Electric Daisy Carnival

I felt that last night was a little bit too crazy not too share in its own post- the Electric Daisy Carnival most definitely lived up to the hype that I had been privvy to in the two or three weeks before it actually happened. Although I wasn't told too much, which is how I wanted it to be. All I knew was, I had to wear some ridiculously crazy clothes, there were going to be upwards of 150,000 people packed into this one night, and that I had to realize pretty much everyone and their mother would be completely drugged out. And yes, as I'm sure you're wondering, I was sober for the whole thing, so go me. But anyway, I took so many damn pictures and videos, so I think maybe I'll put some up here and then some on Facebook. You would not believe the madness that was EDC- I'm kind of tempted to attend this thing every year for the rest of my life.

With an 80 dollar price tag (and let's be honest, it's more like 150 once you add in the clothing, the water bottles, the food, everything) it's difficult to believe that your investment is going to pay off- but I'd say I'm definitely satisfied. As soon as we hit the ampitheatre (oh and by the way, traffic for this thing literally clogged LA's highways to the max, so going 15 miles took me about an hour and a half on Friday), it was clear just how many people were gathering- even the outside was packed waiting to get in. Outside was the only place that I had a picture of myself and my crazy get-up taken, so cross your fingers that the girl tags me in it and I can share. The general theme for EDC, as far as I can tell, is a throw-back to kindergarten with a heavy dose of sex appeal thrown in, as well as a small dash of anime and just plain weird. I was able to stomach the anime, since its appearance was mostly limited to Pokemon-style backpacks being toted around by bodybuilding 20-somethings. That really was the norm- and for the girls, usually it would be a tutu, a shit ton of bracelets (well, the bracelets were everyone, really), ponytails, way too much makeup, and a bra. As I'm sure you can tell, people-watching has never been better. I didn't even mind standing in line outside for half an hour, because I spent the whole time staring at this crazy L.A. underground that had crawled out from some undeniably skeazy basement. If you dressed normally, you were looked down upon- me, with my yellow-green tanktop, white skinny tie, plastic green visor, and neon paint-splotch belt...I think I may have been too conservative myself! P.S. At one point in the night, I was approached by a guy who told me that the reason I was wearing a tie was because I meant business. Another guy started stroking it and then gave me a very happy thumbs up.

But on to the main event. We got inside past the security checkpoints, and a huge group of us went to go on one of the carnival rides (oh yes, there were plenty of rides, not just raves)- it was a larger version of that Busch Gardens ride where they strap kids in horizontally to the gliders and then fly you around in a circle. They even had a roller coaster there...but it sucked, so I passed. By then it was already almost 4, and the main stage (there were several in all) was located inside the football stadium, and they closed the main floor off by 6, so we headed over there. Walking into that stadium was pretty damn awe-inspiring... and lucky for you all, I took video :) It's the first of the two links at bottom. And don't watch the second one yet.

So obviously there were a few people there. The guy doing his thing on stage was...well, I don't remember who that was. Actually I do- Afrojack. And in order for the rest of the night until 2 AM, it was Will.i.am, Laidback Luke, Benny Benassi (who I'd like to personally befriend just because he looks like a baller), Above & Beyond (really funny white guys, one of which reminds me of Stephen Merchant), and then finally Armin Van Buren. They each got an hour and a half, I think. One of the craziest things that happened occurred not too long after we got in- all of a sudden this dude Afrojack just up and goes "Ladies and gentlemen, say hello to Li'l John!" And I think it took a few seconds to sink in, but as soon as he went "Yeeeeeeeeaaaaaah!" the crowd went absolutely nuts. It was pretty tight to be in the presence of Mr. Crunk Cup himself, and the funniest part of his whole appearance was that for the rest of the night, his job was mainly to come back out on stage and start bitching out everyone who was leaping over the fences from the stadium bleachers to get down onto the stadium floor. And he got pissed, too, at first I thought he wasn't serious, but he scared the shit out of me, to be quite honest. But I'm sure he's a nice guy.

