Member Column-Living in an Amazing Place and Time
by Jon Michaels
LW contributor
There are times while living in SoCal where I almost have to pinch myself to make sure what I’m experiencing is actually real. With our famous climate, and being surrounded by the snow-capped mountains and the beach, I think all of us get a little jaded about how crazy spectacular life here really is.
About a decade ago I was living in my girlfriend’s home, which happened to be in Bel Air. Because we lived on a cliff, she’d put a golf tee on the edge of her yard from which I occasionally nailed Ann-Margret’s rooftop with a Titleist. Oops! I soon switched to my 9-iron exclusively. And almost every day I’d walk my dog Marcus somewhere in the hills. One day, we drove west on Mulholland, passing Vidal Sassoon’s home and then Maria Carey’s, and then we took a left at Roscomare, and another left onto Stradella. And we went about a mile and parked. I pounded a Labatt’s blue in the car and put on my Walkman with a mix tape of trippy psychedelic music. I was wearing comfy cargo shorts, a t-shirt, and slippers because the weather was warm and dry, and the sidewalks were smooth and even. In May, the fragrance of the jacaranda and magnolia trees was intoxicating. It was like walking in the middle of a strawberry milkshake. It was a sunny day, and I could see the ocean between some of the mansions. I had a beer buzz. I was chewing gum, minty flavor. I was rocking out and getting exercise. And just being with my dog who I adored. All my senses were being stimulated and the feeling of the glorious weather. Everything was just perfect. Of course, I don’t mean to brag; all of us have experiences right here in Seal Beach that are every bit amazing.
Still, there was this one guy who had me beat.
I was staying at the famous Marriott Hotel in Palm Desert. It was scorchingly hot. I strolled down to the pool and noticed a new gizmo the hotel was experimenting with: it was a chaise lounge chair with a dozen holes in it. And it had a coin slot on the side requiring four quarters. What’s up with this?
And then I saw this bronzed, shirtless middle-aged guy lounging in a duplicate chair. He had a lit stogie in one hand and a scotch and soda in the other. He was wearing sunglasses, had a gold chain around his neck and was slathered in coconut oil. Plus, he was ogling the pneumaticallyenhanced bikini-clad women sitting by the pool’s edge. And as if that weren’t enough, from out of nowhere streams of misty water vapor started shooting up between his legs, and under his arms through those chair holes!
This guy had it goin’ on. I couldn’t resist. I walked by and blurted out, “You need luxury a little too much!” We cracked up together. I appreciated that he had a good attitude because you never know when a stranger might be offended by a spontaneous zinger.
Let’s face it, it’s impossible to determine who experienced more pleasure at any given moment: my walking my dog in Bel Air, or his relaxing in Palm Desert. Or a skier conquering the toughest run at Snow Summit. Or a surfer shredding the perfect wave at Huntington Beach. But one thing’s for sure, we live in an amazing place. At an amazing time.
