"Are You an Alcoholic Yet?"

Los Angeles is an interesting place to say the least.

I’ve been here for over a week and I’ve been sober for the entire time. This is kudos to myself. I needed to detox after two years in NYC. Not the healthiest living you can have over there in the big apple. It’s easy to get distracted by the local bars and unhealthy eateries.

LA is the opposite. Healthy living is easy. You’re constantly reminded of the beach and the beautiful weather. Here, in Venice, there is a big bike culture and it’s easy to cruise everywhere on your bike. I’m digging it. The only days I haven’t been on my bike are the rainy days, which there have been a few of those.

After Halearious left, I took some time settling in, getting the lay of the land.

My first weekend was spent sober and hanging out with friends, both new and old. Friday I hung out with a great cellist, Najeeb. We share a mutual friend, Jordan. They have been jamming together for a bit. Jordan plays the hand drum; Najeeb plays cello and sings. I’ve never seen a cellist sing and play before so that was cool. Najeeb’s songwriting is melodic and uplifting. It was fun to hear some new material.

Najeeb and I chilled in between playing songs. I played him some of my new material and song unabashedly for him - a big step in my development as a performer. Fuck it man. I’m thirty. If I don’t do it now, I never will. After four hours of getting to know each other, talking, playing our songs, we closed the night with a nice jam – a song I wrote forever ago that lends itself to jamming with new people. Solid.

Saturday was a drab day in LA persisted by gray and rain. Went to see Alice and Wonderland with my friend Mindy. A matinee show. The audience consisted of me, Minday, and a bunch of ‘tweens. It was pretty hilarious. The good news is that was zero chance of anyone blocking my view since the tallest person other than myself was 4’11”.

After the movie, I chilled alone passing the time waiting for night to descend on the city. Luckily, Jordan invited me to come to the Valley to hang at his place with him and his girlfriend, Alex. We chilled. They partied. I observed. Drinking nothing but water and having a good time at that. The night really took an escalation when it was revealed that Jordan was an owner of the Wii. Game on. I had never played it before, but I was down. Bowling. Tennis. Check. Check.

On the Wii, as in real life, I sucked at bowling. That’s okay. I have no intentions of ever being good at bowling and I am okay with this. There are few things I aspire not to be good at – bowling is one of them.

Tennis was a different story. After a slow start and a few losses, I found my kindred tennis spirit, in the avatar named “Al.” A chick with black hair and black sunglasses, Al, was the key to my success. Before you new it, I was running the table and beating everyone at the shindig. It was good to be back to athletic dominance. Whether virtual or real athleticism was not important.

A few hours of Jordan and I playing Mario Brothers and it was off to bed on the couch. Just like old times.

Walk up to soberness on Sunday and watched Jordan and Alex recover from the night before. They were more than adept. Coffee, breakfast, and showers and life was on.

Jordan and I jammed. I played some new jams for him, and he recognized what I have believed for the past year or so – I had found my voice as an artist and a songwriter. It was good news.

We all had lunch plans. Jordan and Alex were off to Santa Monica to meet with his sister and her husband. I was off to Pasadena to meet with the extended family – Calvin.

The drive from Van Nuys to Pasadena was a breeze. Calvin and I had set our rendezvous time for 1PM. Operation avoid traffic went flawlessly.

I pulled into Calvin’s at 12:55PM.

Calvin has a nice house on a picturesque Pasadena street. Overhung by trees and fresh air, most east coasters wouldn’t believe it exists. I am here to tell you that it does.

Calvin answered the door with his 7-month old black lab, Bee. B. Bea. I have no idea how to spell her name, but it sounds like “B.” You run with it.

B was crazy excited to see me. I think it had less to do with me, and more to do with her excitement to see somebody new, but I was flattered either way. I wish people got this excited to see me. Maybe I’d be less depressed all the time. If girls were that excited to see me, I’d certainly be less of a pussy when it came to the dating scene. But, oh well, that is not how life is.

Calvin was having printer problems and wanted to fix them before we departed for lunch. Laid back I was and down to watch. We walked back to his office, which was solid. Lined with a tremendous record collection, two computers, and a sixty-inch plasma TV, I had something to aspire to. The printer problem was nothing really of a problem. Two minutes or so later and we were gone.

We drove through the center of Pasadena on our way to find some healthy food. I told Calvin that to me healthy meant salad. He was directing the ship towards “saladom.”

We pulled into a nice Italian restaurant with a name I cannot remember. Calvin informed me that is was a mini-chain, but the food never disappointed and he had never had anything he didn’t like.

He ordered the Vegetarian omelet and I followed suit.

The next two or so hours were spent talking about colleges, Hollywood, life plans, reading scripts, and everything in between.

Calvin has worked in Hollywood since the seventies and has been reading scripts and making them better ever since. A graduate from Yale, Calvin came back home to California to teach, met a woman in the movie industry, married her, and then got himself into the industry.

He informed me of the ins-and-outs of Hollywood. Explained to me that I was behind the eight ball in terms of getting out here late, but that my maturity would help me in the long run. He described Hollywood as being a magnet for ivy league students and that I was bound to meet a beautiful, educated, ass-kicking woman in this industry. Hell, she might be the one trying me in a court case. Damn, I have a lot to look forward to.