During the daylight hours, the scene was pretty relaxed, comparatively. And I say comparatively because as soon as the sun sank behind the stadium and real darkness hit for the first time, that stage went absolutely ballistic - even at the U2/Muse concert I don't think I've ever seen such a ridiculous light show. And that's saying something, seriously. Speaking of light shows, that's apparently one of the most popular activities- people would walk around wearing these gloves with neon lights on their fingertips, and they would give "light shows," which meant waving their hands crazily back and forth for the entertainment of everyone taking a time out on the ground. It sounds weird, but then realize that these people are on ecstasy or variants thereof- then it makes a lot more sense. But here's a look at what this place was like post-nightfall. (see second link)

The night as a whole once the sun went down is a bit of a blur- Will.i.am, to be blunt, sucked. Especially when he opened his mouth, and it pains me to say this, because I really believed he would be maybe one of the highlights of the night. But no, he wasn't really in tune with the whole rave atmosphere, and his heart didn't seem into it either. Maybe next time. Besides, it sounded like the reason he got in was pure nepotism- he went to primary school with the guy who organizes the whole thing. Laidback Luke, on the other hand, was ridiculously awesome. I believe that was when I really started to let go and release my inner raver- I don't think many people would have recognized me in that state. Maybe that's a good thing. But for so so long I have wanted to attend a real rave, and not one that Players put on for a charity night or whatever- and I wanted to take advantage of the fact that I was at the biggest one I would ever attend (probably).

There was really only one downside to the night, and that was the fact that at around 10:30 PM, I had to pee like crazy. By this time I had lost pretty much everyone in my group, so I had no wingmen to guard me while I peed in my empty water bottle, and even though I steeled myself up to, there was just no way in hell I could walk up to two random people and go "Hey man, do me a solid. Guard me while I pee." I'm not sure I would say yes, given that situation myself. There were no bathrooms whatsoever on the field, and once you left, you weren't allowed back in. I got so desperate that at one point I made sure no one was looking and shoved the bottle down my pants, figuring I could just do it that way. But it's really, really, really hard to pee when you're not actually sure that no one is looking at you, and I wasn't, really. Sure enough, some guy taps me on the shoulder with a worried expression and goes, "Hey man are you okay? You don't look like you're having fun." And although the words that came out of my mouth were "Yeah, I'm cool!" that vaguely translated into "I'm trying to pee, damn it!" And of course after that I just lost my nerve and decided to hold it. I lasted until about midnight, and by then I was ready to put aside my raving pride and go to the bleachers- after all, I had left it all on the field. I was pretty satisfied.

So the night was in decline after that, but I raved it hard for about five hours straight, and never took a break, so I'd say not bad. And I also bought a cheeseburger for 8 bucks. "8 bucks??" you say? I say, that was the best damn cheeseburger I had in my life, tin-foil wrapped masterpiece of mass consumerism that it was. It may have had something to do with the fact that I hadn't eaten since...oh, twelve hours before. Oh and this whole time I had a pretty bad cold, and I still do. Which leaves me the final amusing detail of the night. I wasn't entirely truthful when I said I wasn't on drugs. I totally snuck two packs of Dayquil past the security guards in my socks. What now? Who's badass now? What? Not me? Yeah, you're probably right.

All in all, it was an excellent night, and I'd 100 percent do it again. Just maybe not tonight. Hopefully I'll have those pictures and more videos up on Facebook soon.

All Settled In

Okay, so I have to apologize- I think this post is almost a week late. Which is a lot, considering I only post once a week. God I have a fair bit to talk about, so I'll just jump right in. The craziest thing that has happened in the interim by far was the night of the Lakers game. So it really wasn't a big deal for me- I'm not really a Kobe fan or a Lakers fan, and I was really rooting for the Celtics most of the series, them being the real underdog and all. Let's face it- Kobe's good, but he's not the Second Coming... it gets a little old. So anyway, the last game turns out to be a really good one, right? About five minutes to go, we all start talking about the possibility of a win, and then I realize- oh, shit. I'm literally just minutes away from the place all this is going down, and if they win, this city is going to go insane. Come the win, and me and three of my roommates are like- dude, we have to get there. We call a cab and race over to Figueora Street, as close as we can get to the Staples Center, and we get out. There are cops fucking everywhere. They aren't letting people anywhere near the main road, so we decide to loop all the way around for the scenic route and get there another way.

