Tags: california

nor straws scary

i think i need an anaheim jack

So yes, yes, I'm in Orange. City of Orange, Orange County, California.


So we landed at John Wayne Airport in Costa Mesa or Irvine or Newport Beach or something a little after 1800 after a short and uneventful flight. Shelley and I shared an exit row, while my mom sat elsewhere. Most of the flight was spent reading Sacrament and play-squabbling with Shel. As we approached Orange over the Pacific Ocean, we saw Catalina Island, whic was smaller, hillier, and drier than I pictured it. Also, I saw and successfully identified the Rancho Palos Verdes/LA Harbor/Long Beach area.

Upon landing, we headed to the rental car desk, and I noticed the many palm trees on the way. Ouside and in (!) they were growing, huge and tall and proud, unlike the tiny shriveled sad-looking ones we have up in Portland. Off towards our hotel, and then the wrong way off the freeway so we could get lost in the suburban office park shopping center apartment complex hell commonly known as Irvine. The sun then set, very very quickly and quite early--before 2000. I never get used to that.

Back around the right way, and up to Santa Ana, which was much more tolerable. Still suburban, but old and much less soul-crushing and monolithic. On the way, we nearly got hit by a pickup, but they decided to hit the car behind us instead. Car accident number one for the trip, and somehow I think there are going to be many many more. Next in the march of the surrealism brigade, we visited the house that my mother and Shelley and family all lived in when they first moved to the area. Well, that is, we saw where the house was. The actual building was enshrouded by a large green and blue tent. They were probably fumigating or something. Apparentnly they didn't live there long because my grandmother didn't like living around so many Mexicans. The neighborhood now has many very ornate fences.

The night got somewhat less surreal, with checking into the hotel and visitng a disneylandish Mexican restaurant, where I ate too much but it was yummy.

This place is so oppressively bizarre. Or maybe bizarrely oppresive.

Meanwhile, back home, a plane crashed onto a freeway.

Go this album in Gallery to see my pictures so far and in the future... I'm currently uploading, but they'll be up soon. All of Thursday's pics are now up.

nor straws scary

el monte seven hills and hydra

El Monte Elementary School

That's where I went to Kindergarten and most of first grade. But when I started first grade, I went to:

The Seven Hills School, but that didn't last long: I got kicked out. Apparently it was because I stood up to the mean kid whose parents were rich. Heh.

I showed the website of Seven Hills to Ken (my stepdad), and he said, "What is that?" I replied, "It's the private school I went to in Walnut Creek." "Oh, the one with that monster!" "Yeah!" "I'm sure he's having a fine career in politics now." He then went on to comment on how pissed he was.

I guess it was a nice school. I remember that it had a pretty campus with lots of peacocks on it. I also met there someone who turned out to be a very good friend to me at the time, a girl named Sassa Starshine (yes, her real name... it was the Bay Area, folks). She had brilliant red hair and gave me this for my 7th birthday:

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