During our weekend trip to The OC (er, Orange County, California), we discovered that driving from Laguna Beach to Los Angeles wasn’t that difficult, thanks to some simple directions provided by Chel’s good friend, former roommate and current Angelino, Kristin:
“You basically just take the 405 N, to the 605 N, to the 5 N, to the 101 N…”
I was a little nervous about driving in LA traffic, given horror stories I had heard and the very epic nature of the roads themselves. After all, where else in the world do people put “the” in front of highway numbers? That little definite article somehow makes the roads more important…more worthy of me keeping my hands posted at 10 and 2 throughout the harrowing trip.
So I did just that, and with nary a glance at the radio or Chelsea or a billboard or my phone, we made it in one piece to see Kristin and her boyfriend Danny. They quickly became my heroes, because they took us to Universal Studios. For some strange reason, it’s been a lifelong dream of mine to go there. Kathryn promised when I was a little boy to take me there for the studio tour, but alas, we never made it.
But that’s ok, Kath. Now that I’m all grown up I came to see that it’s only a big expensive tourist trap like Six Flags, just with a movie theme. So all is forgiven!
While strolling around Universal, we came upon a street performer who was wrapping up his evening. He stopped packing up his equipment to share a few encouraging words with us about appreciating who we are and how we’re each unique. “And I don’t need anything,” he said. “Except a TV show and a CD contract, that would be nice!”
“No kidding, I’d like those too!” responded Kristin.
And the cool thing about LA, evident even during our brief time there, is the feeling of possibility. That TV show and CD might really come along for the performer, or for Kristin. Great cities like LA, New York and DC each have that kind of special energy. To be the best in business, you gotta be in New York. In politics, DC. And in entertainment, LA.
But for folks who can’t sing or get on TV like Chel and me, Laguna Beach was more our speed. We stayed Thursday and Friday night at a little hotel called the By the Sea Inn. The rooms were recently renovated and the staff was very nice, but the Most Valuable Player of that place has to be the photographer and whoever wrote the copy for their brochure and website.
When they said it was “steps from the beach,” we were thinking maybe 15 or 20 steps, tops. Instead, there was a whole neighborhood between our room and the sand. And when they told us our room would have an ocean view, we imagined a giant panoramic window with crystal blue water out to infinity. Instead, you had to step out on the balcony off the bathroom and squint really hard through the palm trees and rooftops, and then you could somewhat see a little square worth of ocean.
I ain’t complaining, though — it was a great hotel, and there is really nothing worth complaining about while you’re that close to the ocean. Indeed, life is just a little calmer, a little less stressful, when you’re wearing swim suits and flip flops and carrying beach towels and sunscreen.
But after a couple of restful days near the ocean, it’s always nice to be back home. When the plane landed, we couldn’t wait to get back on the 183 to the 35 to the 30. Back to what will always be The True OC to us — Oak Cliff, Dallas, Texas.
(Oh, and scratch those definite articles before our highway numbers. It just doesn’t fit down here.)