So we do, and all the while cars are screaming past with massive Lakers flags and people honking nonstop, yelling, et cetera. We're running through some pretty sketchy parts of downtown, some with lights...some without. But it was whatever, everyone was so psyched up that it was absolute impossible not to catch the disease, and I was shouting at every car that honked soon enough. We went from street to street, trying to get closer and closer, and finally we get to where it's within sight, but the police literally would not let anyone within a quarter mile of the stadium, so we contented ourselves with exploring the mobbed areas nearby. Now, I'll be honest here. Because the police were all over the place, it never got anywhere near as crowded in one place as the night of the Heels victory in the national championship, but for sheer craziness, I'm pretty sure the Lakers fans won hands down.

You may have read the stories about the rioting, but guys were literally jumping up and down on cars, breaking really random shit in the streets and using them as drums... one guy we came across said he was in an ESPN Zone and literally people smashed through the glass of the restaurant windows to get inside. And here's the most ridiculous thing we came across. I knew the moment I saw this girl what was going to go down. She was a fairly large woman, standing up through the moonroof of the car, and she's looking completely out of it. Like, horse tranquilizer out of it. So she's looking around, looking around, smiling, and then BAM, she pulls down her top and starts shaking her massive boobs. So of course that gets the crowd excited right? Apparently, because about three guys were so excited that they literally reached up and grabbed her boob. So she gets pulled back into the car, and I'm like- "Wow. I can't believe that actually just- oh, shit. She's back." She was up again, and sure enough, pulls her top down again, and a HORDE of really horny Latino guys crowd the car, all clamoring to get a piece of her. And when I say horde, I mean horde. Literally there were so many people around this car that it had to knock people out of the way to get out of the pack. No joke.

So that took the cake for crazy stuff. Otherwise, this post is going to be a little scatterbrained- I can't exactly remember what happened when two weeks ago, so I'll just give you the highlights. I've now been fortunate enough to go to two advance screenings- one, Haywire (which used to be called Knockout, if you want to IMDB it) is Steven Soderbergh's new film. He must have one hell of a need to make actresses out of non-actresses, because this marks his second large-scale effort recently to do so. He tried to make famous porn star Sasha Grey into a reputable star with his film the Girlfriend Experience, and now he has recruited an MMA fighter to star in this one. And yes, as I'm sure you're hypothesizing, she's absolutely awful. But she's the only thing gone wrong in a great film- there are supporting actors as varied as Ewan McGregor, Michael Douglas, and Michael Fassbender (who is ungodly as an actor). And the action scenes, of course, are absolute dynamite. So I was pretty conflicted, but if you ever see that movie on the shelves and you're itching for hard-hitting action, go for it.

The other film I got to see is premiering in September- it's called Easy A, with Emma Stone. Without a doubt, whoever you are, go see this movie. It's fantastic. The best comedy I've seen in a while- I won't give too many details, but let's just say that even Stanley Tucci shines. Literally, that's all I'm going to say, just go see it.

Anyway, in other news. I got to go to Ventura Beach this past weekend with my roommates as well. The funny thing was (oh, and as I told Amanda, I succeeded epically at not getting second-degree burns), the beach kind of sucked. It was packed full of driftwood and people, and the sand was so damn deep that it was impossible to do anything athletically enjoyable. But it was a good time anyway, most of it spent discussing filmic material. We also ran into some real beach bums, where I first heard the term "sponging" to refer to bodyboarding. Huh? But the great part was Ventura's downtown. We had no idea how to get there from the beach, but my roommate Ian needed to get his dad something for his birthday, so we decided to ask this woman in a car next to us. She goes "Oh, you...you turn right up here." Of course we were supposed to do the exact opposite, but we merrily drive in the wrong direction, unfairly goaded on by cruelly ambiguous street signs until we finally decide she's full of shit and pull a U-turn. But we get there and the place is really one of the nicest downtowns I've been to- it's also the place where I entered an American Apparel store for the very first time in my life.

