LA Day 14

Wednesday I awoke and became quite productive; made some phone calls, drank some coffee and silently rooted on the homeless people wandering the street with their Ralph's grocery carts full of recycleables, pulled from bins in front of houses on London.

I set up some meetings, got some administrators to email well-written and genuine introductions of MATS and how we serve those in ministry.

In the afternoon I ran again; making 5 days in a row. This time to Echo Park, past the umbrella-donned fruit stand, the pot smokers laying on the grass, and the half-naked homeless lady picking scabs off her back, paying no mind to me or I to her.

Runs require showers, but don't require laundry as I currently wear the shirt once dripping in sweat now dry, from that run. Therefore, I showered and met my friends Kyle and Katie for trivia night at Ye Olde Kings Head in Santa Monica, within site of the Pier and the Pacific.

Topics of trivia are always amusing, as the Greater-LA area holds it's collective breath and certainly not their vulgar tongues for the closing of the 405 freeway in mid-July. "Car-mageddon" is what they are calling the closing of, perhaps, the most-busy stretch of interstate in the country for construction the weekend of July 15-17. News outlets, entertainment moguls and even homeless people in Santa Monica are talking about what might be, the end of West Los Angeles.

During the drink round, where one team gets a free round of beers for having the most-quirky and collectively-shocking rebuttle to the topic, the emcee asked: "what could happen in LA that is worse than carmageddon?"

Instantly a wise-guy from the back shouted: "TWO CARMAGEDDONS!"

All the answers were bland, and honestly I don't believe anyone won drinks this go-around.

Thursday, I awoke early, drank coffee and hopped on the 101 to the 10 to the auction in Fontana; desert land, still considered LA-area.

At last I felt back in my element, car auctions, shady dealers and free donuts to whoever is faster than the fat guy banking on the deep-fried dough. Manheim Southern California had free bananas and apples at the door and was insistent to check ID every time you walked through the doors.

I made it to the other two major auctions in the area, soon after, but didn't eat In-N-Out, as I would have liked.

Last night I went back to Culver, dropped Kyle's phone off to him which he left in the car the night prior and watched an episode of Game of Thrones, a new series based on some books by George R. R. Martin, yes two 'Rs'.

Tonight I'm going to try and run or swim, or find the next best thing to fishing in the LA river. Any takers to that idea?

LA Day 12

A day was full of work, mixed nuts, and a treacherous set of lunges by the Silverlake reservoir; oh bliss.

Today I had the chutzpah to give a few more missions organizations a call, tell them about MATS and how great I look in plaid dress pants. Okay, part of that is true. But after my splendid salad of Atwater Village lettuce and radishes and cucumbers, I took a rest, read some news and then went on a run.

After finishing a call with the president of a major missions organization, all I could think about is how he had the same first name of a peculiar individual, known as my uncle Loren. I went about telling about our connections and what we could do, and how I'd love to meet, and in the meantime he stopped me and said: "it'd be a pleasure to sit down and talk...how does July 20th sound?"

It sounded great.

I stripped out of my faded Chicago Bulls shorts for running shorts and hanes briefs, locked the door in the back and took off for Silver Lake reservoir, determined to make it on this day. I came close, but stopped outside the Silver Lake community center, stripped my shirt off to expose my whiteness and stopped to read the side of a Hispanic snow-cone truck.

That's the funny thing about LA; you have no idea what half the text in the entire city means but it makes you feel better because most the 5 million other people don't have a clue either. It's like one big confused mess in the middle of what should be a paradise, but is overrun with traffic and helicopters and restaurants on every corner claiming to have the best tacos or burger.

An observational journalist could make a killing in this town, if anyone paid to read good work, which they don't.

So I ran until I was at least 3/4 around the reservoir, along the tan dirt sidewalk circumventing the fenced reservoir. I felt like death, but I was determined to push myself as I used to enjoy, but now feel both too old and out-of-shape to do. I crossed the snake-like street, avoiding a motorcycle and an overpriced woman-lead dog, and happened upon the brilliant idea of doing some lunges.

