Pleasure Notes

I still have no idea why baseball is considered our national pastime, but I did learn many other fascinating things during my recent venture to the ballpark. Before I share them, I should clarify that the game I attended was played by the Dodgers and the Reds, at Dodgers Stadium in Los Angeles. I honestly have no clue where the Reds came from but I liked the colors in their uniforms. And the Dodgers beat them so… YAY!

by The Suss-Man / flickr

LESSONS LEARNED

1. Watching sporting events from a private suite is good. The chairs are on wheels. You can pretend you’re in your living room by lounging on one of the plush couches and watching the game from one of the 8 or so TV monitors located at convenient angles. You can still participate in The Wave if you choose to acknowledge the masses. Tons of free food, including Dodger Dogs, is available. I guess it’s not technically free, as someone has to pay for it, but I don’t have to see the $10 bill for a bag of peanuts. There’s a DESSERT CART*.
2. *Dessert carts are good. This revelation deserved it’s own mention. It seems that, in the swanky, silent hallways outside the luxury boxes, an overburdened dessert cart roams. On it, one can discover all kinds of delicacies including a CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE that is truly obscene. I, who routinely can consume an entire chocolate chip cookie in one gobble, could only eat half of this sugar-shock-inducing baked good. I didn’t even take a picture for fear of breaking my camera (and because I didn’t bring my camera, but that’s beside the point). This cookie contained chocolate chips, chocolate chunks and other forms of chocolate the likes of which I’ve never seen. Ridiculous.
3. Most baseball players no longer stand in solidarity with skinny-jean-wearing women. It turns out that most baseball players have abandoned the tights-and-socks look for a more forgiving baggy-yoga-pant uniform. I found this dismaying. My allegiance to football players is now strengthened. Please remind me of this in January.
4. Charlie Sheen is polite. He said “excuse me” to help me avoid face-planting directly into him as I walked out a door. He also looks older than the air-brushed version of him I drive by on my way to work, which makes me feel better when a notice yet another wrinkle wave at me in the mirror.
5. The 7th Inning Stretch happens quickly. I missed it entirely while engrossed in a conversation about yoga with another fan.
6. Shelling peanuts creates a mess. But it’s entirely worth it.

In conclusion, I’m thinking I may attempt to attend more sporting events in the future, as an educational experience if nothing else.

Also, there’s just something about watching men chasing after balls, and occasionally taking great leaps that reveal impressive athleticism, while a warm summer breeze blows under an almost full moon…

Los Angeles may be a fairly new city in the grand scheme, but it has its share of landmarks. I’ve lived here for fourteen years, and I’ve visiting an alarmingly small number of them. But I can now say I’ve been to Watts Towers, and it was well worth the trip.

Watts Towers

What is it about living in a city that makes one less curious to explore?

When I travel to other cities, whether in the U.S. or abroad, I wouldn’t dream of missing their highlights. But when it’s home, there’s always tomorrow, or a self-conscious “cheese” factor, or the comfort of routine that keeps me from pulling out my map and my camera.

I’d heard talk of Watts Towers from the very first day I arrived in L.A. It’s the story with which people juxtapose that of the Watts Riots, to illustrate how this town is complicated and surprising. The riots of 1965 were a violent manifestation of fear, a push-back against hatred, intolerance and injustice. The towers, constructed from 1921 through 1955, were an artistic expression of peace, possibility and beauty. Quite a contrast. One I wanted to see. Or so I kept telling myself. But I never got around to it.

patterns

Then, three things happened.

1. I created my Intentions list at the end of 2009 – a huge long list of random activities I dreamily professed to want to experience. Suddenly it was all on paper, in front of me.
2. Then, I made it public by posting it here – that made, and makes, me feel oh-so-much-more accountable than those thousand-and-one lists I’d always scrawled in random notebooks or the back pages of my journals. I’m no longer the only one who knows how much I sit on my ass and talk big. Still, though, it took an outside force to get me driving across town on a Sunday afternoon.
3. If the ever enthusiastic Dian hadn’t read my list, seen my intention to visit Watts Towers and spontaneously agreed to join me on my venture, I’d still probably have no idea how inspiring broken bottles can be.

