Today I leave for Los Angeles, California, something I’ve been threatening to do for about six years now. I meant to leave last year almost immediately after graduating from college, but life has a way of intervening with even the rashest of decisions. I don’t regret waiting around another year. It was worth it in many respects, as I have some very fond memories from the time and it gave me a chance to grow up a little bit in the process. Benjamin Franklin once quoted, and I paraphrase, “Young men have to follow their dreams before they’re twenty-two or their fires will cool.” Mr. Franklin was right—in that year’s interim, I did lose a lot of the gusto propelling me towards California in the first place, my devil may care attitude giving way to me being content with working a shitty monkey desk job involving little to no actual skill, and then coming home, hoping to die in my sleep so I didn’t have to go back to work the next day. But guess what? Ben Franklin had syphilis. He couldn’t have gotten it from a toilet seat, because they didn’t believe in those back in the 1300s or whenever because Cesar wouldn’t let slaves vote. Through deductive reasoning, we can conclude Ben Franklin was a man whore. So why would I listen to him and his mouthful of sores?
The trip was delayed until May in this year of our Lord, 2008. That’s when the lease was up on my swank West Des Moines apartment. After quitting my shitty monkey desk job and bidding farewell to my awesome apartment, it was time to pack up and head out west like a migrating swallow. Well, then that trip got delayed because my good friend Jay was getting married in July and it didn’t seem plausible to drive to California where I have no job or housing waiting for me, only to spend money to fly back home for the wedding only to fly back out to California where no job or housing waited for me. So I delayed the trip again until after the wedding, believing that without doing anything, a job and housing would be waiting for me, along with a supermodel girlfriend, a key to the city, and a rocket ship made entirely of gold. Ironically enough, Jay’s wedding itself was delayed from a previous date, in turn delaying my exodus. Isn’t the universe funny? Somehow, I bet we stopped it from imploding on its self, though. Go us, Jay. Go America.
But the delays didn’t end there. The Dark Knight came out two weeks after the wedding, and since I’d thought of nothing but The Dark Knight for the previous two weeks (and wouldn’t stop thinking of anything but The Dark Knight until two weeks after its release), there was no way in hell I was going to be a stranger in a strange land watching what very well could be the best movie of the year. And now that time has passed, we know this to be true.
Which brings us to the present. About six weeks from the previously scheduled leave date, I have left. A little later than expected, but that’s okay--I was born six weeks early, so I’m just about right on schedule.
There are a lot of uncertainties waiting in California. No job, no place to stay--only prospects--and outside of a few people I know from stunt school and college, none of my family or best friends will be there to welcome me with open arms and shield me from the smog, the LA Freeway, and random stabbings. You don’t realize how important these people are as to you until you have to give them up. And since those are the same people that will take the time to slog through this blog, I’d just like to say, “Thank you, everybody. You’re the best.” [Note: Mom, please read this part out loud to Forehead (my cat). Or at least pull it up on the computer so she can read it herself. Not that she needs to—she already knows].
I’m not even sure if my ’93 Cougar is going to make the almost 2,000 mile trip. But I’m not scared. I was leading up to today. But now that it’s here, I guess it’s time to buckle down (allusion to a story about the open road? Maybe?), roll the dice (Las Vegas reference? Could be.), and show your cards (another Vegas reference? Now you’re just being lazy. True).
So here we go. The car is packed. The stage it set for an adventure I’d like to call—
CUT TO BLACK:
TITLE CARD:
RUNNIN’ DOWN A DREAM
CUT TO BLACK:
OPENING CREDITS
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Viceroy Fizzlebottom
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About Me
- Viceroy Fizzlebottom
- Los Angeles, California
- Jay: The movie of your life story can start with a weird small half-Asian child with a bad moustache walking into a Haunted Forest with his overly Jewish father. Clearly the movie would have that strange sepia color tone that all childhood flashbacks must have. He would then call you a chicken shit and everyone would point and laugh. Then star swipe, transition to you sitting on a toilet crying, eating rice on Hannukah. The movie would end when you come back from Los Angeles to confront your alcoholic farming family and step in a big pile of chicken shit....just before launching a rocket into your childhood home. Symbolism.
1 comment:
Wait just a damn minute...you have a cat named Forehead? First off, I'm glad that you were able to balance you being born six weeks early with leaving six weeks late. I'm not sure mathematically if you can do that, but if you can, we all should. Second off, I'm glad your writing a blog because you'll actually update it unlike my bull-dike of a brother. Third off, I'd be weary of listening to any of the advice from our revolutionary era heroes. Fourth off, in order to leave this comment I have to fill out a "word verification." I think the word I need to verify is oplwor. That is not a word. They should say, "Random character verification." Fifth off, when you eventually get kidnapped for defaulting on payment to your pimp out there in LA, does that mean Dallas and I get to bust you out of an abandoned apartment building? Sixth off, and most important, have you met Ving Rhames yet? Seventh off, Go America.
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