It’s Not Me, It’s Him, Right?

Days #10-#13: What in the bleep is a JetHawk?

Finally, on Sunday, we reached the end of Route 66.  It wasn’t without it’s tribulations, because apparently Santa Monica is super busy on a Sunday night.  The attraction of the 3rd Street Promenade and the pier made it very difficult to park, navigate and walk around.  On the way to the end, we stopped at Souplantation, one of the better California establishments, known for its healthy food and its German like efficiency in running a all-you-can-eat kind of place.  We also stopped at the La Brea Tar Pits (love that smell!) and the Farmer’s Market.  I was able to pick up some 7-Up marinade and A&W Root Beer infused BBQ sauce at a store that only sold sauces.

Monday was pretty much a day just to bop around the L.A. area and give Susan a brief glimpse that all is wonderful with Southern California.  For a nice final good meal, we headed over to Paradise Cove in Malibu, home of the wayyy too big portions and the beach where’s it $25 to park, or $3 if you eat at the restaurant.  Susan finally was happy she was in weather that was considered temperate, while the restaurant had set up heaters for the outside diners and some people had sweaters again.  The proof continues.

Sadly, Tuesday meant Susan had to go back home.  Even more sad, that flight was a 7 am flight, which meant a 5 am wakeup to get to the airport.  Since it’s hard to just go back to bed after that, I did my laundry after dropping her off and my workout, meaning I truly did get more done before 9 am than most people do all day.  I also stopped in to the Burbank office to slog through 433 e-mails, and wonder who stole the ceiling.  Afterward I played trivia board games based on the 70s, 80s and 90s.  We both realized our age as the 90s game took a lot longer than the 70s or 80s games.

A lot of Wednesday was spent getting the Ted Marshall entry forms ready, meeting my cousin for lunch and attempting to golf.  I wasn’t really in the mood for a true 9, so I went to a par 3.  This par 3 totaled 664 yards, but the deceiving part was the course itself.  You were given only a sand wedge and a putter.  I realize I really suck at golf, but it’s very difficult for me to hit a sand wedge 75 yards.  The greens were the size of a kiddie pool and impossible to stick a ball on, and the putting surfaces were unreadable.  Not a pleasurable time by any meanings, thank God it only took 35 minutes.

After that debacle, I headed up to Lancaster, in the lovely Antelope Valley, to see the Lancaster JetHawks (A for the Astros) face the San Jose Giants.  First off, why isn’t this team just named the Antelopes?  I realize that the town is beholden to the aerospace industry, but why pass up advertising possibilities like “get a beer and see the Antelopes play”?  The team plays in Clear Channel Stadium, which used to be the best stadium in town, but they proceeded to buy other stadiums in town and turned them into clones of each other.

The game was sort of one for the ages, with the home team victorious 11-9 on a walk-off homer, coming from behind from a 7-0 deficit in the 2nd.  However, a lot of that comeback was just to dreadful pitching and fielding.  You did have the dichotomy of a 5-11, 210 batter facing a 5-11, 150 pitcher (I’m somewhere in between).  Sadly, the “minor league experience” was pretty bad.  The between inning stuff was pretty lame when they bothered to do it at all.  They had pom-pom girls rocking to the same terrible music over and over again.  And worse of all, I couldn’t buy a ball for Craig, since they didn’t sell any.  Also of concern was people coming to the stadium with jackets and blankets, since I was clad only in a shirt and shorts.  Although it got a touch cool, it was never uncomfortable and didn’t require extra layers.  Wimps.

After some work today, it’s on to the Matt O.-infused portion of the trip, where two people who live 60 miles apart have to travel 2,500 miles to spend time together.