I know, it doesn't sound all that epic, does it? But it is, it is! For this really terrible Art 554 (Imagining Otherness!) class I took this past year, I chose to do a paper on the founding father of American Apparel, the sketchiest skeazeball you will ever read about- Dov Charney. Yeah, he's the guy who is charged with five million sexual harassment claims, and who has maybe the most fucked up fashion sense I know. Literally, one of the pictures of a model wearing their clothes was a 20 year old guy wearing short shorts, a dazzlingly painful striped shirt, and a clearly glued on fake mustache. And he was working it hard, too. But I'll give this to them- they have created a T-shirt that is literally lighter than air. It's almost like gauze, and it's the thinnest, craziest, coolest fabric that I've ever tried on. It literally clung to my skin- I can't explain it, so if you ever get a chance, visit the store and throw one on. Ironically enough, that visit was followed the next day by a visit to the American Apparel factory store, a place that is surely sketchy enough to merit Dov Charney's ownership. I ended up buying a couple things for this Electronic Daisy Carnival that's coming up in a few days, so yeah, I could be a little hypocritical.

Tonight was pretty interesting- I got to go see my first film at the LA Film Festival, called the Wolf Knife. Very good independent film, by a girl whose background is in photography- it was "a road trip movie without the road," which I thought was a great idea. The best part was the fact that the director (who was also the writer and editor) and the two main actresses were there to do a Q & A about it afterward. This blew my mind a little bit, even though it was a small film and Q & A's are standard practice with almost every film in a festival, just because their portraits in the film were so raw and uncomfortably intimate that it was weird seeing the two of them standing up in front of the small theater. Very cool- and I threw in a question to the director at the end, since I had promised myself that I wouldn't leave until I had done so. It's too often I let myself just fade into the background and let everyone else do the talking.

I do have to hold a grudge against the LA Film Festival on other grounds though, because earlier in the week Dave, Ian, and I all went to get in line to see Edgar Wright, director of Hot Fuzz and Shaun of the Dead talk about his new film. We were there two and a half hours before the talk started, because we had to wait in the "rush line," since we didn't have tickets- they would let us know ten minutes before how many empty seats were left, and then take that many people out of the line. We were about ten people back from the front of the line. They took 3 people. Three. We waited close to three hours before they said that they weren't taking any more... the most annoying experience ever. It's a good thing we didn't try and wait in line for the Chris Nolan talk a few days earlier- it would have been pointless. Oh and apparently joining Edgar Wright was J.J. Abrams, so... there you go. One day when I'm rich and famous and you're attending my party I won't give either of you a goodie bag at the end of the night.

I think that's about it. Work has been pretty standard, I've been running back and forth a little more than I like, but I'm starting to really get along well with everyone at the office/"frat house" and I'm finally starting to cut my teeth on all of these scripts, which is what I'm really here for. Oh and my boss gave me a 50 dollar bottle of wine the other day... so that was nice. I'll keep you posted on further interesting details, but no, I haven't met Sam Jackson yet. Patience, my friends- patience.

One Allison Janney and Two Work Days Later.

It's becoming more and more clear to me just how lucky I am to have scored this internship pretty much on the say-so of a guy I talked to for a couple hours on the phone.

I started my job on Thursday with not a little bit of apprehension, driving up the 110 and the 101 (all these interstates and freeways in Los Angeles sound so timeless, but I don't know why) to Studio City, where CBS is located. I drive up to the gate and give my name, praying that this guy is going to tell me where to go. Sort of. He directs me to the parking garage, where the attendant has no idea where I'm supposed to go, but I tell him I'm supposed to be in the Art Department, apparently. So he gives me some directions, I park, and I'm off. It was a huge thrill just to be walking around inside of the lot of a major television studio. Now obviously star power on the lot is low, since it's summer time and not a whole lot is going on. But even so, there's a buzz of energy, and it was cool to be part of that.

