esstwokay

I'm back from LA. Have been since the 9th, but I've been way busy. I'll just say it's good to be back in the city...

I flew into SFO from LAX at 6 AM yesterday. San Francisco is like New York City if it were built on rolling hills. I swear I must have burned up 20 lbs. of calories while trekking about in the city. Revelation: there are no fat people in SF. More to come when my pictures are developed (yes, you heard right... it's because my digital camera is broken.)

Later that night, Leif, two of his Google-friends and I went to Popscene, "SF's premier indie venue," and listened to the band VHS or Beta. Despite their excellent name, they sucked, so we left halfway through the show and ate at In 'N Out instead. In N' Out is the best burger chain ever, btw.

Since I signed an NDA with Google upon visiting, I don't think I can say much. I ate Google food (gfood), rode a Google bike (gbike?), listened to a Google talk (gtalk?) and used a Google bathroom (gtoilet?). I really want to work there now. Also, they have a plastic ball playpen (like at McDonalds!), a pool table, and all the free Naked Juice, cappucino, and Ben & Jerry's ice cream that you could want.

I decided to give it a shot and I went to Pinkberry yesterday afternoon to sample their ice cream. It's hard to describe but it tastes kinda yogurt-y, but more flavorful. It's actually quite good.

The day before, I did things I was considering posting, but now I forgot. Night bike riding is awesome, if you've got the proper (illumination) gear.

The best place to be a bum, I have concluded, is along Venice beach in LA. The bums here have it made. Not only do they have a fantastic view of the shore, it hardly rains, and many of them have lounge chairs and bicycles. I kid you not. I'll provide pictures from my cell phone the next time I get a chance. I see bums all over Venice beach as I ride my bike to work. Some bums here even have pets!

Also interesting to note, there are a few shady characters who walk around, (sometimes) day and (mostly) night, dressed as Jack Sparrow. Driving down a main road, I noticed one. He had a wine bottle in one pocket and between his fingers he was flipping a giant golden coin up and down his hand. What the heck is up with this city?!

After I left work, I decided I'd rollerblade to the game store, "Game Play" (no such thing in NY) I saw while I was riding around in a classic white Jaguar convertible. Can't be too far, I said to myself. Big mistake. I went 4 miles (in 45 minutes, including a quick stop at CVS for a drink) before I found the store. Los Angeles is definitely not like the good old city I grew up in.

Tiredly rolled by a Fatburger (!?) and "Qwik-E-Mart" rebranded 7-Eleven on the way. There had to be 50 people lined up to get into the "Qwik-E-Mart," a Simpsons movie promotion.

I plunked my tired butt down on a seat in a little Chinese food joint. Ate something from the steam tables. Eventually I got back up and wearily went back home. Another 4 miles. 8 miles total.

Along the way, two latino teenagers tried to provoke me. "What up, chino?" Then maniacal laughter. Being the hardened New Yorker that I am, I ignored them. I moved my right hand to my back pocket, where my Para-Military, my trusty pocketknife, resided. A tense moment. Would they try to grab me? Jump me even? But I kept on skating, thankfully with enough space on the sidewalk to be going at a pretty fast pace. I wondered what would've happened if I responded. "Nada, hombre. ¿Y tu?" Probably not the greatest idea. They were looking for someone to fight. Not me. Life is about learning when it's proper to just ignore someone and be on your way. Death, or intensive-care unit, well that's doing just the opposite.

Fellow New Yorkers would find Los Angeles pedestrians funny. They wait for the "walking man" sign to light up. Every true New Yorker knows your heels hit the asphalt when the intersecting street's lights turn red. Not here in California. They press the "cross" button, and wait patiently.

I came back at the point of exhaustion, stumbled into my apartment, and crashed onto the floor. My prize for my effort? A brand new copy of Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Justice for All, and the rare, highly sought-after, Hotel Dusk 215.

So my plane touched down in Los Angeles today at 1PM PST. I'll be here for a month, and I'm psyched about it. Expect California-related entries for the next month.

A few things of note: Electronic Arts is here. LAX looks just like JFK. When you pay over $3k for a month's rent at a managed one-bedroom apartment... well, life is comfortable.

I went to the Hollywood Bowl tonight. Great classical music, got to sit in a private box. And you really haven't listened to music until you've gone to a live show... with fireworks.

When I got back, I had about a dozen new IM's. I feel popular.

