Elevator Chatter

Tonight, as I decsended from the rooftop I uttered something I never thought I would say. This morning, as the day broke, I did not want to be around for it, so I slept another hour until 8 am; reluctantly I arose to greet a day that had started without me, and would run me tired and ragged by sundown.

I spent seven hours at the school, even though I only needed to be there for an hour. I practiced, changed my strings, chatted with my former private instructor, then jammed over a II V(altered) progression. About twelve I went home for lunch and to watch about forty five minutes of a movie called "se7en". I had a quick fix lunch of rice and mixed vegetable and beef, deliciously prepared by Sara from the night before. At two, I went to my country guitar class, and performed a series of butchered country style solos using pentatonic theory. After getting my ass whooped, I went back to Jeffs room, told him how country class owned me, upon which Jeff went on a rampage of sick country riffs, bends, pedal tones, chords, and scales. Years of playing country professionally came pouring out for the better part of an hour and a half. about 4:30 I took a break for about thirty minutes, then went back to practicing for another hour and a half.

Week One is down and out. I am 9 weeks from ending this quarter, 21 weeks from completing level II GIT, 45 weeks from finishing my AA, and going on to God knows what and where and for how long. Like I said previously, Time is irrelevant. Seems my hypocrisy knows no bounds.

Sara came over last night. I almost feel embarrassed for how bare our new apartment is. How minimal I am living. At the same time it was humorous to watch her try and cook with only a few dishes, her initial reaction to this apartment being "definitely a boys place."
As if to obviate the fact that we're both swamped with work, we spent a good part of the evening on the porch working on school stuff. Sara working on 3 papers at once, and me, murdering the country song I barely made through today in class, and running over scales with Peter.

Only Divine irony would keep me here on the west coast a year from now, and perhaps I have yet to learn to laugh at God's humor.

When I got home this evening I fell into my bed, feeling physically spent and only able to get up because of the late evening coffee I grabbed before the last 45 minutes of practice. I cooked another pot of rice, attempting to eat the last of the left overs from last night. As I sat on the porch, staring at the other side of the building, I remembered I have rooftop access, and decided to have dinner with the night lights of Lost Angeles.
I've forgotten how astounding major cities are on clear nights, with clear skies, a bright moon and cool winds. I remember NYC was much the same way when living with my brother and his wife for a few days in January. I could see almost the entire LA basin tonight, all of downtown, all of westwood, hollywood, the hills, and all the residential areas lying south of here. Probably one of the better dinner experiences I've had since I've been here. Yet again, by myself.

After finishing the bowl, I headed back downstairs. Somehow a group of people who were trying to get down to the ground level, ended up ascending 3 floors up to the roof, where I was waiting, empty bowl and cup in hand, to get back down to the second floor. On the way down, the one of the guys in the midst of the small crowd asked "How was dinner on the roof?" And with out even thinking twice, without realizing the full implications of what I was going to utter; without understanding the personal blasphemy I was engaging in, I spoke only one word with a sigh and a gaze to nowhere.









"Beautiful"