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| Pictured: Not Me |
College kids would come back to lead little groups, share their experiences, and then play a pop song that we were supposed to listen to and have quiet reflection. The leaders kept everyone awake 20 hours a day, until there was some sort of emotional break through and at the end everyone held hands and sang Koombaya.
I remember having two thoughts during the experience.
1. Man, nothing that strange has ever happened to me. What am I going to talk about when it's my turn? I don't have a weird drug addiction, both my parents are still alive and I have not had several spats with Hepatitis C.
2. How legendary would it be to hook up with a chick during this retreat?
At the closing ceremony, everyone cries and hugs and OHMYGOD we're all best friends now.
We had single handedly defeated the act of bullying and the institution of cliques. GO US! The mantra of the retreat is "Live the fourth." Which means, live every day for the rest of your life as if it is the fourth day of retreat. Never forget all the love and happiness that was present and treat everyone the way you would want to be treated. Tis a noble message indeed that everyone holds onto for like two weeks and then they go about living their lives.
I have a different idea.
I have never met someone that didn't love the Fourth of July. It's a midsummer celebration of the one thing that we all have in common, our country. And unlike the other large annual holidays, Independence Day has never carried the emotional weight of a Christmas or Thanksgiving. It's a fact that around the Winter holidays the suicide rate increases because presumably people are sad that they are alone or it's a first Christmas without a parent, or spouse, or maybe just because it's really fucking cold.
But trust me, no one is killing themselves on the fourth of July, unless they accidentally turn themselves into a human Roman candle, which at least they died doing something they love.
No there is no heaviness to the Fourth of July, nor is there much of a family obligation. It is about getting fucked up at a poolside barbecue and blowing some shit up all in the name of America, the greatest country in the world.
Look around you today, everyone is miserable. They are sunburned, dehydrated and may be limping due to some party related injury. You can smell a collective hangover in the office, even the annoying self righteous guy in HR that gives you shit for your partying is moving a little slow today.
And I bet if you surveyed them, they would all do it again, because...America.
I saw all your instagrams, a whole lot of smiles, tan lines and boats. It was like the lyrics of a bad country song, all of you.
And I ask...why can't every weekend be like this?
Well the short answer is, it can.
Sure, weather, finances and the physiology of excessive drinking prevent large scale reproductions of Independence Day weekend, year round, but let me share some thoughts on how you can live your life as an endless summer on about 100 bucks a weekend.
FRIDAY
Friday I woke up at 9 AM and biked over to Main St for the Santa Monica Independence Day parade. This provided just enough small town nostalgia to get me through the rest of the weekend. I had earned my first beer, and a smoothie (this would be the last thing I would eat until Sunday morning) I arrived at my first pool party of the day around noon and proceeded to drink Budweisers and Jell-O shots for the better part of 5 hours (Jell-O is a product of Kraft Foods, based in Illinois. Very American) During this time I invented a drinking game, and got in a lengthy argument with two girls about whether drinking Corona made them anti-American (as it turns out, Corona is not really a Mexican beer anymore, it is owned by Crown Imports LLC based out of Chicago, I gave them a pass)
Oh the drinking game? It's world cup themed! In team flip cup (can) you play first team to 6, win by two, like tennis. However, if two teams are tied at 6, I proposed the shootout. Pick your best 5 players, bring them to the middle one at a time for ONE FLIP do or die. The stress and tension is nearly unbearable, my team won on penalty kicks 5-3.
By the time I arrived at my second party, the keg was having issues and there was nothing left but hard alcohol. I proceeded to engage in several games of fireball pong. This is not advisable, and one of the reasons I expect to live to about 45. I think I was half blacked out in the Pacific Ocean, body surfing dangerously close to some very large rocks by the time the fireworks started, but I was able to hobble home and make it into bed before I puked or passed out in an alley. Successful fourth.
SATURDAY
Woke up at noon with a terrible hangover. Sat in my underwear until about 2pm watching the Robocop remake. It is not good. Managed to rally just enough to take these two for a walk.
(That's Frank the dog from Men in Black on the left, Cooper is the Golden)
Collapsed onto the couch again. Watched the Old Boy remake. It is not good. Decided the only thing that could cure my hangover was an adventure. Went on an adventure.
Malibu Creek State Park is in this strange ether between Calabasas and Malibu. Technically it is north of Mulholland Hwy, and I loathe giving the 818 credit, so let's call it Malibu. Malibu Creek state park is a giant rec center for outdoor junkies. Mountain Climbing, hiking, camping, there is a little something for everyone. But on this particular day, I was there for one reason, and that reason was to jump off a fucking cliff.
