So my sister left me in LA. Alone. Right now I’m sitting next to one of my two friends in California at the HBO building, writing this blog post. It’s been a confusing time, so I bought a mid-summer crisis toy: a skateboard.
This morning around 9:30, I went on an adventure to Venice Beach. It felt like I was going to roll out on a skateboard listening to Marley or Metallica, smoking a joint, and inked to beat David Beckham. Luckily, I just left with the skateboard, and I felt like a kid from “Rocket Power.”
It’s something called a z-flex, with bright green wheels and a purple, black, and white underside the says “always radical.” I don’t think it could get any more California than that.
I’ve told myself that I’m going to practice for an hour per day on the sidewalk near the Santa Monica Pier. So far I’ve only fallen once, but I feel like I’m just pathetically inching along. I’ll get better, I’m sure.
The woman in the skate shop was very nice to me. She kindly asked, “Have you ridden a scooter before?” To which I had to answer “no,” because my parents din’t let me do such “extreme” sports as a child. No scooters. No trampolines. No surfing. No skiing. No skateboarding. No anything fun.
I’ll try not to kill myself. If any of you have tips or perhaps words of inspiration, please share them below!