etchings

Perfect life in LA, which I manage to do on Saturdays and Sundays. Hiking. Pilates. Writing. Going to the movies. Reading a good book. Beach. Occasionally. But I'll take the mountains too. Sitting out on a patio somewhere and drinking something nice and cool. Refreshing.

Spring Street Bar, you are quite nice. I like your Holiday Ale. I like your little outdoor seating area. Spring Street Bar, hipsters like you too. Also, people with dogs. They tie up the dogs outside and as the little ones whimper, their owners run in and grab some beer, a sandwich. Sometimes Greek is ridiculous. Do you know how to say sandwich in Greek? It's really hard. Using the English alphabet, it's santouits. So, basically, just sandwich, only with a sexy Greek accent.

Well, if you think Greek accents are sexy.

I'm really getting into being Greek these last few weeks. We went to the Getty Villa, which is basically my perfect place because it's filled with art from both of my family trees. We've got the Romans in some rooms, the Greeks in the others. Lots of fountains and statues with crazy white eyes (why do they look like they're watching me). Oh, and it overlooks the fabulous Pacific Ocean. Yup, me and my ancestors, we're pretty tight. Classy civilizations all around. Sure, they may be taking down the EU, but it ain't their faults. They're just into love and lovemaking and being loved and loving others and who needs to work when you've got love, you know?

Or not.

My mom just found a record of my grandmother arriving at Ellis Island on February 1, 1909. Carmela Persiani, pleased to meet you. You were only 16 when you sailed the ocean blue from Varci, Lombardia. Genoa was your port of departure. I never knew you. Did I? No. Impossible. You'd be pretty old now, I guess. And people didn't live long when you came into the world. Not long at all. I want to go to the old boarding house that is now West 4th street. I want to go there and think about all the people that passed through and just be a weird stranger standing on the road staring up at an overpriced building.

It seems so crazy. Money. Like, every two weeks I get a paycheck, and every two weeks the numbers in my bank account twitch upwards, and then they drop again, and it just seems, you know, how easy would it be to just magically add a bunch more zeroes, they're just numbers after all. And then, you know, I could do whatever I wanted, with all those magical zeroes, because no one would have to know it all meant nothing, they were zeroes made of air, etchings in the snow, a simple flick of the wrist, nothing more.