I spent about half an hour wandering around before I got to Human Resources (after soliciting the help of a repairman, possibly an actor in this show called Defenders, and a gaggle of artistic types), spent the next hour and a half signing dull paperwork, then ended up with my very own brand new shiny CBS intern lanyard badge. I wore it for that whole first day, decked out in some very suave business clothes, and of course when I walk into the small Dare to Pass building dead center in the lot, I am greeted with the visage of my boss (who looks a lot like a slimmer Jonah Hill, curiously) and his boss, a Bulgarian badass who's worked there for 10 years and calls everyone "brother," decked out in jeans and casual button-downs. The first thing they said to me was that I was overdressed. Go figure.

But anyway, I got down to business, Jonah Hill (aka David Boorstein) briefed me on what I'd be doing: besides reading scripts on the weekends, I'm doing research for their upcoming projects. Sorry guys, but I unfortunately signed a non-disclosure agreement with the company, so I can't actually tell you what they are. But anyway, I get to sift through countless magazines and newspapers, looking for the cream of the crop. Also, I am currently tasked with finishing this book by Anthony Zuiker (creator of CSI and my ultimate boss) called Level 26, sub-titled "The first digi-novel," which means that you read a few chapters and log into this website to actually watch some of the story unfold, almost like webisodes. At 20 clips and 3 or 4 minutes each, the amount of video content is about as much as a television hour-long drama. Pretty cool, right? I'm on the fence as to whether or not the idea actually plays out.

Let's see, what else? Apparently upstairs in my building is the home base for a company owned by Samuel L. Jackson, and the day before I started he stopped in to check on things- ridiculous. If he just strolls in one day and says hi, I might have a heart attack. Should I make a Snakes on a Plane joke? It's a tough decision. Other than that, I have spotted one of the guys who created Land of the Lost, Marty Krofft. David jokingly threatened him (he's about 73) with a fake fireman's axe. This did not seem to phase Marty. I guess he's used to it?

I got to meet Anthony Zuiker briefly as well, very cool, considering that pretty much the first thing he said when he came in was, "CSI is officially the number 1 watched show in the entire world." And it's true, actually- apparently House was number 1 until just recently.

http://blog.zap2it.com/frominsidethebox/2010/06/csi-the-worlds-most-watched-show.html

So basically I work in a frat house with the creator of the most popular TV show in the entire world. See what I meant about beginning to realize how lucky I am right now? Apparently they were going to hire more interns, but right now it's only a female USC student on Monday through Wednesday and me for Thursday and Friday. If only I actually enjoyed the show, right? The ultimate irony. But it really doesn't matter much, since my task is entirely to focus on upcoming developments. I can only hope and pray that I do a decent job, because I think that how I do after I graduate depends entirely upon the say-so of these guys. No pressure!

I think I covered the most interesting stuff so far, but more soon. There's a whole shit ton of stuff coming up. E3, maybe the world's biggest video gaming conference (where Microsoft is showing off its brand new motion capture controls, for instance) is right next door, frustratingly, since I have to work in the world of games to get in. The LA Film Festival is coming up, which I can hopefully spring some tickets to. Also there's this thing called EDC, the Electronic Daisy Carnival, that my new roommates (who are all very cool, by the way) tuned me into. I can't even put this into words, just check it out for yourself. Needless to say, I'm going.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=63usjIwz9GY

On the Road (with Dane Cash)

So I'm finally here in Los Angeles, like I never thought I'd be. It's been a few days, I'm acclimating, I haven't yet been victim to death by L.A. traffic.... things are going well. A few weeks ago Dane and I decided to go on an epic road trip to get my car here. I drive a Prius, so all in all we managed to make it across the entire country in three days on maybe six tanks of ten gallons of gas. That's pretty damn good. But anyway.

