Friday, March 19th, 11:35 pm

Land safely in McCarran International Airport, a convenient 10 minute taxi ride from the Las Vegas strip. "Fantastic," I thought. "A few bucks for Joe McCab, and I'll be officially on my way." A quick call to the fellas I was meeting left me with promises of writhing call-girls and dollar bills seized by cleavage. At 1:30 am, roughly two hours after I entered the pharaoh's-phalanx-of-slaves-like line of tired travelers waiting for their 10 minute ride to the strip, I achieved my cab. I had passed the time in conversation with my girl (who lives in L.A.):

"You were so close!" she said.

"An hour on the ground - a tease really."

"I miss you."

"I miss you, too."

When I told the man behind the wheel the off-strip, discount destination selected by the coordinator of our group trip, he scoffed like I'd insulted him. He snapped down the meter and sped from the curb in silence. We didn't speak for the rest of the trip.

Finally, finally, finally at my destination, I arrive at the room to discover everyone had turned in for the night. Doors had been closed and folding privacy screens erected, leaving me with the small dining room, a gentle mockery of a kitchen, and a stack of couch pillows to call my bed for the evening. Exhausted, I arrange the cushions into a makeshift futon impression, and quickly fall asleep.

Saturday, March 20th, morning

The next day I wake up to these guys.

We stake out a place by the pool, and I begin my vacation. By 1 o'clock, we were drunk. It was roughly around this time when Raphael (on the right) thought it best if he were to climb the faux-Aztec temple-cum-decorative waterfall, and then slide down it belly first into the waiting pool below. "Slide" turned out to be the incorrect term, as the steps of the fall were in fact rough stucco, forcing Raph to drag his body, arm over arm, the length of the trip, before falling into the pool with an anti-climactic flop.

Fortunately, we all passed out shortly afterwards, and the incident was quickly forgotten.

Saturday, March 20th, evening

The evening could have been titled: We Hit The Casinos, a.k.a. Devon Quickly Blows 100 Bucks On Black Jack, Then Spends The Remainder Of The Evening Trying To Figure Out Which Women Are Call Girls

New York, New York took my funds (it was a strangely simple process, almost anesthetic). We also stopped off as a group to watch Dawn of the Dead, which was the perfect complement to the evening.

Thank God, because I sure was getting sick of having to go to the strippers.

The group towards the conclusion of our full-frontal assault of Vegas.

Chas, Adam, Raph, Alfonso, Devon

I've told myself that it's only my imagination that I appear notably whiter than rest of my compatriots.

Sunday, March 21st, late-morning

After too much time on the phone, talking, waiting, and anticipating, Halbe and I are finally able to embrace. Like two teenagers, we hug and kiss, then dash for her car (she drove out to Vegas to pick me up). I say goodbye to my friends, and then we speed out of there.

"So what do you want to do?" I ask.

"I don't know. I don't really want to see the Strip, though."

"Me neither. How about the Grand Canyon?"

"OK!"

As it turned out, the Grand Canyon was way too far a drive. The Hoover Dam, however, was not. So, we buy a map of Arizona, and find our way there. After marveling at the raw power of concrete and human impact, we split for LA. A side trip to a Greek restaurant in the middle of a desert (how did they get there?), and me behind the wheel, we make the five hour trip to L.A. in four. Fatigued from the journey, I get my first taste of L.A. freeway traffic, which fortunately isn't too bad (Sunday evening and all; everyone is home reloading, I assume).

Monday, March 22nd, morning

For the first part of the day, I toodled around town solo as Halbe works.

After the conclusion of my classes in late August, I will have to make a choice of where to go after my time in Seattle draws to a close. Los Angeles had been on my mind for a while, and one reason of this trip was to see I might like it here.

Among other things I did this day, I visited the home I was brought to as a newborn (I was born here - did I mention that? This trip, however, was my first return to the city as an adult). I walk around Griffith Park, and took this snap shot of the Hollywood sign. The weather was sunny and mid-70's. I think it was on the Santa Monica freeway, heading towards Glendale, when became sure this was the city I wanted to move to after my undergraduate education.

Monday, March 22nd, afternoon

Halbe and I go to Amoeba Records.

Holy shit.

This store is, in the words of Brendan, Mecca. No picture can do it justice - the albums just go on and on. From my laundry list of items to look for, Amoeba did not disappoint. And the Info Desk! Those people!

I say to them (and I quote), "I'm looking for a band, the kings of something, really popular in Europe, I think."

"Ah, you're probably thinking of the Gipsy Kings. Their in the World Pop area, in the Gypsy music section, over there," and they point to a distant corner. "I recommend you check out their 'Best Of...' album. It's a decent selection for a good price - definitely a better deal than their newest, which isn't that great."

I purchased:

Daft Punk - Discovery (became my soundtrack for L.A.)
Daft Punk - Homework
Gipsy Kings - The Very Best Of...
Doug Martsch - Now You Know
Faithless - Outrospective
Non-prophets - Hope
The Mars Volta - Tremulant EP
The Mars Volta - de-loused in the comatorium (holy shit good, better than Sparta... approaching if not equaling, ATDI)
BT - Emotional Technology
Mr. Bungle - California

Final price tag - 100 and something dollars (I try not to think about my short fifteen minutes at the blackjack table)

Tuesday, March 23rd, afternoon

The girl I like. We were having lunch at some Italian place on Santa Monica's 3rd street promenade. Her minestrone soup was in fact overpriced vegetable soup (it lacked noodles). This pissed her off, and she went to get the manager. My heart leapt in my chest (this is a good thing), and I could barely conceal my smile.

