Woke up at 7, cooked an egg to transform leftover vegan food (quinoa, almond cream, carrots) into “breakfast.” Read for a while and got on the road at 10 to see the Ojai Valley. First stop was the beach, a part of Malibu, where the ending of “Planet of the Apes” was filmed. The plan was to read there, too, but a wind whipped the sand into little cyclones that swept into my canvas bag.
Read a bit anyway. “Deep in a Dream” has let me live in Chet Baker’s head more than other biographies I’d read recently had been able to do. The scale of self-destruction was incredible; Baker at one point had a multi-country scheme, mailing 25 different doctors the same prescription for opiates.
Listened to Miles Davis’s Fillmore album, then a disco playlist, and stopped for fish taquitos in Oxnard. Continued on to the valley, which was as harmlessly new age as I’d expected, but more open. Spent a stupid amount of money and a more defensible amount on wine, which came to dinner.
It was a lot of driving and a lot of sightseeing, but not so much walking after the injury I’d sustained on Sunday. Everyone was excited that the state was “opening,” though the conversations I heard about it rang with cynicism. (“If we close down again after this I’m gonna blow my brains out.”)
The lockdown does feel especially cruel to people here. No offense, St. Louis, but nobody there was going to be dining outside in January. Here, they could have enjoyed patio life for months, but were held back by the law.
I've lived in L.A. my whole life. The lockdowns have been going on for almost a year. It's been absolutely unreal. I have friends in St. Louis and they do not live as I do like I feel like I have to because of the business closures. It's like living in another realm or something.