California part 1/ Two bottles may have been two many

Leaving California. That same old sunset feeling. Where I wish I could stay forever but at the same time wanting so badly to live in that suffocating sense of nostalgia I feel when leaving.

By 17 I had romanticized Southern California to an almost unattainable standard. Like that super hot chick in high school that didn't even know you existed. You put her and the concept of her on such a pedestal that if anyone actually could read your thoughts they would conclude you are certainly deranged. That moment when you actually "talk" to her and it feels and sounds like you're underwater, and at just a moment too late the cold reality is she's just asking you for a pen or letting you know you're in her assigned seat.


How unbelievably de-moralizingly similar was my first "chat" with California.


I joined a band in my remaining months of high school and promptly started booking a west coast tour all the way to my own personal (alleged) heaven. We made our way zig zagging down the coast playing every burrito restaurant with a guitar amp as a PA, I know this doesn't sound real but I assure you my friends it is all very real, and dive bar paying $50 worth of  pizza and beer. I was hooked. This, was the life I had literally dreamed of and I hadn't even made it to California yet.

I remember at a breakneck speed barrelling through the night across Oregon just to cross that border of my promised land by morning. Through my bloodshot eyes and already aching then 18 year old bones I had made it just as the sun was coming up...



To be continued...