Hey! Here to tell you how the trip to Santa Cruz went! How can I express my feelings on such a momentous event?
Oh! I know! It FUCKING SUCKED.
Part of it was my fault. I got wrapped up in playing Demon’s Souls the night before and stayed up for far too long. I didn’t go to bed until about 7:00 or 8:00. I thought that three hours would be enough to keep me going for the day, while also leaving enough time to get some decent sun at the beach, so I set my alarm for 11:00. However, I slept through that alarm and didn’t get my ass out of bed until 12:15. After showering up and driving to Tanya’s, it was 1:00.
“Okay,” I thought, “it’s a two-hour drive. If we get there by 3:00, we’ll still have four or five hours of hot sun to enjoy on the beach.”
So I gathered all the crap we packed for the trip, threw Tanya into the car, and hauled ass onto the freeway. An hour later, we hit a throbbing tumor of traffic and crawled most of the way. It was a stressful, painful crawl, and my lack of sleep didn’t help matters any.
We didn’t make it into Santa Cruz until 5:00.
After fighting our way into an overpriced parking space, Tanya and I hit the crowded, smelly bathrooms, and then waddled, weakly, to the beach.
That’s when the clouds rolled in.
Yes, Tanya and I enjoyed a cold, windy afternoon at the beach, huddling close together to keep warm.
Eventually we accepted that it was simply too cold to remain on the beach, and we got up to get some food. The Boardwalk was packed, so we wormed through the crowds until we found a place that served clam chowder. Hot, creamy clam chowder, served in a sourdough bread bowl.
I have to say that eating that clam chowder was the best thing I did all week. After that tense, frustrating work week, that miserable drive, and the beastly wind on the beach, that soup was the most magic of all magic bullets. It warmed me, and it stuck with me all day. I didn’t have to eat anything else.
It’s too bad we were surrounded by screaming, misbehaving kids.
Seriously, why the fuck do people bring fucking babies and toddlers to places like this? Do they think the tots are going to retain warm, glowing memories of their trip? I can’t remember anything earlier than when I was five years old; what the fuck are these parents thinking? Judging from what I saw yesterday, the only memories these kids are bringing home is of weeping madly and wiping snot from their noses. Listen up, you inconsiderate “good parents:” keep your kids at home until they’re six or seven! Show them the world any sooner than that, and they're not going to appreciate it!
Tanya and I wandered a bit, looked at some store, bought some souvenirs, and generally tried to make the best of a bad situation. When we finally agreed that we’d had enough, we limped back to the parking lot and hit the road home.
And then stopped. Once again, the freeways were frozen.
There were times on that drive home that I honestly felt like giving up. I just wanted to stop concentrating on the winding roads and the fucking traffic, and let my poor, tired soul go to sleep. Obviously, this was no kind of solution, so I put that idea to bed instead.
After another four hours, Tanya and I pulled into her driveway, bringing our long, waking nightmare to an end.
That’s a peaceful, suburban nightmare, naturally. I wouldn’t know anything about the kinds of horrors that people are enduring in Libya or Afghanistan right now, but considering that I have a choice in how I spend my precious weekends, it was pretty horrible.
What the hell happened? All I wanted was to lie on a beach, take in the sun, and eat Doritos. Even with all the stress and effort, I couldn’t get that. I’m having a more enjoyable time typing this in my stuffy, one-bedroom apartment today than during any given moment from my trip yesterday. Why didn’t I just stay home? I would have been happy, and for twice as long.
This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this sort of disillusionment. It seems like every attempt I make at realizing a quixotic adventure ends in disaster. The sunny beaches, the open roads, the girls holding beer bottles in the bars - all the shit on TV that represents “the good and interesting life,” is little more than a travesty. Like the people forced into tent cities through zealous money-borrowing, I have fallen prey to the illusions of Cache Creek, Anheuser-Busch, and Oprah. That exciting life, that life of the rich and powerful, that life which seems just at fingertip’s reach, isn’t worth the price that must be paid for it.
The good news is that I didn't overspend on this trip, and that means that I'm still a free man, and that means I’m free to make mistakes and learn from them. Well, I certainly learned something from this. Fuck you, Santa Cruz; advertising makes you out to be a paradise, but it’s also exactly what turned you into hell.
