To put it simply, today explained conclusively why people put up with hours of traffic and clouds of smog in L.A.: Huntington Beach. Along with its many brethren lining L.A., this surfing mecca was beautiful. It’s the middle of winter, yet rollerbladers, volleyballers, tanners, and peace protesters were all out en masse, along with some hardy surfers. After an hour of picking palm tree barbs out of myself, I plunged in, numbed, and raced out. I guess their wetsuits must help a lot, but they’re still pretty hardcore. As we rollerbladed, I auditioned for “Jackass II” by jumping into the sand from fast enough to get surprised / impressed / concerned looks from random passerbys. We stayed at the beach until sunset, savoring a last day in this paradise before heading back north.
The comedy club went so well last night (besides the palm tree) that we decided to try another: the Groundling Theater this time. It was mostly skits less entertaining than your average MTV commercial and about the same length, but the few improves thrown into the mix were good enough for “Whose Line Is It Anyway?” At intermission, it became evident why “Saturday Night Live” has sucked lately: the Groundling’s a huge feeder, with alumni Cheri Oteri, Will Farrell, and Lisa Kudrow.
The night’s wrapped up with another Greyhound adventure. We got there at midnight only to learn that both the 1:00 and 3:00 trains were sold out. Of course, we’d already told Kenny’s chauffeuring cousins to leave by the time we found this out… looked like it’d be an excellent night sleeping in the bus station until the 8:00. Marvin comes through with the idea to just walk onto the 1:00 with tickets for the morning bus. We get on without a hitch and I’m now dozing off, about to droll on myself aboard the half-empty overnight to San Fran.