Tuesday, March 23rd, not far from midnight

This is Rob, college friend of Halbe's. We are at a taco truck near Occidental College. Six bucks to feed three hungry 20-somethings with fresh, hot, delicious mexican food. This was after slugging back a few beers at a remarkable bar called The Chalet (cozy, not too expensive, well-designed, non-smoking (as all bars are in CA, I found out)). Rob and I talked movies, design, visual communication, poetry, and cars. He and I got along very well. He reminds me of Evan.

Wednesday, March 24th, 4:30 pm

It's been a long-time dream of mine to see the La Brea Tar Pits, shared with my mom who lived in this town for years, but never made the trip. I gave her a call, and we experienced it together - me with a stick, and her vicariously by my descriptions ("It smells like tar! How cool!"). Halbe, having grown up nearby, was not nearly so taken by my youthful enthusiasm. She did think me poking a pit was funny enough for a picture, though.

Gas is hella-expensive here. Seattle, right now, is still about 15 cents away.

Wednesday, March 24th, 9:30 pm

One of the best parts of this town are the businesses that remain open late, if not 24 hours. Halbe showed me this treasure: a 24 hour deli/bakery/restaurant, Canter's.

Wednesday, March 24th, 9:40 pm

Best damn cheesecake, even compared to the eponymous Cheesecake Factory. The secret: not too sweet, sour cream topping. Halbe and I lifted it, trembling, to one another's mouths.

Thursday, March 25th, afternoon

Visited the Grove Mall. It was like a miniature Disneyland, a festival of commercialism, but I think what impressed me the most was the parking structure. A crystal chandelier hung from the fourth floor (no joke), and they had this awesome computer-controlled, actively updated system of signs, that tells drivers how many parking spaces are available on each floor.

Of note, we ate at a place called Versailles that night. Caribbean food, and I had the halved chicken slathered in some sort of tart, garlic sauce. The evening was a true mixture of feelings, between the ecstasy in my mouth, and sad knowledge that I was disgusting my vegetarian girlfriend with each bite.

"It's the seeing the body that bugs me, really." was one comment, as she watched me loose a drum stick from the steaming mess.

Friday, March 26th

It's Friday, and think we're both starting to realize that our week together is beginning to draw to a close. We're quiet as we walk Venice Beach, but hold hands often, and stay close.

The promenade was a nice collection of freaks and personalities, though the tourista population easily outnumbered the locals four to one. One man lined a short city block length of the beach with essays scrawled in magic marker on white boards setup on easels. They had titles like, "If He's An Asshole, Leave Him!", "What Really Happened With Enron!", and "Get Off Your Ass!".

Friday, March 26th, evening

I have long possessed a penis. Despite this, I attended a showing of the much ballyhooed Vagina Monologues. We knew the girl at the far left, who was performing in addition to the standard monologues, a piece composed by another fine young lady who had prepared dinner for us that same night.

I left impressed. I thought some were silly ("RECLAIM THE CUNT!"), others were touching (Snorchy Coocher is what I think it was called).

Thursday, March 25th, late evening

In addition tothe aforementioned penis, I also have back hair. Not a lot, but just a bit here and there. Those that do not have the benefit of a frontal view, from their rear perspetive, they can still be assured that I am, in fact, a man. Against the insistence of a girl friend who told me again and again that she liked how I naturally looked, I demanded the hair from my back be removed immediately, if not sooner! (I still have no idea where this urge came from - I blame an interest in "experiencing new things"). A trip to Target, a few painful moments, and badda bing, badda boom...

...no more hair.

Her sudden, post-hair removal increase in affection only cemented in my mind the belief that she was a two-faced liar, which I told her, and demanded restitution. By use of feminine wiles she quieted my outburst, and in a few minutes more, all was forgiven.

Thursday, March 25th, 3:00 pm

In line at Pink's to pick up a famous hot-dog, there was an edible sized dog in a purse. He was a nasty bugger, barking and nipping at any who came near him or his owner's white capris.

Saturday, March 27th, 1:00 pm

I'd been Los Angeles nearly a week at this point. This was our last full day together. We spent some time laying out in a beautiful park (called Lacey or Kelly, I forget). I read scripts, she the New Yorker. There was some tension, and we argued about whether a collection of flowers were orchids or something else (she ended up being right). I think my imminent departure was on both our minds. We discussed our relationship, the merits of long-distance, and where to go next. It was the conversation that most new couples have to confront eventually. In the L.A. sun, sharing a blanket beneath a shade tree, we came to a few conclusions.

Saturday, March 27th, 4:00 pm

Here we are, leaving the park together. Around this time the next day, I was on a plane, on my way back to Seattle.

I plan to move to this town in September. I will be looking for a job in graphic design, and continue to write in my free time. Halbe and I agreed to continue our relationship. I'll see her next in June, when she will be coming up for my graduation.