I began: 1, 2, 3...and made it to ten and took 25 steps and, again: 1, 2, 3...10!

The fun had just begun, when I thought: "I'll just start running!"

No, the pain in my newly-stretched thighs was too much and I'm sure I looked like a heart-attack victim or a recently-shot white tail deer, as I nearly hit the deck from pain while my legs and my heart said to each other: "where has this been in 3 years, and why now?!"

I got my whits and started running, eventually and all the way home like the third little pig.

Tonight I made myself some spicy, but delicious chicken fajitas, ruined the rice which became compost and then hung out with a buddy for a bit before he decided he had to go.

All is good in the hood, if you live in Silver Lake, LA. If you don't, you should. Or, you should just stay where you are, because there are too many people crammed on this street, and in this city.

LA Day

Now, I have to be honest what frightened me more wasn't the man stretching in darkness, face lit only by the LED street lights of East LA. No, it was the height at which he had his leg stretched, nearly to his chin upon a white-painted wall of concrete block.

Walking home, down Elysian, then Sunset, then Echo Park; a car awaited, a faithful steed to take me through the flowing 101 freeway to my newest home.

Today was my first day of real work, and though I'm overwhelmed with the prospect of development, there is quite a bit of prospect. Awaking later than I used to, though it was only 7:30 a.m., I made my way down the two-wrung bed ladder to my desk, upon which I found little to be answered and even less to send.

I've created quite a good work and living space, and now that my roommate and I talk every third interaction it's beginning to feel like home. I scraped the chicken grease from the frying pan; remains of a hot and oily mess that stained my Cococay shirt and the pit of my stomach. I made off with eight cups of coffee this morning, instead of the usual 10, and raisin bran for breakfast.

The morning was full of profiling mission and ministry organizations, making lists and checking them thrice. I've been needing a lamp, because nothing makes work like a well-lit room, so Hollywood's Goodwill called and I answered. I contemplated on a Banana Republic shirt, once, twice and three times didn't get it done; escaped with the shadeless lamp and out into the horror that is 72 degrees, sunny and hardly a bit of humidity.

5:30 p.m.

I decide that rather than reading, I'd find a ticket to the Dodger game. I perused vastness that is Craigslist, made two phone calls and met a dude on a bicycle in front of a liquor store on Sunset Blvd. near Aroma restaurant; you know the place. He said he wanted to go, but sold me two tickets for $10 and made off down the street. At that moment I wondered: were these printed off tickets sold by a guy named Rick, labeled with the name Jason, legit? So, I did what I do best; worry.

I parked at Echo Park to avoid traffic, parking cost and because I don't know the lay of the land well enough, yet. Prior to the oncoming parallel parking adventure, I noticed a man screaming obscenities across the street, fly zipped down, peeing on a 6' electrical box at the corner of Park and Glendale. I was sitting at what became one of the longest red lights of my life, as he finished, continued to scream and then pleaded with me to give him a ride to 6th and Olive. I declined multiple times as he continued to approach and the light continued it's rojo state.

"I'm a surgeon assistant, bro!"

"I really can't," I lied.

"It's just right down there," he pointed and finished zipping up, as I thought: if it's just down there and you're empty then just walk.

Meanwhile, the light continued to stay red and I began wondering if I should roll up my window and/or fly through the light as I could nearly feel the surgeon assistants breath in my face.

Green.

I took off, said good bye, parked and made my way down Echo Park toward Dodger Stadium.

The game was nice, but the evening was more. Dodger fans are loud and we all saw Clayton Kershaw throw a two-hit shutout.

Lazy Sunday

Routine has yet to happen, but tomorrow is Monday and the thought of the day screams for normalcy and idiosyncdom of the weekend to vanish.

So, I find myself drinking Shiraz and eating radishes - the very radishes i've become obsessed with from Atwater Village's farmer's market. Laced with a bit of balsamic vinaigrette, you have organic-branded heaven, or something served there.

