Driving In LA
Chapter 1 - Oregon
People don't want to allow me to be dark. That's why I hide from them now. Of course, I do run into them now and then, and they keep trying to help me. They keep telling me I should be happy. And I think, well maybe, but there's all of these other things I need to think about. You know, like rapes, prostitution, or the ever recurring infant nightmares of 'the moth', and I think, well how am I supposed to be happy all the time, when I've got all this other stuff to think about.
You know, like jumping out of cars I'm riding in with some depressing guy, sitting shotgun, smoking a cigarette, and drinking coffee in a to go cup, while we're going really fast on the freeway, so I'd be sure to die, because I'd be so mangled by all of the other cars on the freeway that my body would just bounce all over the place. I mean, you'd hardly be able to even recognize me, or even be able to figure out who the hell I was, if it wasn't for the guy driving the car, or maybe my dental records.
There's a lot of cars in LA. I mean, there's hardly any time of day now when there aren't a lot of cars. I remember when I first moved here there weren't half as many cars as there are now.
You know what's so funny? I didn't even know how to drive when I first moved here. I swear to God. I took the bus everywhere for the first ten goddam months I was here. But I was good at it. I'd taken the bus for the past five years in Oregon, so it wasn't such a big deal, because I was used to it. I used to go everywhere on the bus in Oregon, when I wasn't walking. You do a lot of walking in Oregon. Well, at least I did anyway.
And I was always very busy in those days because I had a career in mind, a career ahead of me, so I worked really hard and moved as fast as I could. Even if I was riding on the goddam bus, the slowest transportation on earth, other than 'the mule' for crissakes, at least I was moving. But what I finally figured out was that I just had to get the hell out of there. I was just sick of the whole thing.
I was sick of the down vest and the down parkas, and the Oregon Ducks, and being from Beaverton, and everyone wearing tennis shoes all of the time. And even though Nikes did originate right there in Beaverton, it just didn't seem natural that everyone had to wear them every single day of their lives. It just didn't seem right. And the people who lived there, to me it seemed, just had no ideas. They just didn't want to go anywhere. And this was an anomaly to me. I wanted to live and grow and travel, and it seemed to me that all of these people just wanted to live and thrive on the quality if their barbecues and their lawn mowers, and that they would be perfectly happy to have a heart seizure in their stupid Nikes or whatever while turning a couple of salmon steaks on the grill in front of the kids. I mean, what is that, and how is that any way to live, you know?
People don't want to allow me to be dark. That's why I hide from them now. Of course, I do run into them now and then, and they keep trying to help me. They keep telling me I should be happy. And I think, well maybe, but there's all of these other things I need to think about. You know, like rapes, prostitution, or the ever recurring infant nightmares of 'the moth', and I think, well how am I supposed to be happy all the time, when I've got all this other stuff to think about.
You know, like jumping out of cars I'm riding in with some depressing guy, sitting shotgun, smoking a cigarette, and drinking coffee in a to go cup, while we're going really fast on the freeway, so I'd be sure to die, because I'd be so mangled by all of the other cars on the freeway that my body would just bounce all over the place. I mean, you'd hardly be able to even recognize me, or even be able to figure out who the hell I was, if it wasn't for the guy driving the car, or maybe my dental records.
There's a lot of cars in LA. I mean, there's hardly any time of day now when there aren't a lot of cars. I remember when I first moved here there weren't half as many cars as there are now.
You know what's so funny? I didn't even know how to drive when I first moved here. I swear to God. I took the bus everywhere for the first ten goddam months I was here. But I was good at it. I'd taken the bus for the past five years in Oregon, so it wasn't such a big deal, because I was used to it. I used to go everywhere on the bus in Oregon, when I wasn't walking. You do a lot of walking in Oregon. Well, at least I did anyway.
And I was always very busy in those days because I had a career in mind, a career ahead of me, so I worked really hard and moved as fast as I could. Even if I was riding on the goddam bus, the slowest transportation on earth, other than 'the mule' for crissakes, at least I was moving. But what I finally figured out was that I just had to get the hell out of there. I was just sick of the whole thing.
I was sick of the down vest and the down parkas, and the Oregon Ducks, and being from Beaverton, and everyone wearing tennis shoes all of the time. And even though Nikes did originate right there in Beaverton, it just didn't seem natural that everyone had to wear them every single day of their lives. It just didn't seem right. And the people who lived there, to me it seemed, just had no ideas. They just didn't want to go anywhere. And this was an anomaly to me. I wanted to live and grow and travel, and it seemed to me that all of these people just wanted to live and thrive on the quality if their barbecues and their lawn mowers, and that they would be perfectly happy to have a heart seizure in their stupid Nikes or whatever while turning a couple of salmon steaks on the grill in front of the kids. I mean, what is that, and how is that any way to live, you know?