Simon Rodia spent 34 years collecting broken things, the stuff others see as junk, to create a vision.

DO SOMETHING BIG.

That was his dream.

perspective

He didn’t become a millionaire. He didn’t cure polio. He didn’t advance technology.

He constructed beauty out of trash.

broken bits

He’d never trained as an artist. He was a construction worker.

He didn’t seek or gain fame (at least not in his lifetime). He had a failed marriage. His neighbors thought he was crazy, and that he was designing a hazardous blight on the landscape.

He had a day job.

vision in pieces

And every single day, for 34 years, he came home and built these towers. At night, after an exhausting day of physical labor. On the weekends, when others were going to BBQs or the beach. He hand-selected every single piece of broken bottle, chipped china, shattered glass, and discarded tile. He had no architectural drawings, sketches or plans to consult.

It was all in his head.

How’s that for commitment, for faith, for trust?

dreaming big

Do you have a dream that strong and clear?

To be honest, I’m not sure I do.

But I’m working on it. Are you?

There are many things we tend to leave behind as we exit childhood and adopt the mantle of adulthood. Unfortunately, a PILLOW FIGHT – that delightful romp with friends that allowed us to laugh uproariously, vent our pent-up frustrations and feel just a little naughty – is relegated, for many of us, to the box of fond memories thought too silly to partake in once we have mortgages and jobs and responsibilities. Thank goodness someone out there realized that this attitude is BULLSHIT, and created International Pillow Fight Day.

Yes, INTERNATIONAL PILLOW FIGHT DAY.

It took place this past Saturday, in numerous cities throughout the world. I joined the fight in Pershing Square, located in downtown Los Angeles.

What an adventure!

I’ve wanted to participate in the madness since hearing about it, after the fact, last year. It simply sounded too outrageous to miss – hundreds of people showing up at a designated time, at a designated location, with a pillow (preferably feather) in hand, and prepared to get into a pillow fight to end all pillow fights with a bunch of like-minded strangers. All orchestrated via word-of-mouth.

The crowd gathers. By Jen Castle.

The power of social media at its most gloriously inane and profound.

I coerced my friend @jencastle to join me in the fray. She remembered her camera (she’s a fabulous professional photographer and had the real deal) so she’s provided the pictures here. She has her version of the story too.

I remembered the pillow.

We arrived at the square about half an hour before the fight was to start. People were already gathering – dressed in everything from pajamas, masks and Mad Hatter hats to capes, jeans and magenta tutus. Old timers displayed goggles and bandanas to protect themselves. The air was charged with anticipation.

Preparation time. By Jen Castle.

By three o’clock, the designated start time, the square was PACKED with people of all ages – a truly eclectic bunch. Jen and I moved to the very center of the crowd (how naive!). As the clock ticked down, people raised their pillows above their heads. A great cheer went up. And then…

MAYHEM.

Chaos (that's me in the middle). By Jen Castle.

A mosh pit. With feathers. Lots and lots of feathers.

Feathers can be hazardous to your health. By Jen Castle.

It was utterly exhilarating. And utterly terrifying.

We were PUMMLED from all sides, immediately lost sight of each other, and fought the good fight.

On the attack. By Jen Castle.

Then, I inhaled a handful of feathers, started suffocating, panicked, and called it quits.

I lasted five minutes.

I am an embarrassment to the League of Pillow Fighters everywhere.

***

I watched the remaining 55 minutes of the fight from the somewhat safer confines of the square’s edge, exhausted by the adrenaline rush, hacking up feathers in a vain attempt to breathe more freely, and wondering how I’d ever considered pillow fighting to be a tame, frivilous activity.

It is HARD CORE.