And it's funny how Shiraz is trumped by Carmenere and radishes by apples, but I remain to choose the latter and don't think twice.

I made my way this morning to church at Our Mother of Good Counsel, again; two weeks in a row. I shook hands with the priest, ate a scone and made off with a cup of coffee in a styrafoam cup, of which I'm against.

(mariachi band going on 3 hours across the street)

Afterwards, I made my way to Atwater Village to the farmer's market, serving the best radishes anyone could ask for. I bought none, because of my reserved supply at 3411 London Street. Funny how life takes you places, you discover things, eat foods and realize; I never once even thought to like this or that. That's kind of like me and radishes, or me and LA; I never once thought I'd like it.

Never even once thought about it.

Update

Full disclosure could be the name of this blog, but for now I'll leave it at what it is.

The initial idea of coming to California was met with little more than suspicion and doubt. After a while the idea flourished into a reality, then a plan and then a move. Why would I want to go became: how will I make this work?

So, basically I'm here to start a new branch of the very-trusting company for which I work. I'm indebted to create contacts, network and eventually begin selling to those who wouldn't have been reachable before. MATS works and sells to people in ministries, and the good thing going to LA is that there are a lot of people, and as a result, a lot of ministries; some have yet to be discovered.

I'm starting to create goals, because without goals and dreams we have little to shoot at and for. If I sit in this chair and go about my day as it hits me, I'll have no drive and therefore will progress very little, on a day-to-day basis.

Therefore, my goals will be as follows (101-traffic buzzing in my ear):

1. Establish myself within a given community, whether it be church, Young Life or some other organization with mission-based directives.
2. Establish a foothold into networks, and utilize the networks to my advantage, in effect, to allow all ministries in the greater-LA area to know about MATS.
3. Create an efficient system, leaving room to evolve as jobs and focuses will change.
4. Get back in shape.
5. Begin writing again, and don't let up.

Those sound quite broad, but worthy of consideration. The difference in my time here, is that it will all have to be self-infused and motivated solely by my inner-most, not someone else. Drive is often something I lack and though I know how to drive, and drive well, I'll need to pick up some 'drive' on my next trick down the 101.

Today, I'm not sure what to do, but my faults in the past have been that I'm not utilizing my time as I should, because I don't know where to start and/or what will bring me happiness in a given day. Which makes me think I need to add another goal:

6. Establish a checklist/goal sheet for each day, including a food menu to alleviate worry and/or unneeded stress.

I need to getting moving today, because it's already 1 p.m. and I've lots to do.

LA adventure

So, I made it.

I had my doubts; continue to, but I'm here, nonetheless, and here for a reason.

To set it straight, I'm in Los Angeles. It's a journey I reasoned with and for, and now find myself in the middle of. I'm glad to be here, and hoping for some answers to questions yet to be asked.

This afternoon, I took a trip back to Culver City to get the desk I now write upon; discovered amongst faded ox paintings and broken-down shoes in a consignment store run and, I'm assuming, owned by a Chinese-American lady and her Cuban-American husband. The desk is small, but sufficient. My computer is flanked by my pen/pencil/paperclip chest and vintage globe - displaying USSR in all it's glory.

My room is small, but again, sufficient. It holds my things, isn't well-lit, but has view of a banana tree which pokes into the screen of my window. It needs cut back to allow more light, but I'm writing at this moment.

Yes, a true experience in growing up the old-fashioned way; boy goes to the city knowing his art, but not practicing it, get's stuck in traffic trying to get the grocery store and makes tuna-salad sandwiches with just mayo and cucumbers, on white bread of course.

I have a big job ahead of me, and while street parking seems to be a worry on my mind, I know more immediate is finding in-roads to potential MATS clients. It's weird going at it alone. But, I know in due time, alone won't be around anymore but, rather, echoes of how observations evolved from sun-blocking banana trees to social engagements and church-involved mission gatherings.

Hope all is well back in Indiana. I'm fine here, a bit uneasy and overwhelmed, but fine.