. If I'm alone, I won't cut it. Denise will be here but she has her life to live. She can't and shouldn't babysit me.

Your advice is encouraged and welcome. Thanks for reading.

On the Road Again . . . in Cali

Garden Grove, CA. What's the big attraction in Southern California? The weather of course. And it's been purr-fect. While the Midwest sizzles in 90 degree heat, it's sunny and in the mid-60's here with a nice breeze. I couldn't design more healthful weather for me. I can actually walk in the sun for a while without overheating. The combination of bright sunshine and cool ocean breezes are ideal for me. Immediately I thought "This is where I should live." Not so fast, I-love-LA breath.

The traffic. Everything it is reputed to be and oh so much more. The gotcha is that you can't do anything without driving in your car. So everyone is out in their car and amazingly there is incredible congestion -- and we haven't even experienced rush hour yet. Alex has done 90% of the driving and has handled it well. I'm sure I could come up with some traffic stories, but why?

Now comes the challenge, the rest of the story. Since my son Rob me not to write blogs that "make you want to kill yourself after you read them," I have tried to stay upbeat. I'll do my best. (The other challenge is typing with this damn tremor.)

Our three and a half days in Cali so far have not been great. First there's culture shock; but I think it's exacerbated a lot by being stuck in a shitty location and lousy hotel. Oddly enough it doesn't feel warm here. As in it's not a welcoming place. The people we've interacted with are friendly and helpful, but the atmosphere is like all these people locked in their air-conditioned cars. Behind glass. And we can't find anything interesting to do. Normally exploring would be first on my list but here that requires driving on these fucking freeways. That's a mood killer right there. We have struggled for something to do. Obviously we needed to spend some time looking for areas for Alex to live. We did that Saturday in a area called Belmont Shores, which is right on the beach, and found lots of apartments for rent. It seemed like a safe place with lots of diversity. So Alex wrote down a lot of information and we called, enough already. Again the culture shock; not the rent. We knew that. Just the massive difference between the feel of the place back home and here. My goal was to be supportive and helpful but not to let her get overwhelmed.

So next we explored beaches. Long Beach, Sunrise Beach, Huntington Beach, Belmont Shores; all very nice. Venice Beach - not so much. I was expecting Santa Monica and got Myrtle Beach. On Sunday we were stumped but restless to get out of jail. I haven't mentioned that this hovel has no pool and no place to sit in the sun or shade. The rooms are tiny. There's more but back to the story. At my suggestion we went to Hollywood. First, I about shit when we pulled up to Hollywood and Vine. Is there a better known intersection in this country? Well there is absolutely nothing there. Nothing. Up Holywood Blvd. Grauman's and Madame Trousseau's (sp?) were cheesy and the stars on Hollywood Blvd. were so numerous that they became nothing more than a place to walk. We were further frustrated that we couldn't see the Hollywood sign; we even drive into the hills. We ended up at CPK for lunch for the second day in a row and guess what? Over our shoulder was the Hollywood sign. And why don't you see a picture of it in the margin above? Guess.

Alex starts work today. She really needs something to counteract these culture shock blues. Me too. Every time I look at her sad face my heart breaks and I dread getting on that plane to go home. These are the times you really earn your parent salary. You know the one that does not pay in cash. She's tough and she will end up liking it but not without going through some loneliness and pain. Right now it's difficult to watch. Particularly for me.

Deep Thoughts. Deep thoughts? Come on, I'm in Southern California.

I'm looking forward to my visit to Disneyland today. It's the only thing within walking distance.

Thanks for reading.