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| Pictured: Also not me |
See that hero there? He knows what he was doing. In fact, if you go to LosAngelesSwimmin.com you can see this guy and all of his friends jumping off crazy shit like it ain't NOTHING. Well let me tell you...it's certainly something.
I parked on a side of the road and started the 3 mile hike to the rock pool, getting lost about 5 times and asking for directions every 5 minutes like I was an Asian Tourist. By the time I arrived at the rock pool (after sleeping until noon, watching 2 terrible movies and driving 50 miles) the sun was low in the sky and the park was about to close. There were some teenagers smoking pot behind a large rock, families having picnics and a few feisty teenagers standing at the top of the rocks, thinking about jumping.
Of course I had no fear. I used to jump the quarries in Bloomington, I grew up dam sliding Geist Reservoir. I ran a sprint triathlon once...a 70 foot jump into a lake I GOT THIS.
When I got to the top and looked down, I almost pissed myself. The local sage (a 9 year old Mexican kid) told me to make sure I point my toes because one of his friends broke his arm on a bad entry and there is a rumor that some kid tore his sack open. (Which of course is exactly what you want to hear right before jumping) I was understandably fearful, but then he took a few running strides and jumped. He hit the water, popped up and started shouting at me below. Come on man! It's fun!
Time was of the essence, and looking back I should have done more due dilligence. Maybe checked the depth, maybe asked around to see if anyone my size had any pointers, but hey this kid is fucking 9, and he did it! So I took a few steps and I jumped.
Keep your legs together. Point your toes. Clear the rocks below.
Two things I forgot to consider. I weighed about three times what that nine year old weighed and doing a pencil means you lose very limited amounts of speed on entry. And I hit the bottom. HARD.
As I surfaced, whimpering like a stray dog who had just been clipped by a pickup truck, my 9 year old Mexican friend and his family helped me to shore, half concerned, half laughing at my apparent butt agony.
"Oh sorry man, I forgot to tell you, it's only 8 feet deep there, you have to jump off to the left."
I'm currently sitting on a pillow at the office.
SUNDAY
It's a known fact that when you take a Saturday off, you are encouraged to imbibe on Sunday, and what better way to start it than with bottomless brunch? For 40 bucks each, you and 20 of your friends can get unlimited champagne and banana french toast for 6 hours.
When you go the beach for 0 dollars each, you and your friends can play volleyball and drink wine out of plastic cups for 4 hours.
And when you go to Mao's for about 7 dollars each, you can obnoxiously play drinking games and drink wine for about 3 hours.
And after 13 hours of drinking on a Sunday, with a bruised tailbone, it's often best to go home and start watching some HBO. I've decided The Leftovers is dog shit and I'm going to watch Deadwood instead. This is the time that it is acceptable to start dreading the weekend. It's ok just drink so much water that you leave yourself just short of h20 poisoning (it's a real thing.)
Aftermath
My weekend wasn't all that remarkable. I primarily bummed around Venice, drank a lot of beer and spent significant time in several bodies of water. I live at a vacation destination so it wasn't that difficult to accomplish this. I imagine many of you had rope swings, houses at the Hamptons, things it may not be easy to recreate each weekend. But I ask you, think to how you felt the middle of Friday, not how you feel now. How you feel now is proof that life has consequences. If we lived in a world free of repercussions, there would be mass anarchy and a high rape/murder rate. But our actions cause reactions, when you jump off something high without looking, you might feel like you've been prison raped. When you drink hard for 3 days straight Monday will suck.
But ignore all that, and go back to Saturday at noon, or Friday at 5, or Sunday at sunset. How did you feel then? What were you doing that made you feel that way? You can do that every weekend, you can do whatever you want. There are societal norms that we may live inside, but the only consequences that are REAL are rocks at the bottom of a lake, alcohol winthdrawl, sunburn.
I don't necessarily subscribe to sayings like "you're only as old as you feel" even though I think I still have much more in common with someone who is 24 than someone who is 30 (or even 27) but I do believe in certain mindsets, and if "Living the Fourth" for someone fresh out of the Cathedral High School Senior retreat was living with positivity through God, my "live the fourth is" drinking beer on a beach while fireworks go off. It's like that Corona ad campaign, find your beach. Whatever the shit that makes you happy is...do that.
Because one day this will all be over and all we'll have left is the memories, and I want to remember boats, burgers and flip flops, now that I think about it, maybe I should just go to more Jimmy Buffet concerts.
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