KING OF LOMITA

Today was a beautiful Southern California day. So beautiful in fact I decided to drive to my parents' house in Lomita. The sky was a perfect baby blue and the trucks didn't take over the stretch of Anaheim from Long Beach to Harbor City. My dad is letting me borrow clothes for an upcoming European trip, so away I went. Anyway. I loved Lomita as a kid, so much so that when I started making friends with folks in San Pedro, they nicknamed me the King of Lomita. Probably because I never shut up about it and because no one ever admits they're from Lomita. Yes, Jim Thorpe died there, but that's all anyone knows. I always made a joke about that. Lomita, where great athletes go to die. I had a park two blocks away from where I lived and hung out there a lot. I had kids my age on the cul-de-sac and we'd play hide-and-go-seek, baseball and football in the street. People in Torrance always looked at me funny whenever I'd tell them I was from Lomita, but I didn't care. If I ever get a tattoo, it's gonna be the Lomita logo -- the one with the palm tree for the "T" and underscore -- on my wrist. There came a time during my post high school years when I wanted to get out and see something else. So Long Beach it was. It was weird going back after I first moved out, but it's even stranger now. Part of me never wants to leave. That's something I hadn't felt prior to two years ago. I used to walk those streets everyday, see the Taco Bell and 7-Eleven, waste hours at the park. Not anymore. I've never been one for nostalgia, but going back to Lomita is harder each time I do it. I feel like I betrayed my town. I left for the big city and can't relate. It sucks. The drive home is always the worst. I get down and wonder why I left. I tell myself to spend more time there, go out at night and crash on my parents' couch. But I don't. The most Lomita thing happened today that made me miss my time in the little city. I took a different route home. Instead of taking PCH, I opted for the Vincent Thomas Bridge from Pedro to Long Beach. I drove down Walnut and made a left onto whatever street Devil's Ditch is on. As I was making my left, I came upon a car making a stop. I looked over. He looked over. It was my cousin Travis. He smiled real big and waved and I pointed my finger and gave him a surprised "Hey!" We kept going our separate ways. Now that my fun revolves around the closest bar and not where all the music is, it's becoming less and less important for me to be near the action. This sentiment usually fades by the time I cross over from Wilmington to Long Beach. I don't know if it's possible to love two women simultaneously, but cities is something different. Once I see those downtown skyscrapers, I know I' m home. Because of the CSULB, Long Beach has lots of transplants; I'm one of them. But a few of my friends were born and raised here and I'm sure they think I'm annoying whenever I ask them some real trivial shit, but I can't help it. I don't know the land here like I know it in Lomita. Take a walk with me down Lomita Boulevard or Eshleman and I'll tell stories for days. I'll always be from Lomita. The hard thing is coming to terms with knowing that I'm from Lomita and live in Long Beach. "From" seems so sad, like it's over and done and can't be replicated. One of these days I think I'll write a book about my time there. That said, I sure do love Long Beach, my adopted hometown.

That's the last time I ever blog about Andrew Bynum. Sorry big fella, I can't help but feel somewhat responsible for your knee injury tonight. I mean, it never happened before I blogged about you. Let's hope it's not serious. It's a long season and I turn into a miserable shit when the Lakers don't play well. That's probably the most pathetic thing I've ever typed, but it's true. I am a simple man.

Does more labels mean more hits? Let's find out.

I put my dark green sweats on in the dark. Now I see they are on backwards. That explains a lot.

Without reading one of my prior posts, a friend named Wes called today to ask me about the scene at a local coffee shop named Portfolio. He said he's noticed a new trend and wanted to start a website called hipsterorbum.com. He wants to post pictures and let the rest of the world decide is the photo is of a hipster of a bum. Good idea if you ask me. I referred him here and explained how I just echoed his thoughts a few days ago. Fucking hipsters.

I'm selling my skateboard because it sits in a closet. I tried riding it once about a year ago. I went around the block and flapped my arms for dear life. Another sign age is making me a new person.