Go west, then south, young man
Palm trees. The 405. Porn auditions.
Goodbye, Santa Cruz. Hello, Los Angeles/Orange County.
That’s right. I’ve moved to Southern California — Huntington Beach to be exact. Right now I’m listening to the smooth, funky, Latin jazz of KKJZ at my “aunt’s” house, sipping a White Russian, and writing this blog post. I haven’t written in a while, and feel a little tipsy at the moment, so I wanted to sit at my computer and hammer out a piece for your online viewing pleasure.
Speaking of online viewing pleasure, check out the adult gigs listing on Craigslist in Orange County. If you ever find yourself looking at online porn (and I know you do) and wonder where they get all those gullible, desperate, 20-something women to be defiled for your delight, here’s your answer. I know what else you wonder, too: “Why does Casey look at the adult gigs section on Craigslist?” I’ll tell you. I’m gullible, desperate, and a 20-something man.
After spending two weeks in Iowa City for the holidays, I flew back to San Jose, packed my belongs in my car, and headed south down Highway 101 on Friday. I left my cousin’s house in Los Gatos at 6:09 am and arrived at my uncle’s townhouse in Huntington Beach around 1 pm. It was a beautiful and rugged trip. I passed artichoke and spinach fields near Salinas, saw grazing cattle teeter on the steep hills north of Santa Barbara, and navigated thickening traffic through “The Valley.” It was an awesome drive, but hard on my ass and right leg. After four hundred miles of being bent your knee becomes angry and stiff. My car and I made it in one piece, though. I’ll be living with my “aunt” for a while (she’s my “aunt” because she’s committed but not married to my uncle).
Already I can tell my new home is nothing like Santa Cruz and Northern California. For one, the Los Angeles and Orange County area is part of a megalopolis. About 24 million people live between San Diego and Santa Barbara — 18 million live around Los Angeles, and I’m now one of them. The weather is warmer, and the nearby mountains are topped with snow. Although there are bike lanes on the streets, the way to get around is by car. Everything is built with commuters and their cars in mind.
Last night, while riding in my uncle’s car, I took in the scene on the freeway: Five lanes of traffic going both directions; a stream of red and white lights snaked through connecting cities. I wondered where everyone was going, what everyone was doing. It’s one of my common quandaries. Once again the logistics of life and humanity astonished and overwhelmed my imagination.
One thing I’ve learned from my California adventure, from moving halfway across the country, is how vast and enormous the Earth is. Yet, despite the great distances, the diversity in culture and topography, I was reminded of how it's a much smaller world than we think. While attending a motorcycle expo at the LA County Fairplex with my “aunt” and uncle (that experience could be a post by itself) I saw someone wearing a shirt from the Harley-Davidson dealership in Dubuque. My uncle pointed to him and said, “There's someone from Iowa.”
“They’re everywhere,” I said. “Iowa’s everywhere.”
Goodbye, Santa Cruz. Hello, Los Angeles/Orange County.
That’s right. I’ve moved to Southern California — Huntington Beach to be exact. Right now I’m listening to the smooth, funky, Latin jazz of KKJZ at my “aunt’s” house, sipping a White Russian, and writing this blog post. I haven’t written in a while, and feel a little tipsy at the moment, so I wanted to sit at my computer and hammer out a piece for your online viewing pleasure.
Speaking of online viewing pleasure, check out the adult gigs listing on Craigslist in Orange County. If you ever find yourself looking at online porn (and I know you do) and wonder where they get all those gullible, desperate, 20-something women to be defiled for your delight, here’s your answer. I know what else you wonder, too: “Why does Casey look at the adult gigs section on Craigslist?” I’ll tell you. I’m gullible, desperate, and a 20-something man.
After spending two weeks in Iowa City for the holidays, I flew back to San Jose, packed my belongs in my car, and headed south down Highway 101 on Friday. I left my cousin’s house in Los Gatos at 6:09 am and arrived at my uncle’s townhouse in Huntington Beach around 1 pm. It was a beautiful and rugged trip. I passed artichoke and spinach fields near Salinas, saw grazing cattle teeter on the steep hills north of Santa Barbara, and navigated thickening traffic through “The Valley.” It was an awesome drive, but hard on my ass and right leg. After four hundred miles of being bent your knee becomes angry and stiff. My car and I made it in one piece, though. I’ll be living with my “aunt” for a while (she’s my “aunt” because she’s committed but not married to my uncle).
Already I can tell my new home is nothing like Santa Cruz and Northern California. For one, the Los Angeles and Orange County area is part of a megalopolis. About 24 million people live between San Diego and Santa Barbara — 18 million live around Los Angeles, and I’m now one of them. The weather is warmer, and the nearby mountains are topped with snow. Although there are bike lanes on the streets, the way to get around is by car. Everything is built with commuters and their cars in mind.
Last night, while riding in my uncle’s car, I took in the scene on the freeway: Five lanes of traffic going both directions; a stream of red and white lights snaked through connecting cities. I wondered where everyone was going, what everyone was doing. It’s one of my common quandaries. Once again the logistics of life and humanity astonished and overwhelmed my imagination.
One thing I’ve learned from my California adventure, from moving halfway across the country, is how vast and enormous the Earth is. Yet, despite the great distances, the diversity in culture and topography, I was reminded of how it's a much smaller world than we think. While attending a motorcycle expo at the LA County Fairplex with my “aunt” and uncle (that experience could be a post by itself) I saw someone wearing a shirt from the Harley-Davidson dealership in Dubuque. My uncle pointed to him and said, “There's someone from Iowa.”
“They’re everywhere,” I said. “Iowa’s everywhere.”
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