Oh! I know! It FUCKING SUCKED.
Part of it was my fault. I got wrapped up in playing Demon’s Souls the night before and stayed up for far too long. I didn’t go to bed until about 7:00 or 8:00. I thought that three hours would be enough to keep me going for the day, while also leaving enough time to get some decent sun at the beach, so I set my alarm for 11:00. However, I slept through that alarm and didn’t get my ass out of bed until 12:15. After showering up and driving to Tanya’s, it was 1:00.
“Okay,” I thought, “it’s a two-hour drive. If we get there by 3:00, we’ll still have four or five hours of hot sun to enjoy on the beach.”
So I gathered all the crap we packed for the trip, threw Tanya into the car, and hauled ass onto the freeway. An hour later, we hit a throbbing tumor of traffic and crawled most of the way. It was a stressful, painful crawl, and my lack of sleep didn’t help matters any.
We didn’t make it into Santa Cruz until 5:00.
 |
| The beauty of Santa Cruz |
After fighting our way into an overpriced parking space, Tanya and I hit the crowded, smelly bathrooms, and then waddled, weakly, to the beach.
That’s when the clouds rolled in.
Yes, Tanya and I enjoyed a cold, windy afternoon at the beach, huddling close together to keep warm.
Eventually we accepted that it was simply too cold to remain on the beach, and we got up to get some food. The Boardwalk was packed, so we wormed through the crowds until we found a place that served clam chowder. Hot, creamy clam chowder, served in a sourdough bread bowl.
I have to say that eating that clam chowder was the best thing I did all week. After that tense, frustrating work week, that miserable drive, and the beastly wind on the beach, that soup was the most magic of all magic bullets. It warmed me, and it stuck with me all day. I didn’t have to eat anything else.
It’s too bad we were surrounded by screaming, misbehaving kids.
Seriously, why the fuck do people bring fucking babies and toddlers to places like this? Do they think the tots are going to retain warm, glowing memories of their trip? I can’t remember anything earlier than when I was five years old; what the fuck are these parents thinking? Judging from what I saw yesterday, the only memories these kids are bringing home is of weeping madly and wiping snot from their noses. Listen up, you inconsiderate “good parents:” keep your kids at home until they’re six or seven! Show them the world any sooner than that, and they're not going to appreciate it!
 |
| The beauty of Santa Cruz |
Tanya and I wandered a bit, looked at some store, bought some souvenirs, and generally tried to make the best of a bad situation. When we finally agreed that we’d had enough, we limped back to the parking lot and hit the road home.
And then stopped. Once again, the freeways were frozen.
There were times on that drive home that I honestly felt like giving up. I just wanted to stop concentrating on the winding roads and the fucking traffic, and let my poor, tired soul go to sleep. Obviously, this was no kind of solution, so I put that idea to bed instead.
After another four hours, Tanya and I pulled into her driveway, bringing our long, waking nightmare to an end.
That’s a peaceful, suburban nightmare, naturally. I wouldn’t know anything about the kinds of horrors that people are enduring in Libya or Afghanistan right now, but considering that I have a choice in how I spend my precious weekends, it was pretty horrible.
What the hell happened? All I wanted was to lie on a beach, take in the sun, and eat Doritos. Even with all the stress and effort, I couldn’t get that. I’m having a more enjoyable time typing this in my stuffy, one-bedroom apartment today than during any given moment from my trip yesterday. Why didn’t I just stay home? I would have been happy, and for twice as long.
This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this sort of disillusionment. It seems like every attempt I make at realizing a quixotic adventure ends in disaster. The sunny beaches, the open roads, the girls holding beer bottles in the bars - all the shit on TV that represents “the good and interesting life,” is little more than a travesty. Like the people forced into tent cities through zealous money-borrowing, I have fallen prey to the illusions of Cache Creek, Anheuser-Busch, and Oprah. That exciting life, that life of the rich and powerful, that life which seems just at fingertip’s reach, isn’t worth the price that must be paid for it.
The good news is that I didn't overspend on this trip, and that means that I'm still a free man, and that means I’m free to make mistakes and learn from them. Well, I certainly learned something from this. Fuck you, Santa Cruz; advertising makes you out to be a paradise, but it’s also exactly what turned you into hell.
