Escape From L.A.
After what seemed an eternity, we have manged to escape L.A. on January 8th . We had left the city to regroup. 8 years of hard work, stability, and connection-building has stopped for now, the upside being the energy shifted immediately to one of more clarity and conviction. Our determination to move forward in this vast and new Unknown Territory become more solidified. This needed to happen in a hurry for the sake our mindset, and our stasis, particularly for our children. As West Hollywood was currently experiencing a group of arsonists lighting random cars afire over the week of our departure, it was sign to stay away, and a sign that we would end up ignoring for a brief time when we would return over potential and legitimate opportunity..and we would almost lose our new 'home' in the process...
Acts Of Kindness; Unexpected Realities
On January 5th, my wife and I "pulled the trigger", we purchased an RV. It was a decision that we both were a bit leery of, as neither of us have ever done this before. The other limited options weren't as nearly reasonable: stay in a Hotel and continuously lose what little savings we have, or apply for emergency housing..which in Southern California could take up to a year to retrieve. We don't plan on being 'displacement careerists' The RV itself was one hell of a fine, but more striking was the gentleman we bought it from.
Steve from Long Beach.
My wife and I went to his home to look at the old and sturdy vehicle, repleat with its own little 'quirks': some charming, some needing a fix here, a replace there. Steve was a charismatic and friendly chap who took the time to show the complete repair history of the vehicle and how all the components, such as the generator and the propane heater all functioned. And when asked to show us one more time, was delighted to do so. As he was a friendly enough fellow, a conversational exchange began between ourselves and he...
Steve is a single parent who had recently lost his job as a crane operator at the Long Beach Shipyards due to sudden and unexpected seizures of which, according to him, he had no history of. On medical disability leave provided by his company, Steve felt they were working on finding a way to release him altogether, as the nature of his condition was potentially dangerous not only to himself, but to his coworkers on the ground. The seizure that got him unemployed happened while he was 3 stories high..in the middle of a routine unload from a cargo ship to the dock. He was fortunate in that moment that neither he nor anyone else was hurt or killed in the process.
As he was living with his mother, Steve needed to consolidate he and his girlfriends items to get some needed cash together so that he could regroup, and figure out what to do next. One of which was their RV they shared. Steve made no excuses for his present stasis, and seemed willing to offer us a solid deal on the RV, repeating that he would work us to consider a good price. The online ad had stated the price at $2500 originally, and he communicated this was negotiable.
"I sense that you guys are good people, so I wanna work with you", he said repeatedly while my wife and I were assessing what we offer in payment that was reasonable for the situation. I have often heard people state this, and have learned not to trust it instinctively: it's usually an indication they may be hiding a serious problem with the item they're trying to off-load. As I am thinking this, I notice my son had climbed the ladder accessing the top the RV exterior roof to have a look. Then my daughter followed suit. Something had happened in that moment: my children had embraced the potential of this New Reality for the first time since the uncertainty began, by daring to go up the top of this Old Beast. More striking, is that my son has vertigo and there he was, too fascinated and curious to mind his fear...
My wife and I agreed amongst ourselves the most we could really do was $1900. I decided to be the one to approach him, knowing he might balk.
"Well, Steve'" I said hesitantly "..Uh how low are you willing to go, sir..?"
Without pause "can't go lower than $1600. Now, I'm willing to through in some stuff..but that would be the best I could do." The RV was ours..and off we went to complete our move.
Whether the suddenly willingness to drastically lower the price of this fully loaded three-bed, 6 wheeled motor-home was an truly an act of kindness or desperation one can speculate as they please. Sure, we have had to fix a thing here and a replace an item there as we go could be perceived as dodgy off-load on his part with us as the role of the 'suckers', but since then , this Old Beast has housed all of us competently since that time.
I would also figure out later that both he and his only daughter were also living in the Caravan prior to our purchase of it. I would see evidence (from my own experience and conversation with him) that Steve was also doing crystal meth, and had done jail time for distribution and use of this killer substance back in the 90's.
Despite all this, I will call it an act of kindness from someone who was just as desperate as ourselves to survive and and carry forward as we.
Another act of meaningful charity has been from my counterpart in New Zealand, who, upon reading my lead article conveyed that if I needed an ear he would be there. 'I'm here for you bro'.
How is this charity, you ask? Because sometimes one does not need to be judged for one's circumstances..sometimes you just want to someone to see, listen & understand. The gentleman who wrote me this is Simon, a fellow musician and inventor whom I have had a working and personal repoire with for about 4 years, and whom I have never met in person. I hadn't spoken to him for a little over a year, yet there he was, without condition nor agenda...
Ready to listen..to lend an ear. He won't know until he reads this how meaningful that is at this time.
