Crash Into Me
The first sound I heard this morning was the sickening, metallic thud of two cars crashing into one another. I rose from my bed, pulled back the drapes, and looked down. Sure enough, Fourth Street was backed up behind two crumpled SUVs. Aaaaaah, California.
Just now, as I drove west from Hollywood some seventeen hours later, a crimson harvest moon hung low over Santa Monica. It was huge, and beautiful, and floating just above the intersection of PCH and The 10.
The day in between was challenging, and fun, and long. I shaved, and wore a sport coat and dress shoes, and shook hands, and took meetings, and played corporate. I found out that I took fifth in the mountain bike division of the Malibu Triathlon, I talked up Q1 ’05, I talked up my music, and listened to my colleagues talk about their lives. I caught up with an old friend and his wife, and then drove the long, lonely freeway back to my hotel.
At the end of the day, all I can think about is the last line of the credits of “I Heart Huckabees” (which I saw on Friday and loved): When are you not being you?
When am I not being me?