My favorite part of the conversation was when Calvin was telling me about a friend of his who had worked in the movie industry for a while. We had been discussing the importance of networking, and Calvin asked me, “Are you an alcoholic yet?” I was floored. I loved the question. I told him not yet, and that I was doing my best to avoid becoming one. He could understand since we both come from families where alcohol is as present as Aunt Mary. However, it turns out that his friend in the movie industry actually met more celebrities and a-list personalities when he finally sobered up and joined “AA.” There were a handful of famous people in his AA group. Maybe I needed to rethink this sobriety thing. Maybe it was too early…

After lunch, we headed back to Calvin’s house. I had to drop him off and print out directions home. Once I had the directions in hand, we ended up spending probably another hour or two talking on the porch in his doorway. Irish goodbyes. This time we talked sports and music. Two things we both love. The time flew by. Before I knew it, it was 5:30PM and I was getting in the car. It was then I realized I had nowhere to watch the Oscars.

Bummer.

Life went on.

The drive home was sick. LA has a reputation for shitty traffic. I have done a good job avoiding it so far. When there isn't traffic, LA is a fun place to drive. The highways (freeways) are narrow and tight, and they twist and turn - you don't even have to drive fast and you feel like you're on a race track - helped by the fact that everyone around you is cruising by.

On Monday, I was reminded that there are two kinds of people in this world: Those who believe there are two kinds of people and those who don’t. That is a quote I once heard, but I forget who said it. I believe the former. They can be cut on any number of lines – men and women, rich and poor, smart and stupid, handy and not handy. The last demarcation is the one I was reminded of on Monday.

I had bought a nice bike lock because I hauled my fucking bike all across the country and I had intentions of using it plenty, but harbored no intentions of having it stolen in Venice or anywhere else I went. I got the bike lock and directions out of my desk drawer and I headed to my garage to attach it to my bike. The directions seemed simple enough that I was confident that despite my Mahoney / Harrington heritage I would be able to do this with ease.

I was wrong.

Five minutes after a great start, I was heading back in with two shredded knuckles and blood rushing out quickly. What was I thinking? After minute four, I was thinking, “I should go to the store I got this at and have them attach it.”

After minute five, I was thinking, “Fucking A. Motherfucker. Stupid fucking useless directions. I could fucking shoot whoever wrote these fucking things. I hope I don’t have to get stitches again. I ain’t paying for those motherfucking things again. Ripoff. Why did I try to put this on myself? I know better. I hope I don’t faint. Act cool. Find a band-aid. Don’t look panicked. Fuck.”

It’s Tuesday now. My fingers are fine. My roommate hooked it up with some band-aids and Neosporin and I just came back from CVS with 200 band-aids and new Neosporin. I am prepared.

I also have set up an appointment to learn about my health insurance options tomorrow. I had wanted to do this even before I came to California. The finger incident, and the almost getting hit by a car while riding my bike on day two incident, and the pamphlet I woke up to on day two warning about Africanized bees only sealed the need for health insurance.

I can’t wait to get my epi-pen so I don’t end up like McCauley Culkin’s character in “My Girl.” Dead cause a bunch of stupid bees.

I had never really worried about bees on the east coast. I would just implore the Groundswell’s “run like a wild man in a zig-zag motion while holding my breath.” It had worked about 90% of the time when I encountered yellow jackets. A few painful times it didn’t work.

I had, however, forgotten that Africanized bees from South America had infiltrated California. Africanized bees? Are you serious? Bees that deal with lions, tigers, and bears on a regular business? Oh my. Not to mention cheetahs. I am old and not fast. Epi-pen here I come.

On another useless note, it took me four tries today to find the store where I dropped off my dry cleaning. I knew it was on Venice Blvd. I had been there on Thursday. Up Venice Blvd once, down it once, up it again, down it – oh there it is. Helped when I remember I had the slip and on the slip it had the address.

Thankfully, I had nothing else to do. I had already rode my bike and bought my band-aids.

The job search is going. I am looking. I have thrown out a net and told my friends to keep their eyes and ears open. They all complied.

Last night I had dinner with Ben and Dan from Mansfield. Both of who are Haley’s friends whom I have come to know and like. Ben is visiting for a few days from Mansfield. Dan lives here with his girlfriend, Melissa. The other guest at the party was a beautiful girl, model, actress, and music head. “Ca-ching.” My thoughts when I first saw her. Actually, I think my thoughts were more along the lines of “Damn, who does Ben know that I don’t?” He then introduced me. Ca-ching.

She is on the WB show, “The Lake.” Keep your eyes open. Maybe you’ll see her too.

They all enjoyed my story about the Real World. Never gets old.

I did have two glasses of wine, but that doesn’t count because it was to go with a delicious meal. I brought a sick Asian-influenced salad that I made. All organic. Practically orgasmic.

Was introduced to the documentary film, “Grizzly Man.” What the fuck? Seriously? Good for him. Kinda.

I had a good time with the four of them. Felt like home. No egos. Good conversation. Intelligence. A love of good food, wine, and music. Ca-ching.

A mad chill crew with whom I will hopefully be hanging with a bunch. We’re like practically neighbors.

(Hopefully hanging with those kids again tonight.)

Turns out I’m not the only thirty-plus year old who still enjoys a solid session on the swings. One day in the past week Chris and I rode our bikes down to the Santa Monica pier. Our turnaround point was a swing set where we had a good ten minutes swinging. I don’t know what it is, but I love swings. Once I get the momentum built up, and at the top of the arch, right before you go plunging towards the ground, I like to close my eyes – it’s a guaranteed way to lose your stomach. I love it.

(Almost as much as I loved the Asian girl who took my swing over. She was about to get her model session on.)

Found out from my new car and renter’s insurance provider that the California government predicts there is a 99% chance of an 8.0 magnitude earthquake for southern California in the next thirty years. Gulp. No ca-ching here. Let’s hope fore the 1%, or at least year thirty.

I don’t think either the beautiful girl or the Asian girl liked me. The weren't nearly as excited as B to see me. That's for sure.

-Groundswell