A Return

So as most of you know, I spent the last week traveling through the Pacific Northwest.  It was an amazing trip, and I'm sure I'll be droning on and on about it ad nauseum in subsequent posts, but for now, I'd like to relay one little tidbit of information I gleaned during my adventure: the salmon run.

The salmon run occurs every year when salmon return from the ocean to swim upstream to the upper reaches of the rivers where they'll spawn.  But not just to any patch of river--the exact location where they themselves were spawned.  After four years swimming about happily in the ocean, these fish can recall with uncanny precision where they need to go when the time comes (an incredible feat considering I can barely recall where I was two Mondays ago).  If that's not amazing in and of itself, the salmon run is fraught with lethal peril.  In addition to the strong current are bears, eagles, and human beings who'd love nothing better than a delicious salmon snack.  In fact, most of the salmon won't make the journey to the spawning ground.  On some level the salmon run is depressing as all get out, but on another level, it highlights the supernatural magnetism of Home.

I thought about those salmon yesterday as I was moving into my new apartment in the San Fernando Valley.  Truth be told, I'd started growing apprehensive about the move from Long Beach to the Valley.  By any objective measure, beach living is superior to valley living--cleaner air, cooler temperatures, more outdoor activities. . . it's the beach, for Pete's sake!  And yet, the Valley is where I grew up; my own little suburban wonderland in the 818.  I can't describe exactly why, but just being here makes me feel comfortable in a way I haven't felt in a very long time.  Like I'm finally able to exhale after holding my breath for so long.

Anyway, it feels good to be back--the smog-filled air, the triple-digit heat--all of it feels right; like all the pieces are in order.  Everything is as it should be.  I guess unbeknownst to me I've been subconsciously drawn to the Valley all these years (perhaps even searching for it).  I'm hoping that this stop in my adventure lasts a while because I'm certainly looking forward to getting off the Road for a bit.  After all, what is it they say?  Ah yes, there's no place like Home.

--KM

"With so much drama in the L-B-C, it's kinda hard bein' Snoop D-O-double-G."

They Do

When I first met E, it was through the Dog Doc, as the two had become close friends while in school. At the time they didn't know it, but they were destined to fall madly in love with each other. As the universe moves in mysterious ways, it took a little bit of time for their friendship to blossom into something more. But it did.

Yesterday I had the privilege and pleasure of joining the Dog Doc and E as they celebrated their wedding. It was a simple affair without all the unnecessary trappings of your typical wedding. And yet, simple is not plain. Simple is elegant, thoughtful, and warm. Simple is spectacular. For the more you subtract that which is superfluous, the more you gain in intimacy. And of course, in the process, you allow the core of the moment--love--to shine through unencumbered; a pure white light of beauty, grace, and possibility.

The ceremony itself kept with the theme of intimacy. The bride and groom stood on the beach with their toes in the sand, encircled by family and friends in a ring of love. After some sage words from the Man of the Cloth, vows were spoken, rings exchanged, and then their first act as husband and wife--a kiss. Cheers went up from the crowd seconded by the roar of the ocean. When the two emerged from the circle, it was as something more than when they entered. And THAT is something truly worth celebrating.

Congratulations to two amazing friends as they embark on a wonderful adventure. May their true love illuminate the path forward.

-KM

"Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye."

Shy Guy Makes A Move

The Girl and I are at Seventy7, a dimly lit bar in Culver City.  As it's a Monday night, the place is very sparsely populated.  We're situated in one corner and in another sits a guy and a girl.  They're sitting somewhat upright and at a distance from each other with no physical contact.  Even from across the bar I feel the nervous energy radiating from their corner.  I can only assume that they're on a first date.

The guy is very physically fit.  You can tell he hits the gym on a regular basis, his muscles prominent beneath his blindingly-white polo shirt.  He's bald (head shaved clean), but not so that it's a detriment to his attractiveness.  You can tell that he's a very confident and successful person . . . but maybe not with the fairer sex.  On this particular evening he looks a bit out of his element.  Like the guy, the girl is also very physically fit--perhaps the two met at the gym?  She is dressed to impress.  A bit overdressed for this particular bar, but not for the moment.

Despite his impressive physique, the guy is a Shy Guy (I can spot my brethren from a mile away). Now, as a fellow Shy Guy, I am very concerned for his success and start to fret over whether his date is going well.  Having been in his position before, I can tell they're at the stage of the evening in which romantic fortune favors the bold.  Stage 1 of the date has gone well--a delightful meal and witty banter--and now the two find themselves at Stage 2, which in this particular instance consists of post-meal drinks at a bar.  I don't mean to put pressure on this guy, but this is the critical moment in their budding romance--where the girl is going to decide whether to keep Shy Guy in the pool of potential romantic interests or relegate him to the black hole from which there is no escape--The Friend Zone.  Knowing that Shy Guy is in peril, I channel all of my mental energy toward him; a laser beam of pure will--"Show her you're interested--DO SOMETHING!!!"

But Shy Guy does not stir.  Instead, it's the girl who makes a move (it would seem as though my aim could use some work).  She removes her jacket to uncover a very revealing top--a red sleeveless number with a low-cut neckline.  It is by no means slutty--not at all--but sends a very clear and very strong signal--"Hey, Shy Guy.  It's ok--I like you."  Now that the girl has broken convention and made the first move, Shy Guy has no choice but to act if he hopes to maintain this girl's interest.  And so he digs deep into the Shy Guy Playbook and . . . takes out his phone to show the girl something.  Now, for the un-Shy, this maneuver may seem somewhat strange, but it's actually quite clever in that it necessitates coming into close contact without being too forward or obvious about the whole thing.  Anyway, the girl accepts Shy Guy's invitation and, cheek to cheek, the two enter the wonderful world of cell phone YouTube videos (Chris De Burgh would've been proud).

Seeing that some type of move had been made, I turned my attention back to The Girl and lost track of Shy Guy and his date.  However, later in the evening I did notice that when they got up to leave they were leaving together.  Whatever videos were shown on that tiny cell phone screen had made this girl swoon.  Perhaps the two of them were now moving to a location with a bigger screen for more videos (at least that's what I would've suggested).  In any case, I was glad to see that this member of my Shy Guy fraternity had survived Stage 2 and would now be moving on to the next stage--"watching videos."  And by that I mean "dropping the girl off at her apartment, politely wishing her a lovely evening and then maybe--MAYBE--going in for a kiss on the cheek."

--KM

"I've never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight; I've never seen you shine so bright."