Commuting with Nature

So sorry Mom, er, my LEGIONS of loyal readers. Your boy has been slack on the pearls this week because reality has set in, and I'm back amongst the work force. And as such, Scuba Lunch-Pail has a bit more of his time tied up now. But fear not. Just 'cause I'm workin' for the boss man every night and day (well, day), doesn't mean I'm now void of material. In fact, now my cup overfloweth.

Where to begin? My head's going to explode there's so much spinning 'round it. No place like the beginning I guess. So, my new job has me working in beautiful Redondo Beach, about 19 miles from our abode. I've commuted before plenty in my life, but this is like the first official commute I've ever had. By that I mean, locked in a car with everyone else in Los Angeles. I've had walks, subways, trains, and the worst of the worst, bus commutes before. But now it's just me and my thoughts for 45 minutes each way, every day. And you know what? I don't mind it.

My mornings now begin around 7, so as to be able to get my arse out the door by 7:30, and keep the commute manageable. I've opted to forgo seeking out the local radio morning zoo, in favor of the ol' cd player. 7:30 is a little too early for" zany" for me. No, instead, I have decided to take my commuting time as my music listening/ear training time. A time to revisit all my cd's I've been neglecting. A time to hone my ear chops, identifying 3rd inversion minor chords and such. Best of all, a chance to blast all of my music that Bubba can't stand. Bubba is "70's Rock Chick." To be fair, I'd say "'65' to '80's Rock Chick," with an emphasis on the 70's. So now, I get to play all of my wierd jazz shit without bothering a soul. Yesterday's fare featured Jaco Pastorious, (a bass player who's the feature of the music for those that don't know), and Rahsan Roland Kirk, a blind jazz musician who liked to play multiple horns and slide whistles at the same time. It's a few notches away from Bubba's Todd Rungren and such, so everyone wins this way.

Even though it's only been a week, I feel like I've mastered an efficient route to work. Like I'm already learning the spots where I can shave 30 seconds here, 45 seconds there, etc. Like my car is starting to slowly form is own groove in the roads for my customized path. As the result of my efficiency/dorkdom, I can now safely wake up at 7:06, instead of 7:00, and still be all right.

45 minutes in these parts is gonna take you through quite a bit of different scenery in L.A. I start off going down on Fairfax, through a fairly unremarkable area. Random, but particular shops line the busy street. Over here's a bad ass sneaker shop. Over here is a movie theater that ONLY shows silent films. I'm not but so awake by then anyway, so I don't really care. About 8 minutes away, I come across Johnnie's. Looks like a typical diner-y restaurant. When you inevitably are stopped at the light, you notice, "Hey, that's the restaurant from 'Pulp Fiction.'" That's kind of neat I guess. Then you look closer and notice, "Well, the lights on the sign are on, but there's no one inside." What I've learned is, it's closed, BUT, they have signs all over it saying it's available for movies. Does that really come up often? It's kind of been done, no? And done in one of the most successful movies of all-time. I don't know, if it were me, I might start serving up some flapjacks while I waited for the next call.

From there, Farifax randomly takes us to Little Ethiopia. Reminiscent of Adams Morgan in D.C., it's a neat, several blocks long stretch, filled with Ethiopian restaruants, shops, and I'm assuiming, large Ethiopian population. Does this mean that elsewhere in L.A. there are the other, what, 48 African nations represented? Where's Little Botswana? Am I going to come across Little Djibouti at some point? Why Ethiopia only?

The next 15 minutes is probably my least favorite part. Fortunately, usually by then the record of the day is in full swing. After an annoying stretch of single-lane driving, Fairfax morphs into a fugly mess of highway interchanges and fast food places. I finally get onto LaCienega, and all of a sudden, I'm thrust into like, 3-4 miles of oil fields. Just out of the blue, oil drills and refining on all sides. I grew up in North Jersey, and it makes Bayonne smell like a bouquet of roses. Still, it's got its own appeal in a strange way. It's very surreal, like I'm somewhere in the Middle East.

From there, it's onto the 405. Much to my pleasant surprise, southbound is not very populated in the morning. It's a pretty straight shot. 5 miles in like 6-7 minutes. I pass by the airport and then by El Segundo. One of the local small towns has somebody named Ganz as the mayor. I indulge this mild fantasy each time I see the sign, that it's the villian Ganz from 48 hours, probably my favorite cinematic bad guy of all time. So because I now live in the city of make-believe, I tell myself that he's seen the error of his ways, paid his debt to society, and is now prospering as the mayor of a small California town, with Billy Bear as his lieutenant.

Once I'm off the 405, it's like 10 minutes of side streets until I reach Redondo Beach. Tranquility resumes, as I make my way through this slice of suburban bliss. But that's a story for tomorrow.