Shadow Footprints

I may have spent too much time in shoe shops while on vacation, but nothing will convince me that any man, let alone a black man, with baseball cap on sideways, white sweater over white t-shirt, white basketball shorts hanging down to his ankles with the crutch at his knee level, and white ankle socks in Nike scuffs is cool. I saw this while on the bus from Santa Monica to LAX.

I'm writing this without internet connectivity, I'm too cheap to pay ten bucks for the privilege of connecting on an unsecured network at the airport for the purpose of posting on my blog, though I am tempted to just to read any emails from my man. I have paid the horrendous price of $5.25 for a pint, but I needed something cool to drink, and water at $1.75 was too much. I was in Pennywise Books in Pacific Beach yesterday having another conversation with a couple of ladies about Michael Jackson. While looking for books I heard then talk about the verdict then their conversation changed to Aruba and the law there. As they expressed shock on the way it worked there I interrupted them to remind them about their moments earlier conversation about Michael Jackson. I ended up having a pleasant conversation with them. The woman working, probably the owner, there had travelled and had an open mind, and the other grew up in the UK and had experienced her city being bombed in World War II. Most trips there have me visit that bookshop and pick up a handful or more. I was also told that when I go to San Francisco I'll find the second hand book shops are so much better.

While sitting at the airport bar I heard that Michael Jackson would have gone down if he was black. A group of Welshmen have a loud sense of humour. They are on their way to New Zealand. I expect they are joining the Barmy Army. The Lions will be playing at Eden Park and on those days I can expect traffic disruptions to get home. Nice shoes they were wearing. I might start reading Adam's blog. They have just hung an Elvis effigy on a window in the bar and are discussing whether they leave him there.

I got a ride to LAX this morning, for a 9:40pm flight. My intention was to use one of the lockers I thought I saw on arrival to store my bag while I went to Santa Monica, then come back, change into clean clothes and check in. Unfortunately I was told by airport information that there were no lockers and have not been since 9-11. This is another aspect of USA fear, and that terrorists might leave things in storage. Changing my plans I found storage companies that would hold my bag, but with pick up costs it was ridiculous. The cheapest day rate at a hotel was going to cost me forty dollars, but at least that would have allowed me to have a shower. No shower facilities exist at LAX. Instead, on the suggestion of another desk here, I caught a shuttle to one of the big, expensive, hotels, asked the concierge if I could store my bag there for the day. He started to ask me my room number but then saw the twenty dollar note in my hand and understood what I needed. At least it was half the amount of the cheap room, and I was able to wash my face in the restroom at the airport and change into my winter clothes. I chose the hotel I did because they had shuttle buses going frequently between airport and hotel.

Leaving the hotel I walked toward carpark C and caught the Big Blue Bus #3 into Santa Monica for seventy-five cents. I liked the atmosphere in the Promenade. Is that a gay area? I also checked out the pier, and Santa Monica Place.

After having a pleasant day in Santa Monica picked up some Cherry Coke, from Vons, for my guy, it being no longer available in New Zealand, then I caught my way back to the airport when I saw the afore mentioned cool guy, or should that be kewl dude? The bus trip went through areas I'd avoid walking through at night, but parts of the City of National City were like that when I walked through them on Monday, just to get to Bonita Plaza and check out shoe shops there.

My flight was late leaving, by about half an hour, but we have made up time in the air, with an expected arrival time only five minutes later than expected. I slept on this flight, an unusual occurance. I'll attribute to the beers in the airport and lack of sleep the previous night. I had the choice of a good night's sleep, or to do some laundry and avoid the need to put on used underwear and wearing it for twenth-seven hours. It was an easy choice, and after wandering around in Santa Monica I'm grateful I had a change of clothes planned for the plane. When I woke from my sleep, of about three hours, I was cold, far colder than I've ever been on a plane. There's no passenger in the middle seat and my neighbour in the window seat wrapped herfelf in that blanket too, and was still cold.