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Ocean Beach society
Sunday, December 27 1998
Kim and I treated our hangovers with tropical fruit smoothies from the hippie place on Newport. Then we walked along the ocean shore collecting shells. It was a mid-tide situation, and a couple guys with metal detectors were scanning the sand. I thought of a cool trick to play on a metal-detecting beach dork. I could drive nails into the sand to spell out some secret message which the the metal detector loser would unwittingly expose with his digging.
I saw a little girl drive by aboard a hideous hot-pink electric-powered Barbie-themed tricycle, her mother walking beside her, reining in her instinct to maximize the throttle. What mother would be so cruel as to so deform her own daughter's sense of taste? Evidently lots of them. Post-Christmas dumpsters were brimming with packaging, much of it that same fluorescent-pink Barbie colour.
In the evening, after an afternoon of napping in front of the Learning Channel, Kim and I bought some groceries at the Appletree and walked over to a dinner over at Giacomo's house a few blocks away. He'd invited us last night.
Giacomo's place was a second floor apartment directly on the beach. A fog had rolled in, obscuring the aftermath of the sunset, but in Giacomo's place, a genuine party was happening. A surprisingly large number of people were there: Al (whom Milla the Brazilian had invited), another stylish Brazilian girl, a cute little non-drinking Japanese photographer girl who claimed to be influenced by Mapplethorpe, a motorcycle enthusiast sporting a mullet, a very conventional-looking electrical engineer dude, and a Jim Carey look-alike, among others. Dinner was pasta, salad and steak. Vino and beer were extremely plentiful, as were still other things later on. Oh the joys of being a decadent adult in the extremely late 90s!
Overall, these new friends reminded me a lot of the old Dynashack crowd: weird kids from good affluent homes who know how to throw a party but are also successful with their lives. I'm sure Kim would have fit in well at the Dynashack. You know, back when I was Mr. Punk Rock I remember thinking snide thoughts and writing snide musings about the fancy rich girls who would come to visit my various housemates. I remember rolling my eyes at their European adventures. Now I stand a good chance of being dragged on such adventures by my girlfriend and coming home and saying I had a good time and actually believing it.
Things weren't catching fire between Al and Milla the Brazilian girl, and he soon moved on to a hyper latercomer named Cindy. She had bleach blond hair and several very colourful well-rendered tattoos.
Since I had to work tomorrow for the first time in four days, I found myself actually switching over to water as the hour grew late. Even the straight-laced Japanese photographer girl noticed the clearness of my drink, and even took a sip to confirm it wasn't vodka. Jesus, people expect decadence from me even when they don't actually know me.
Overall I'd say it was a delightful evening. How could I complain? I found a whole new group of friends within walking distance who live directly on the beach and know how to fill a refrigerator with beer. Top that one, Al Schroeder!
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