Another friend of mine Carl, put it simply: "Think of it as being a 21st Century Nomad", and, further referencing the movie Fight Club's initial message that " you're being stripped of all of the useless bullshit and being allowed to simplify. Many people are afraid of letting go; of being that 'nomad', because of the sheer freedom it brings" I agree: the 'beauty' in this circumstance is the simplicity and the freedom, indeed. But it also without structure..we are completely responsible for ourselves at this level of simple sustenance, and it is without guarantee as there is no structure nor safety net or creature comforts to define our existence. Exhilarating yet unnerving at times. Also appreciated is his insight as well..
Driving around a caravan in SoCal and living out of it, I have noticed that folks, especially around the metropolitan corporate centers tend to look upon my family and I with great disdain and disgust: as if we are some low-lying, shiftless and classless feral family just trolling around with no ambition for employment or want in desiring fixed and permanent shelter.
The most judgmental, and non-extant group, however, has been those who call themselves 'family.' These people have given the most toxic and irresponsible rhetoric I have received on my situation, doing so without asking one simple question "how are you, and your wife and children doing ?" Instead it has been a din of pontificating, condescending, self-serving pompous diatribe, lending pseudo-advice, empty quotes of encouragement and reference and recommendation without fully knowing the situation at hand, nor being directly in contact with it. As I always known, it is easy to render pious, angry and arrogant advice when you yourself sit from a safe place. It is easy to try to quantify noxious (and even psychotic) rhetoric when you yourself do not have to face such challenges, and do not wish to 'see' the damage you not only cause the person with your moronic egocentric input, but also using this situation to extol such righteous false indignation when your own 'garden' needs 'tending': Your home has its own issues, but yet you waste that energy on me and my family to 'stick it' to us, to achieve some personal sense of superiority. To this I say two things: Please continue to go your own way, and one invitation worthy of your 'input':
To 'see' without judgement is a remarkable gift, especially to those on the receiving end. It is better than money..and overpriced, crappy IKEA furniture... : )
A Comedy of Errors
Sometimes when your experiencing a plethora of change in a short space of time, several things happen: Firstly, you often forget what day it is, as everyday is different and feels like a week. Your reduced to living one day at a time, taking each hour and each new dynamic as it occurs. Secondly, 'mental mistakes' occur with greater frequency, as the speed of change doesn't allow spacing to think in a 'slowed-down', and sometimes measured way.
My wife and I, between the homeschooling and the day-to-day operations of our new lives had spent a good week getting our new caravan prepped and habitable while co-existing simultaneously in nearby hotels that were RV friendly. San Diego, Calif has proven to be the best place to be 'in transition' as there a rather liberal attitude in having Carvans parked on city streets for extended periods of time. Los Angeles being far more congested and corporate is vastly intolerant, and local parking enforcement demons are always at the ready to drop a ticket on your ass at any moment.
So while in San Diego, I had been having problems with onboard generator not shutting-off properly, and was in the middle of updating some worn-out components when I received a call from a prospective employer. They were advising that I had been selected for a job interview on January 20th at 4:00 pm. This was great news: The problem is that the interview was back in Los Angeles, and the interview was being held in the most congested area of L.A. at the highest point of traffic volume; A friday afternoon.
When the day arrived, I and my family hit the road to L.A. at exactly 12:09 pm. Money was a little short but we knew we could stay a couple nights in L.A. in the RV, and it would be the first time that all of us would actually sleep in The Beast, not just periodic moments of cleaning, clearing and arranging. The roads were clear, right up until we hit Downtown L.A. I being the hot-blooded Male that I am thought it good idea to park the best at a local park in West Hollywood, so as to allow time to get in my 'booth' and change into my 'superman' suite. Yes, feeling high and mighty, indeed. The problem was my wife had wanted to continue a little further down Santa Monica Blvd closer in proximity to the interview site, which, of course, made sense. As she is very intuitive and observant, she had felt it wouldn't be advantageous to settle at that particular park. It didn't look right, nor feel right to her..
But I am 'superman', dammit. I 'know'! Leader of my family...I know what is best! Yes! After swiftly get into my gear in space the size of a small paintbox, we continued on in our car straight for the interview. My wife, rightly displeased with my decision of parking, the reminded me something important "go in there and give the performance of your life., Act like you can't come home until you landed this job." She was referencing time when were in similar straights, and I landed $500 worth of prize money in a singing contest at a Christmas party in '03. That situation began a turning point that lead to our stability. This of a similar stripe, except far more being at stake.
