The O.C.

I drove up to The O.C. today to visit a friend. While there, I picked up a drug habit, slept with a model, and then cheated on her after being seduced by her mom. Although it is quite possible that I've been watching too much TV.

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I picked up my guitar this evening and started playing Led Zepplin's, Going to California. It had been a while since I had last played it, and I was surprised by how much I remembered and how familiar the notes felt below my fingers. I absolutely love that song. I was a few weeks away from college graduation when I received the job offer in California, and I must have listened to that song three dozen times. My college roommates can attest to this. A month later I would be driving across the Sierra Nevadas.

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And I'm still looking for the girl with the flowers in her hair.

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On Saturday, I bought a membership to the neighborhood gym. In a few weeks I'm going to be frickin' huge. Oh wait -- damn it -- I should have checked my "buy in the O.C." list. I forgot steroids.

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I tend to be slightly latent in making my music selections. If a band's peak of popularity is at the half way point, I tend to buy their album at the 2/5 or 4/5 mark. I'm not at the very beginning, nor the very end, and never at the peak.

But this time I was way ahead of the curve. In my last journal entry I recommended Band of Horses. I watched TV last night and on our local music show (FoxRox), that was their pick of the week. I'm a trendsetter.

This entry probably made no sense to those bad at math and fractions. I'll consider it a filter.

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The fog the past few nights has been its own entity. You can watch it physically move as it glides across the landscape. Last night it had completely enveloped the watertower, making it disappear. What made the fog more mysterious was that despite bringing the chilly ocean moisture with it, my condo was still a billion degrees. I had to tape baggies of ice to my body.