Since I haven't posted for awhile, and I figure the Fourth of July is much like Thanksgiving in that we are supposed to be grateful for the brave soldiers a couple hundred years ago who revolted against the redcoats (if my meager knowledge of history is correct), I might as well post what I love, or perhaps am grateful exist.

In no particular order, of course, because it may or may not be too difficult to rank things.

YouTube. I've spent countless hours on this site. It is all too easy to waste time on, and, being completely user-oriented, re-instills my faith in the human race that we are capable of intelligent and constructive things. On the other hand, YouTube commenters seem to lack brains and wit.

Google. "Don't be evil," indeed. The one company that seems the furthest away from corruption. Sadly.

Cats. They are cute motherf*ckers. Even if they are selfish little brats who only rub up against your legs when they want food, and only sit by you when you've got the air conditioning on.

Craigslist. I have stayed up way too late on several occasions reading the Best of Craigslist. Also, I am always highly amused by the ads for "services" from trannies. Incredibly, people post things on Craigslist even when they know that their intended audience is highly unlikely to read them. Like the one someone wrote to his girlfriend's dogs. It's as if people on Craigslist WANT to amuse others with their writing, completely or at least mostly anonymously.

Hmm, there's more, but I'm lazy. Macs, karaoke, brunettes, rollercoasters, sandals, and instant foods.

So, as a few people already know, I'm in the habit of not watching any of CSI: Crime Scene Investigation while it airs, but torrenting the show to watch all at once sequentially at the end of the season. I finally got up to the season finale and boy am I upset. First, let it be known that I absolutely hate cliffhangers. Second, I very much admire (okay, a wee bit of a crush) Jorja Fox, who plays Sara Sidle in the original CSI (Vegas) series. (SPOILER FOLLOWS)

The season ends with a cliffhanger involving the fate of Sara Sidle. This upsets me, because not only am I highly attracted to Jorja Fox, but Sara Sidle happens to be one of my favorite characters, alongside Grissom (and truthfully the entire cast). The way that season 7 ends also means that Fox's contract with the CSI show may be over... making CSI that much less enjoyable for me... despite it being my favorite show. Okay, just had to vent.

I went to Coney Island today. Rode the Cyclone. Since the last time I went (a year ago) it seems they added seat cushions... so it was really like jumping into a lounge chair with a lap bar. A lot more comfortable than I remembered! And a lot more rickety! I hear all the fun things in Coney Island are gonna close down for renovation for a few years, so if you want to ride the Cyclone I suggest you do it now. It was a blast.

For $6, you get to go on the legendary Cyclone, a wooden rollercoaster so rickety it'll make your filings fall out and grandma's glasses slide off her nose. Back when it was new, it made quite a few riders sick. Others loved it, with its tight turns and steep declines forced upon it by the tight constraints of building a roller coaster in the city. And when you slam back into the station, pony up another $4 to ride again. And again. The Cyclone really isn't all that scary, but it's still thrilling because it's rickety and has some nice drops. Nothing like El Toro, which has become my de facto standard for rollercoasters, but it's still worth a ride. After all, it is an important piece in the history of roller coasters.

Afterwards, I had the obvious choice of the seedy Coney Island populace and tourists, clams and Nathan's hotdogs and cheese fries. I tried the "Shoot the Star" game with a BB rifle that spews out BB's faster than you can count. Three times I tried, at two bucks a pop, each time only barely missing the win! If you're not familiar with the game, you shoot at a piece of paper with a red star on it with the most inaccurate gas-powered BB rifle on the planet, trying to completely remove said star. If you do manage (and it IS possible, just somewhat unlikely) you win some fabulous prize in the form of a giant stuffed animal. You get 100 BB's, which is nothing compared to the rate of fire of the rifle, which could launch those hundred BB's out its muzzle with the pull of a trigger before you can say "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" -- maybe even faster than that. Given all the practice I've had playing with my own set of BB guns I did quite well... especially when you compare me to the average wanker who walks up, plunks down his sweaty two dollars and manages to hit the paper with maybe, twelve BB's at most. I know. I saw this happen. Several times.

Also quite a spectacle to see was the small crowd of young black men, who were all absolutely enchanted with this punching bag game, one of those "test your skill" type machines, at $1 per go, you get to punch the "bag" as hard as you can and get a score telling you how strong you are. Some kind of macho thing, I guess, something I was never very interested in. The funny part is they were there for at least the better part of an hour, trying to top each other in strength. They even managed to sucker in random passerby, some of which who looked very... diesel, for lack of a better word.