We met up in Richmond to start things off (I had already been driving from Lake Gaston for a few hours before, so I was psyching myself up the whole time). Didn't really have much of a plan, just knew that we had to do it, and do it fast- we spent about fourteen or fifteen hours each day on the road, only short breaks for food or gas. Out of Richmond we took 64 to 81, and once we were on 81, we right in the middle of the Blue Ridge mountains, which was absolutely beautiful. I knew I had to appreciate the greenery, because as soon as we hit Arkansas, it was all gonna change. We sped along 81 through Bristol, then took off across Tennessee, picking up I-40, which we were going to get to know way, way, way too well. I-40 literally took us the entire way to California, and we left it about an hour or two before reaching our destination on the last night.

We made our first big city stop in Nashville, where we just wanted to get a simple bite to eat. We were like, "hey, this place is famous, right? they have to have some decent food, right?" Wrong. Never make a food pit stop in Nashville. Or a pit stop for anything other than some quick-fix cowboy boots. Or a hat. Because those two apparel items independently sustain the economy, I am convinced. Upon coming out of the parking garage, we were arrested with the sight of a strip club two feet away, with a friendly teaser video playing outside. This was located in "Printer's Alley." Sounds homey, right? No. If you're seeing a trend of my assumptions being bucked, you're right on track. So anyway, we hang a left into the city, look around, notice that the whole place is dead. It's a Sunday, and as Dane properly noted, Nashville was split half and half between churches and banks. We had arrived at the epicenter of unwholesome wholesomeness.

We get to the main drag where there's finally activity, but honest to God the only things open were tourist bars, and the touristy touristees were just streaming in and out with their boots and hats, and if they weren't, they were headed for the Chris Daughtry concert happening. You would have thought it was a Brooks and Dunn, Rascal Flatts (did I spell that right? I think I get bonus points if I didn't), but no. Daughtry. Another mindblowing realization, not in a good way. Dane thinks that Daughtry is pretty big and that the crowd was warranted, but I turn my nose up at Daughtry. You're too whiny. And your name is womanly. It's sounds like a futuristic factory for churning out plastic-perfect women. "Oh hey man, just headed to the Daughtry for my new Double-D Deluxe Damsel."

But on to lesser things: so after an hour of walking, and asking a girl tasked with the mind-numbing job of overseeing parking for the overrated aforementioned, we finally hit the best the city had to offer: a McDonalds. That's right. The one place that was open in the entire forsaken wasteland. Those of you who know me (and let's be honest, if you're reading this, you do) know my undying hatred for McDonalds and all that it stands for. But on this one occasion, I swallowed my pride and ate a chicken sandwich. My stomach hated me, I hated myself, but after seeing all that Nashville had to offer, I needed to eat, and I needed to leave. So we did. But not before I saw a news blurb on the thoughtfully placed television about a man killing his wife in Target and then committing suicide. What?

So that's it for Nashville. We made it to Memphis that night, right on the western border. And what a breath of fresh air. We paid way too much money to stay in a Sleep Inn that night, but when we threw our stuff in the room, we ended up out on the street again (it was like 1 in the morning, but what the hell, we wanted to see the place before saying goodbye in the morning). We walked over to Beale Street, because of course, we had no choice. That place is fucking lit up like a Christmas tree on fire. There were clubs lined up in an endless row, people hanging off balconies, cops everywhere. I was the ultimate drag of the night for Dane, seeing as I don't turn 21 until July, and you had to show your ID to even get onto the clubbed-out section of the street. I've never even seen anything like that before. I think if you took Memphis in one hand and Nashville in the other, and squashed your hands together, you'd have racial equality. Take note, Obama. I'm for real on this one.

