Day Ocho

Context of previous “Connotate this, bitch!”: On the first fire pit night, we were running out of wood. So Joe, being the prepared, forward looking individual he is inquired, “Do you think they have this at the grocery store?” To which my friend replied, “Why, do you want to get some wood?”

PCH stands for the Pacific Coast Highway which snakes along the coastlines of California, Oregon and Washington. I think it should also stand for peerless, crazy-cool, and ho-tastic. Okay, maybe not the last one but it’s hard to come up with a word of praise that starts with an H. When you drive on this road, it’s as if you’re coming face to face with god and he is smiling back at you saying, “you are my most prized creation.” Seriously, it makes you feel special in some way to be treated to this natural masterpiece. With stiff cliffs plunging down to the rough pacific ocean on one side and the branches of brush and trees reaching out to you from state parks on the other and the sun squeezing behind the horizon right in front of you, it becomes clear that this is one of nature’s biggest and most profound stages. It takes a little while to reach this part of the PCH, though, when you’re driving from L.A. You have to escape a couple of small cities and industrial towns before you reach this hotbed for natural beauty but it is well worth the drive. Sometimes, while you drive along it, a restaurant pops out of nowhere offering unfathomable views of the rocky pacific ocean. I like this ocean a whole lot better than the Atlantic. Driving up the PCH, you realize that almost every square inch of coastline is overstuffed with danger and wonderment and at the risk of sounding like a douchebag, magic. It’s a really winding road so when you’re met with a sudden 90 degree turn you don’t know whether you’re about to encounter another immediate turn, a runaway truck ramp or the high beams of another car heading in the opposite direction which momentarily blocks the road from view so that you don’t know whether you’re still on it or heading for an up close and personal view of the depths of the Pacific ocean. This was one of the reasons we didn’t take the PCH up all the way to San Francisco but instead cut inland to a safer highway. We didn’t depart though without having gained a new peace of mind that only the beauty and power of nature can offer. It’s hard to be funny about something as inspiring as that, but here are some of my futile attempts at funny observations:

It seemed like every couple of miles on the PCH we would encounter a rock slide area that had just recently had a rock slide. Joe and I were quite thankful that the rocks decided to slide before we traversed this road but all the road damage repairs did offer a sense of ominous adventure for the rock slide areas that didn’t have a fresh rock slide. Needless to say, Senorita Escape would not have enjoyed getting her rocks off at that juncture of time.

We also encountered a lot of historical bridges along the PCH which made us wonder whether the standard for becoming a historical landmark in America had been lowered. It’s just impossible that bridge after bridge after bridge along our route is historical. I mean, what is so historical about them? The only thing I can think of is Mel Gibson drunk driving along them but maybe there’s something else too.

We also drove along part of the El Camino Real which neither of us had any idea about. Joe thought it had something to do with a car. I thought it had something to do with the path Mexicans took when they tried to take over the U.S.A. in the mid 1900’s but apparently the Mexicans never tried to take over the U.S.A. in the mid 1900’s. The real scoop is that when missionaries arrived in San Luis Obispo, they set up these poles with large iron bells on them along a path used to link the early missions they had founded. Yah, not as cool as you thought, eh? Me neither.

Speaking of San Luis Obispo, Joe decided he could live there. With the great small town atmosphere, as well as the three Verizon stores within 3 blocks of each other in the downtown area, and the proximity to the beaches, Joe gave it an a-plus as well as two thumbs up. He’s also thinking about writing into AOL Cityguide to get them to add it to the 10 best cities in the country list.

Speaking of Verizon, Joe and I have gotten into a war of network providers and banks. So far on the west coast, I have to say my peeps are ass-raping his peeps. Like I said in San Luis Obispo, there were three stores right near each other while there wasn’t a Sprint store to be seen. Joe said this was because Verizon phones break all the time. I think it’s because the demand for the best network in the country was so large, it called for three stores. There have been many moments where my extended network (you know, that large mass of people in hard hats and business suits as well as the pleasant guy in the Buddy Holly glasses that follow me around) has kicked in while Joe’s cell phone has been left without a signal. When it comes to banks, my WaMu’s have been everywhere. In the smallest towns, as well as en masse in the biggest cities. Meanwhile, the last Wachovia we saw was way back in L.A. Not too shabby.

While we had dinner in the parking lot of a Panda Express, an employee by the most holy moniker of Jesus regaled us with stories of his failed attempts at becoming an assistant manager after working there for quite some time while a newly hired asian gentleman was immediately promoted to said position. He notified us that he didn’t want to be racist because, “[he] ain’t like that but it seems like all you have to be is asian to get a fucking raise around here.” Without Jesus, I wouldn’t know what true Northern California hospitality is.

Trivia: In Tallin, Estonia, couples are not allowed to play chess in bed while making love.

“Connotate this, bitch!”: Ummm, I’m kinda embarrassed about this, but it appears we did not have our high school sexual humor going today because we don’t have a “connotate this, bitch.” Stay tuned for the next entry where hopefully we will be immature again.