I'm the President's Son, I don't need no soul...

Tonight I took a trip.  I squished my cheap headphones all the way into my ears, shoved my keys, my ipod and a twenty in my pocket and set off for a walk.  All the way to New York.

I needed to see a place that was alive after dark.  As I grazed the shops of Abbot Kinney, some desolate, some wide open and some subtly winding down, I breathed a huge gulp of fresh air, more for my heart than my lungs.  I miss home and this was the closest thing to it.

But before this my friend Amanda and I had a dinner that one could only describe as better than sex (for our waiter did describe it as such).  The beet tagliolini to be precise.  The bass and the scallops were also not of this world, but then again, all of our hosts were off-the-boat Italians (the best kind of fob there is), and eager to put smiles on our "bellisima" faces.

During my walk I thought about this dinner.  How I feel so lucky to feel so healthy.  And to be able to eat things and appreciate them bite by bite, like I was appreciating each step of my walk.  I looked at everyone I passed straight in the eye until they smiled at me.  Call me creepy but that dude in the Dave Matthews "Everyday" video is onto something.  For as much as I complain, be it about the job, the fact that men are clowns, or my utter lack of financial freedom, I am pretty lucky to be alive, at the pinnacle of health and feeling good.  After all, my girl-crush of a Spin instructor told me I looked ripped today.  I thought I was going to fly off of my bike--the girl has Britney Spears' body, circa 1999.

I came back from my walk with a couple souvenirs.  I was tempted to stop into Other Room and get that delicious concoction they call Delirium Tremens, which essentially tastes like someone melted a stick of butter into the best IPA imaginable, but I deferred to the liquor store, where I emerged with Self magazine, a Zone protein bar, and some Trident.  I also stumbled into a medical cannibis establishment, which I only realized after oohing and aahing at the brownies and realizing they looked kind of like poo, as hash brownies often do.  I then somehow acquired a list of doctors who will prescribe me medical marijuana, if I so desire. 

On my way home, I thought about my Dad, and how excited I am to see him on Friday.  I thought about Ryan Dunn, who's gone now, after drinking and driving his car off a cliff.  I thought about where I'll be--or not be--in 3 more months, and I thought about walking down that very street, with a tall dark stranger beside me who I wouldn't have to say anything to, who would just get me.

And for once, I didn't wish for anything.