***

As I look back on the experience now, a few days later, I realize a few things:

1. I need to get in better shape.
2. Next year, I’m bringing a gas mask or the equivalent. And I’m remembering my camera.
3. Advil and water are as important as the pillow.
4. I’m so very glad I experienced this! And I can now cross it off my Intentions List, which is also kinda great.
5. People are crazy.
6. I like being crazy.

I’m still finding feathers about my person, by the way.

The aftermath. By Jen Castle.

If the pillow fight comes to your neck of the woods next year, will you join? Or do you prefer to keep your pillow on your bed and your fighting to the virtual or verbal kind?

It rained last week, which I took as an excuse to barricade myself in my house. For days an entire day. I finally unchained my door to admit a friend who came bearing food and dvds. I got so crazy as to open up a can of soup that had been in the cupboard since 2002 instead of venturing out into the weather, finally understanding the true benefit of canned goods. I can only imagine the extremes to which people on the other coast have resorted to avoid the elements.

By Friday, my body was screaming to my mind, DO SOMETHING! MOVE!

I looked out the window, debating my choices.

by Agnes the Red/flickr

The forecast had predicted it would rain again. The sky was dark and cloudy. I was sleep deprived; the roar of downpours had kept me up half the night. I figured I had every reason not to twitch off the couch, much less stick my neck out into the world at large.

My body’s screaming got LOUDER!

I decided to risk the dangers inherent in venturing onto local roads during inclement moments; Los Angeles drivers transform into veritable drama queens when water darkens our asphalt.

I headed to the lake.

On the way to my habitual meditative retreat from urban chaos, a large raindrop shattered onto the surface of my windshield. It immediately became a civilization of droplets. I was struck by the pattern. Then I thought, I should turn back… But it’s only a drop… Another drop fell, a smaller one.

When was the last time you were soaked by the rain?

I realized I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened to me. My heart started beating a bit faster, in anticipation. Why not embrace the possibility of an experience I usually take pains to avoid?

I decided that if the skies should open up and drench me in harmless water acid rain, I would welcome it as an adventure.

The skies held their tears.

Instead, I shed some of my own. In awe.

The LIGHT took my breath away.

It was spectacular – crisp and flat. It transformed the glories of a three-dimensional world into a fanciful pop-up book of layers – the dew-dropped grasses sharply carved out and laid flat in front of the water, in front of the trees, in front of the tower, in front of the mountain, in front of the clouds.

Everything appeared new and special.

by chrislagarto/flickr

Then the crickets exploded into symphony, clearly rejoicing in the dampened earth and the scent of life that a hard rain brings to this town. I understood. And I was suddenly reminded of something I’d forgotten while slouched on my couch, obsessed with my navel…

Nature is my god. It never fails to restore me to my purest self.

When I make that connection, all other connections are possible. And I am happy.

What do you discover when you leave the house?

by me*voila/flickr

“Why do clouds cry so much, growing happier and happier?” Pablo Neruda

It has been raining for 24 hours in Los Angeles. It doesn’t look to let up any time soon. But I know that, at some point in the future, the sun will reemerge from behind the grey clouds and shine on a land gloriously cleansed. When so much water pours into this city, it erases the dirt, grime and particles of pollution that make the air thick and the mountains nearly invisible in the distance. It eradicates the surface layer of urban destruction. And it usually weilds a bit of destructive power itself. It moves earth. It cuts and drowns young leafy things. It makes everyone slow down, or suffer the consequences. It is beautiful. And what comes after is even more so.

I want the rain to do the same for me that it does for this city. I want to be scrubbed of all the dirt, grime and pollution that fear creates in me. I want the fog of procrastination, paralysis and inaction to be eradicated. I want to be moved. I want my strengths to flourish and my weaknesses to be cut out and drowned so that more vibrant seeds can sprout. I want my mind to slow down.

I breathe in the cool, refreshing scent of the clouds’ tears. And I see happiness on the horizon.

What’s the weather like in your skies, and what does it foretell for you?