The interview went exceptionally well (as they all have). A full 40 full minutes being asked poigniant questions about my working past, I felt I had delivered strongly, although being under duress from having to 'fast forward' my way up there from San Diego. In the hours after the interview on that day, all hell broke loose. Upon returning to the spot in which we parked The Beast, I noticed a parking ticket tucked neatly under the windshield wiper. Upon seeing this, we decided to attempt to find another spot in which to settle in for the night. After driving all day, my wife and I were a bit 'fully baked, and ready to serve' mentally. The decision had come to head west toward Santa Monica to regroup, and settle for the evening. With my wife leading us in our car, and me behind the wheel of the Caravan, we were on our way..
Until, on the first right turn made, the Caravan died: in the second lane on Santa Monica Blvd. Completely out of gas, turning the rush hour hubris into a make-shift parking lot, repleat with bitchy metrosexuals leaning on their horns and botoxed barbies acting as if this was the worst inconvenience ever created on this patch of road their over-indulged self-entitled plastic asses have ever endured. The Beast wouldn't start, and the animated mannequins of WeHo were using us to practice thier dramatic acting inflections, rehearsing their best appearance of indignation and pure anger for full effect..just in case Jerry Bruckheimer happened to be driving by
The Beast wasn't moving..and my wife and I were getting more panicked, and speaking more quietly as a result, so as not to panic our children. She then came with an idea that anyone who hasn't been there before would say was completely without reasonable sanity: taking the 1000 lb compact car and pushing the 2.5 ton RV off the road to a neighboring corner away from traffic. My wife had grown up in the Mariana Islands, and had seen her father do something quite similar when she was a child on several occasions. I quickly set the The beast in neutral, and my wife took our little compact and lined up the bumper with the rear of the RV..and pushed it. 3 and half blocks, right back to the park area we originally started. With The Beast parked halfway on the residential street, we began scrambling to get gas with the reserve tank we had the car. As my wife was set to run off to nearest station and get this canister filled while I watched over the RV, an 'agency' showed up whom I didn't want to have any further contact with after what occurred to me in January 2011..
A West Hollywood Sheriff: a diminutive, cranky deputy whose last desirable errand on a Friday night was to deal with some yahoo who can't read his gas gauge correctly on his goddamn Caravan dash. My son immediately saw the emergency lights atop the sheriff's unit come on.., and had that look of nervousness. I immediately walked to the officer and told him what was happening.
"You gotta clear this street, it's not safe." he stated flatly, irritation heavy in his voice, using to express it by stating the obvious
"I just need fuel, Sheriff. It's out" , I responded with thin breath, partly of having to push the RV a little further by hand to clear the street with his help, and the other at the sheer stress of having law enforcement right in front of me.
My head was spinning a bit, then the conversation turned a direction that made me almost lose my water..
"You sure this thing doesn't need to be towed ?" , he responded. The sound of this twisted my stomach in further knots: having The Beast towed meant loss of of our only shelter, and with little money, there would be no way to recover it. My wife returned with the canister, which we both filled nervously: spilling petrol over our hands and shoes trying to line it up with the vertical fill entry while the Sherriff watched from his vehicle.
The sheriff seemed itchy to possess the Caravan via having it towed, as it still occupied a good portion of the small street we sat in. "If you can't get this thing started soon, it'll have to get towed, man, It's parked illegally and is creating congestion on the street.", he said , almost mechanically, losing his patience exponentially.
After several tries, The Beast finally turned over and we went immediately to the next gas station. I declared at that moment we should get out of West Hollywood immediately, while my wife wanted to stop by a nearby Ralph's Supermarket to pick up just a few items and to catch our breath.
When we got there, we elected to to go to the roof parking area of the store, as it would be easier for me to manipulate the Caravan in an out quickly from the upper structure. This was a good idea at around 7 pm at night, except for one issue: a metal clearance bar strung on chains at the lot's entry communicated to my 'blind' eye a noted allowable height of 8' 2" per vehicle. The Beast is 11 feet tall...
When I completed my clumsy entrance through this sign, the metal bar clunking and banging the top of the vehicle, I noted that the exterior access latter had come clean of the top, and was dangling from the back of the vehicle when I finally parked. It had to be abandoned and taken right there and then in the poorly-lit area of the roof lot. When we left, I noted the same Sheriff we had dealt with earlier completing his pass through the main car lot below. It was time to get out of West Hollywood, and not return.
It was time for me to pay closer attention to the nuances of this situation, and mind the details from this point forward..or, through our collective inattention, potentially lose our only home of the moment. Humorous to some degree, yet sobering.
We eventually stayed the next two nights in Venice near the beach..and I would learn later I wouldn't get the job I interviewed for: the only reason we came back, and nearly lost the rest of what we had...
To this date (February 23rd), we have not gone back. The L.A. 'experiment' is over.
