I’m in Irvine, California, Southeast of Los Angeles. It’s lush green, rain is pouring down hard and steady. The flight yesterday was both mundane and majestic, maybe a good illustration of the reality of modernity. On the one hand, everything was as expected, taxi, to check- in, to boarding, to smooth takeoff, a four-hour flight, and easy landing. Nothing special. On the other hand, coming into LA, soaring above the clouds, circling over the Pacific, the sun glinting off buildings and cars, the Who’s ‘Live at Leeds,’ (circa 1971) crashing in my ears, hurtling in a arrow of steel at high-speed, if you can really take in the enormity of the moment - absolutely extraordinary.
My business colleague and I decided to ignore the gray clouds, the intermittent showers, and headed over to the Santa Anita Racetrack. Couldn’t get my hands on a Racing Form, so I was basically a blind man in the dark, trying to decipher which ponies liked to run in the mud. Kind of hard to tell, so I took a couple of wild guesses. I hit one, lost a couple more, the trip was basically a wash.
Checked into our hotel late in the evening, had a good seafood dinner, then a long, dead-man’s sleep. This morning I ordered up a pot of coffee (not so good) and logged on to the Internet (the connection is mysteriously flaky). On the road, you discover all the things you take for granted at home. Today is an ‘off day,’ might go to the ‘workout room’ (I need to work my instrument) and then do a little exploring, Laguna Beach is nearby, definitely want to acknowledge the ocean. ‘Hello. Here I am!'