So I decided to not climb up onto a balcony and dive into the crowd, and we went back to the hotel. Fast-forward, we're crossing the Mississippi River like heroes. Arkansas. What a waste of time. And space. And also uncomfortable to read while you're saying it in your mind. Just doesn't quite make sense. But it was nothing compared to its next-door neighbor. Oklahoma. Dane and I agreed that this was just the low point of the trip. Too many endless farms and not enough of anything else. But then we hit Texas in the late afternoon, and this is when it really hit me. I was driving across the entire country, doing something that was truly epic (and not like winning-at-Guitar-Hero-epic). When we entered Texas, we were crossing that point of no return. It was all or nothing, and unlike in Memphis where we could have been like "Fuck it." now we just had to push on to the end. Unfortunately Texas is also where I got pulled over for going 12 over. This is the best part though. He saunters up and says, in that undeniably Texan voice, "Texas State Patrol. The reason I pulled you over...was for your speeding." It wasn't because I was speeding. It was because of my speeding. The difference is negligible, but all-important. He goes on for another five minutes, and I finally have to ask him what speed I was actually going. Oh well. I guess they do things differently there. Also, did you know that in Texas they have a different speed limit for after the sundown? It's 65 instead of 70. And that makes a lot of sense. A lot. Dane and I experienced a true Texas storm, with hail-sized chunks of rain beating down on the car, and truly black sky in an otherwise beautiful day. Oh yeah, and I think up to this point we had seen no hitchhikers on I-40 this entire time. Isn't that kind of sad? Are the beatniks so thoroughly extinct as all that? We saw one in New Mexico, our next state.

New Mexico was great, for some reason it rode like a dream. I think I was getting my second wind or something, but I was feeling really good as we rolled into Albuquerque that night. Dane and I didn't play the eponymous song until the next day, but when we did, it felt oh so right. If you haven't heard it, go check it out. Weird Al. His best. We stayed at the stuccoed residence of Rachel, one of Dane's fraternity friends. It's like the Sleep Inn, but better, and with fulfilling conversation. I like it when I actually get to know someone instead of just saying hi and a few choice words. We rolled out the next morning, and I have to say, Albuquerque is beautiful. Although Rachel doesn't think so apparently. But that's okay, since she's moving to D.C. for the summer soon to do an internship. Who isn't?

So the next milestone was the one, the only stop that we had decided beforehand to make on the way. El Grande Canyon. Just pretend that what I just did was cool, and that I don't not know Spanish. It really was mindblowing though, and I'll have pictures up soon. We literally were about two feet from our doom, seeing as the main viewpoint near the entrance was closed, and the tourists were climbing down the side of the canyon onto a rock outcropping that was no wider than eight or ten feet, with no fence anywhere. It was terrifying vertigo, and I can't believe that I actually did it. But I'm glad that I did, and I hope you get a sense of how awesomely close to falling I was through the pictures. So we took that in for about half an hour... that's all you can do, but it's all you need to do. It's ten miles wide and probably more than a mile deep, and I know that doesn't seem like a lot, but holy fuck is it massive when it's literally just cut straight down into the ground. Go see it someday. Really. No matter how big your penis is, you'll go away feeling small. And if you don't have one, I promise, it's still worth it.

So it was the afternoon of the last day, and we were in the final stretch. It was such a huge payoff (I've got to stop saying huge, but...it was) when we crossed the California state line. Dane fired up a playlist he had prepared specially for the occasion and we rolled down the windows getting blasted by the wind and not caring. When we exhausted that, it was straight U2 for the rest of the ride, and it was absolutely perfect. We experienced the most desolate desert of the trip in California, and although it was nearing night when we did, still a very cool experience. There were places where humanity still hadn't set foot, something that was really comforting after seeing so many urban sprawls, which Dane and I decided would very depressingly cover large portions of the country in the distant future, even entire states. As long as there are places like that desert though, there's still hope.

So we burst through the Cajon Pass (yeah, like "balls" in Spanish) in the mountains, and laid out before was a show of lights, which Dane informed me was called the Inland Empire, everything reaching out past Los Angeles. We were out of the desert and into the real deal. From then on it was agony, really, so close to our destination, and when we finally pulled up to Dane's brother's house, it was blissful relief. I finally got to sit in a chair that wasn't moving. Dane's brother took us out to the beach to experience what we had come so far to see, that massive, overwhelmingly huge (I know, I said it again) ocean. We stuck our feet in and the road trip was done, right then and there. There's no question in my mind that it was so worth it, and if any of you have the chance to, grab your best friend and just go. It was a beast, but if it hadn't been difficult, it wouldn't have felt like one of the best things I've done in my entire life. Things are too easy these days, in some ways. It was nice, for once, to do things the old fashioned way and go on the road.

Oh and thanks Dane.