Moonlight On A Fog-Filled Valley
Departed EWR Saturday 8am ET. Slept through taxi and takeoff. Touched down at LAX Saturday 11am PT. Went to lunch, then took a beautiful hike through Topanga Canyon to Eagle Rock.
We hadn’t summited five minutes when we heard a commotion, and ran to find a woman with a broken ankle cradled in her husband’s arms. We helped out until the ‘copter arrived — I kid you not — and choppered her out. Walking home underneath the full moon, the valley filled with fog off the Pacific, I felt half-a-world away from New York. And better for the distance.
Spent Sunday at the Mondrian — such a scene — reading the paper at watching the punks and the starletts there. The view looking out over L.A. was 100% Spinal Tap (as were the patrons). Ran along Santa Monica Boulevard from Hollywood, past the Troubador (where Hothouse Flowers was sound checking), into Beverly Hills, then home along Carmelita Avenue. I was visited by a song idea there (“Carmelita, think it over / will you come out with me tonight / I’ve been waiting by the corner / In the faded evening light”), which I tried to hold onto the entire run home. Once reunited with my guitar, however, I lost interest (my guitar’s out of tune, and I have no tuner, so it’s no fun to play). It’s still in my head, though, so don’t fret.
Went to “Punch Drunk Love” for the second time (brilliant film — see it).
So now I’m looking out the window here at the MTV Santa Monica, Colorado Avenue bathed in half-light. Many in the department are preparing for the “Jackass” premiere shoot later tonight, but I’m preparing for a quiet night at the Hotel Oceana, there on Ocean Boulevard overlooking the Pacific.
And maybe that’s why I’ll never be Ryan Adams or John Mayer or whomever. I’m not really into the scene. In fact, I rather loathe it. Gimme’ moonlight on a fog-filled-valley anytime.