E.L.K. Take On CA

September 29, 2015

E.L.K. Take On CA

E-Fo and L-Mo are some of my very absolute favorite people in the world, and being able to spend an extended weekend trip in California with them and their husbands and those Mosely Bear Babies over the last couple days was the best, hands down, no sense contesting me on this. I mean, I could have been at work for those two extra days….OR I could have been at the beach and at the Disneyland and at the bowling alley and at the bakeries and at the museums. Hi, not a hard decision.

First of all, DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED on those Mosely Bear Babies. My heart! Even with my rapidly diminishing attention span these days, I can sit and hold and stare at Baby E for hours on end. The weekend I was visiting marked three weeks since she’d been born – fewer days here than years I’ve been alive. I kept looking around thinking, “Does everyone know I’m holding a brand new baby, fresh from the oven? Is this okay? Why hasn’t anyone stopped me yet?” She’s the most delicious snuggle nugget I could even imagine, and I loved the feeling of having her curled so tiny into my chest or into my shoulder. I kept telling L-Mo how happy I felt holding her, knowing that in that moment, E doesn’t care how abysmal my bowling skills may be or how bad I am at consistently making dinner for myself – all she knows is that I am her source of safety, security, and comfort. I’m not usually that for anybody, and feeling so exquisitely serene with this little tiny person in my arms is slowly but surely eroding eroding the callous shell I’ve built up around my staunch opposition to having children of my own.

And then there’s A. So much spunk and silliness in such a tiny package. Every time I visit, she is more dynamic, responsive, and engaging as she picks up words and repeats them back, as her mobility increases, and as she asserts her independence. But also: I’m a big bowl full of mush when I can hear her in another room repeatedly calling for me, “Ka’n! Ka’n!” (Excuse me while I melt into a puddle.) We had a special moment at Disney while Mom was feeding the baby and the other adults went on the Thunder Mountain Railroad. Still unsteady on her feet, A held firmly to my hand as she toddled over to the New Orleans pond and we looked at the ducks and the ferry. And then, as my heart burst with pride, we walked together all the way from the water to where Mom and Baby were sitting far far away. It was the slowest going, but so totally worth it.

(Couldn't you just die over those baby Saltwater sandals???? ^^^)

Disney itself was great, on account of its own merits obviously, and I only spilled one root beer float down my shirt. In the morning, unfettered by kids, E-Fo and B-Fo and I rode our rides and I made sure to exuberantly scream out Brandon's eardrums on all of the rides. We were joined by our cutie Mosleys in the evening, with enough time to ride the Indiana Jones ride over and over.

In return, Walt kept things real by reminding me of my place in this universe. #fifthwheelingHARD

One morning, 2/3 of us ended up wearing black shirts to brunch, and so we pressured our other 1/3 to change so that we could be a politically incorrect trio of #blackgirls for the morning. Thanks to the generosity of Mama Dawn, we dined in style at Las Brisas in Laguna Beach with a staggering morning view of the ocean just steps below while I satiated myself on a bacon buffet.

Everyone humored me while I fangirled at one of my most revered bakeries, WHERE I scored a free container of cookie dough on account of my pastry chef status. (Shhh, don’t tell about how I proceeded to eat it all as dough without baking any actual cookies. *Insert surprised monkey emoji covering his mouth here.*)

And we also went bowling because we’re wild and we like a substantial night life scene. I don’t consider myself a very competitive person, I just…don’t like to lose. I don’t need to win either, but as long as I’m not the loser, it’s all good. Such was not the case at bowling. I am historically abhorrent at the sport, and this night was no exception, even with B-Mo’s measured coaching. Fine. I acquiesce. I’ll learn to be okay not being the best at everything. And as my sisters reminded me, of all the things I could suck doing, bowling is pretty innocuous. At least I got to wear my $10 Costco exercise pants out and about on their maiden excursion.

Saturday we spent being touristy in LA, and for the record, no, we did not meet Ewan McGregor or Chris Evans or see any other famous people. But we did go to two contemporary art museums – the MOCA and the newly-opened Broad museum, some of which was inspiring and thought-provoking, some of which was annoying and eye-roll-provoking. My favorite exhibit was the artwork by Jeff Koons – a 10-foot tall kitchen table and chairs, and a gigantic brushed stainless steel balloon animal sculpture.

We also took a little hike up to Griffeth Observatory, which rendered us a fun view of the iconic Hollywood sign and downtown LA LA land.

But perhaps one of my most exciting take-aways from the trip was my experience at the Walt Disney Concert Hall. The building was closed for tours, though we were allowed to meander through the lobby and through the gardens on the rooftop. Outside of the concert hall was a virtual reality concert experience that we were invited to participate in at no cost. We were taken into a trailer (promise it wasn’t sketchy the way it sounds) and fitted with virtual reality goggles and headphones. For 3 or 4 minutes, I was treated to an immersive private concert experience as the LA Philharmonic Orchestra played an excerpt from Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony seemingly just for me.

I HAD SO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT THIS!!!

Namely: Guys! What is the reality of our experiences????

Too often, I like to discuss Plato’s allegory of the cave with other people, usually on dates, after I’ve been grilled about the countries in the European Union and I’ve been asked a handful of questions from the US Citizenship Exam. (Yes, these are real dates. And FYI, the country Belarus is pronounced “Bel-ah-rooz” NOT “Bell-are-us.” Trust me on that one.) Plato’s allegory serves to discuss layers of reality and how what we may perceive to be real in one sense may, in actuality, only be a shadow of that very real thing. As I partook of this private concert, I was able to experience the orchestra both visually and audibly. 2/5 of my senses conveyed to me that this was a real concert in which I was engaging. Thanks to my VR goggles, I was able to turn in my seat a full 360 degrees and see the entire concert hall top to bottom – I was seeing it, but I wasn’t really there….or was I? Did I still experience it if I wasn’t physically present in person? I mean, I did experience it virtually, but how is that different from seeing and listening while being physically present? Looking down at where my hands, legs, and the rest of my body should have been was a startling yet liberating nothingness. For once, I was only disembodied consciousness, existing not in the physical realm but still existing in awareness. It positively smacks of Descartes!!

SOOOOO TRIPPY.

Of course, there are other virtual reality scenarios, like Star Tours or Soarin’ Over California, in which your perception is enhanced to include three and sometimes even four of your senses. In the latter, as you "fly" over the California terrain, you see the ocean, you hear the waves, your seat is angled in a way that you feel you are moving forward with the inertia of flight, and you may even smell the fragrant citrus as you “dangle” over a patch of oranges. It is disconcertingly believable. And what about our dreams??? Maybe this is an entirely different ballgame, but as we dream, sometimes all five of our senses are engaged in convincing us that what is merely a projection of our subconscious is actual reality. PSYCH. But where is the line??? Is this The Matrix? At the risk of sounding tritely existential, WHAT IS REALITY?????

No worries, don't answer that. (Unless you want to take me on a date and discuss it further.) Rather, let's close out this iphone-photo-heavy post with pictures of Uncle BeBop unsuccessfully bribing Annie to like him by blowing bubbles with her while I lazily and unhelpfully Snapchatted from the porch swing.