Before leaving, I played a few games on the In the Groove 2 machine in one of the many arcades in Coney Island. This machine was apparently hacked, because it contained all sorts of DDR songs that you don't normally find on the current (Extreme) machines and the usual compliment of In the Groove songs. I definitely lost my feel for the game, and my stamina as well, because by the 3rd game I was totally exhausted and either my timing went down the drain or the pad was broken. Considering I've never had a timing issue, even when I first started playing, I was sure it was the machine. But as I turn to leave (after miserably failing Kick the Can!) there's this fat dark-skinned man laughing at me and his two spoiled little brats wearing flashing LED glasses standing with his ugly skank of a significant other. In a split second I think, should I retort, and I get ahold of myself and just sheepishly grin. My hand moves away from my trusty Spyderco Paramilitary, and I walk off.

Fifteen minutes later it's still eating at me. A guy who acts like that must have self-esteem issues, I think. Don't you hate it when you don't get the last word in? Does it gnaw at you inside when somebody says something nasty to you and you just don't respond, because laying low is how you survive in a nasty world of nasty people in a gritty city? Whatchu think is so funny hombre? You think you're gonna find it funny when you're lying on the ground with multiple stab wounds from a complete stranger with your niños watching helplessly? Wanna find out? Huh? Huh? Imagining this scene with my response brings a smile to my face. If not my reaction, somebody else's. It's just karma. You keep screwing with people, and eventually somebody's gonna end up beating the crap out of you.

So yesterday, I went with Sophia and Talia to Six Flags: Great Adventure. Other people (Tim and Tim and their respective girlfriends) were supposed to come with us but decided last minute not to on account of the weather forecast predicting rain. They missed out on the fun!

There was no rain, only occasional drizzles that lasted less than a few minutes at a time. Otherwise it was mostly sunny with some cloud cover! Apparently a lot of other people read the weather forecast beforehand so they didn't go either, so the park was much less crowded than usual.

Our mission was to ride every rollercoaster in the park. The Port Authority bus dropped us off promptly at 10, an hour earlier than we expected, so we already had one hour extra with which to accomplish our goal. Talia suggested we get on line for Kingda Ka, the world's tallest and fastest rollercoaster, first. Kingda Ka is one of two rollercoasters at this time that qualify as a stratacoaster, with a height of 456 feet and a maximum speed of 128 miles per hour. It accelerates from 0 to 128 in 3.5 seconds using a hydraulic launch system, similar to the kind used in other Intamin AG 'coasters that very closely resemble Kingda Ka.

The tension built as we (somewhat) nervously made chit-chat about rollercoasters and rides, how tall Kingda Ka looked and how frightening it might be to rollback in the train instead of making it over the hill.

We got to the Kingda Ka train in about 10 minutes of waiting online, and waited another 15 to get on the front row. Talia and I took the front row, with Sophia behind us in the front car. None of us had ridden Kingda Ka before, despite three previous attempts last summer.

The train rolled onto the launch track. It rolled back. I tightened my grip on the grip bar. The hydraulic launch system hissed. Then, all of a sudden, I was hurtling down the track. My eyelids were pulled back by the great speed of the wind, my face misshapen by the force of the acceleration, and I was white-knuckling the grip bar. The tower came closer and closer. We flew up the tower, moving by virtue of our initial velocity alone, no hydraulics, lift chain, or electromagnets to pull us over the hill. The train paused ever so slightly, as we dangled over the apex of the tower, seeing the parking lot and cars below. Holy sh*t. I held on even tighter. We plummeted down the tracks, as the train brought us closer and closer towards the ground, then all of a sudden, the ride was over. Less than a minute after boarding the train, we were getting off. Deep breaths.

After Kingda Ka, we headed over to Rolling Thunder, a wooden coaster much in the style of Coney Island's Cyclone, then El Toro.

Later that day while boarding the bus we recalled the day's events. There had been so few people we'd been able to get on every rollercoaster in the park, all in the front row at least once. Rode Kingda Ka twice, El Toro twice, and Nitro three times. And by the way, the front row really is the ONLY way to experience Kingda Ka. El Toro and Nitro are similarly MUCH more enjoyable on the front, where you get to see where you're headed and anticipate the next drop or next hairpin turn. More on El Toro and Nitro another time... I've got a season pass.


So who wants to go with me to Six Flags?

I'm giving blogging another shot.
I'll consider my other attempts to be misguided efforts.
I'll see about writing something tomorrow... after I get back from Six Flags.