Marie Javins's Blog, page 4

A Weekend in Los Cabos

I was barreling through the desert in a rented Nissan March, the Sea of Cortez to my left, the sun glaring aggressively from a row of mountains to my right. My phone played an anthem, something bold and full of promise—what was that and how did it get into my iTunes?

I was weaving in and out of the wake of purple buses that ply the corridor between the airport and the two cabos. Is Route 1 a highway or a local road? Both, like a rural road back home where you can drive 60 mph or you can take a slow left into a driveway.

If only my Marchito were a stick shift, I thought with a sigh of regret. But still, muscle memory had taken over with driving on a poorly marked hilly route fully of trucks and unpredictable tourists. Memories flooded in as I wondered if anti-lock brakes means today’s young adults would never have the experience of rainy-day skidding into the back of a Cadillac at a farmland crossroads in America’s heartland.

Markings come and go on this Baja Sur route, which is eternally in need of maintenance and better signage, but this is second nature to those of a certain age, when the practical and metaphorical roads of life were improvised based on circumstance. Driving somewhere new and fast feels like freedom—harkening back to long-distance trips in the boyfriend’s band’s van, the epic journey from Ohio to Texas, crossing the US or Australia with Turbo in my sun-bleached charcoal Ford Taurus, the three hours from home to the internet café down a muddy red road in Uganda in a Toyota Hilux—I associate driving the unknown with adventure and the unpredictable, and I was nostalgic for times when I had my whole life in front of me.

I spotted a dump truck ahead, glanced at the left lane and saw an opening between a sedan and a Suburban, then navigated around the truck with ease, just as the marina of Cabo arose from the crest of a hill. If driving is freedom, then I must be 30 years younger, my life a series of possibilities, all of them rich, promising, and unique.

The song receded and Siri abruptly reminded me my turn was imminent. The world transformed in an instant, and suddenly I was just another middle-aged white gringa on a clichéd Cabo holiday.

One Day

Tourist news! They're supposedly building a train from Tijuana to Cabo. TBD how this all works out, but theoretically, one could then hop on the train in Los Angeles, switch to the trolley in San Diego, then walk over the border at San Ysidro to board the train on the other side. 

I imagine this won't be done in the planned four years, but it's a nice dream.

In the Parking Garage at Work

I feel cheated somehow. 

Still, It Looks Good

I somehow ended up in charge of buying the new patio furniture for my condo complex HOA. 

Something new I learned: Umbrella canopies ship separately from the frames and you just slip them right on. So you can buy new canopies without replacing the frames, and the swap is dead easy.

Will I ever need this information again? Probably not. 

Have I ever actually used this patio or spa? No. Will I? Probably not.

Some Advantages to Working at a Big Office

Puppies came to work today in advance of Puppy Bowl.

What a delight.

Sunday Expedition

I have zero interest in the Avatar sequel, but I'll watch the heck out of the LA Natural History Museum's exhibit on Cameron's submersible journey to the Mariana Trench.

There Are Worse Reasons

I'm thinking of going to San Francisco in March to see Jake Shimabukuro perform on his ukulele. 

I know that's loopy, but here we are.

The Condo Is Only So Big

I'm thinking of turning off the water in my condo's half-bath and making it a comic book storage closet. These are desperate times.

Bring A Platypus to Work Day

G'day, mates! Happy Australia Day. I made ANZAC biscuits to take to work. We shall celebrate with Captain Boomerang (not in person, I'm not sure of his current status).

Violators Will Be Prosecuted

I was on the L.A. Red Line yesterday, in transit from Union Station to Universal. The train was crowded and filthy, something fairly common since mid-pandemic. At Westlake, a tired, older woman in a once-frilly indigenous dress, maybe Salvadoran, slowly pushed her cart onto the train. A younger man with a bicycle didn't make it on before the doors closed, as they shut right behind her. 

A vendor guy inside the train, his shirt covered in a necklace of chargers, was suddenly at the door. He nonchalantly tugged the emergency door release and slid the door open, letting the bicycle guy onto the train. He then shut the door and pushed the emergency handle back into place. 

The train continued on its way, as if nothing unusual had occurred. The vendor kept moving, not even a glance at the guy he'd just helped out. 

"Anybody need chargers, speakers, pepper spray, tasers" he said in a monotone as he proceeded through the car, bored.