Monday, March 12, 2007

26 Miles Across the Sea

Maybe because I was tired with a low-grade hangover, I believed the blue-eyed guy when we got on the freeway and he said, "Look, we're going North." I totally took it at face value. And it wasn't until like an hour later, that I realized we were going more like due South, and when we got off the freeway where the sign said "Queen Mary," I was like, "I knew it! That's where I thought we were going on our surprise mini-break!" So he pulled the Mini into the Queen Mary parking lot--and then did a crazy oy-worthy turn back out of the lot, through a pair of "Do Not Enter" signs, across the road--to the place where you board the boats to go to Catalina Island.

I cannot tell you how excited this made me--this thought of getting on a boat on the sea. It made me feel like a little girl again (literally--because my sister's sixth grade teacher used to take the class to Catalina every year on a big field trip, and I'm sure as a third grader this made an oh-my-god-that-sounds-like-heaven-why-am-I-not-just-a-little-older-so-I-could-go-too indelible impression on me), which regrettably, is kind of rare for me these days since I think so dang much and spoil things by so doing. So we boarded the boat in Long Beach and went out on the Pacific Ocean 26 miles to this island that was so much prettier than I would have ever imagined it. Even though the terrain is just the same as you might find in Malibu or Topanga, it looks so--exotic. And it feels so apart from the mainland.

Like how Palm Springs kind of feels permanently stuck in its 1960's Rat Pack heyday (one reason I love it), Catalina Island kind of feels stuck in its own glory days of, say, the 1930's, when Big Bands played for the dancing crowd in the spectacular Casino ballroom, and when MGM took its crews and high-waisted-skirt-clad starlets to the pristine shores of Avalon to film its big-budget pictures. The whole place feels in real life like it looks in the Deco travel brochures, when its slogan was: "In all the world, no trip like this."

Anyway, so we checked into the hotel and left for this lovely walk up into the hills (and I could totally dig it, even though I skew tennis shoe averse, except in the gym), and climbed all over the Wrigley memorial, and held hands through the botanical gardens, and joked about all the silly plant names. We looked at the fish from the pier--the Crayola blues and oranges right there in the perfectly transparent water!--and climbed on the rocks and ran our hands over the pretty tiles that used to come from the pottery plant on the island (and probably now sell for a small fortune on eBay; I just remembered I want to look). Then we ate a totally indulgent meal that didn't count, because the island has a magical quality to it, which I'm sure wipes out calories associated with Italian food and brownie sundaes and cocktails.

I woke up yesterday in time to see the sun rising over the sea, because I wanted to make the most of our few hours left (so I prodded the blue-eyed guy and made miscellaneous fidgeting noises until he told me I better stop it, but by then it was too late because he was awake too, ha). Over breakfast I told him I wish we never had to go home and I wish this weekend would never end.

Before we got back on the boat, I bucked Jewish superstition by buying my nephew-in-utero a mini T-shirt emblazoned with a crab and the message: "I'm a little crabby. Catalina Island" (A nod to when my sister used to torment me by saving crab pincers wrapped in napkins from meals at seafood resuatrants and then reanimate them and make them talk; really, it was more traumatic than funny, but you get the gist.) On the ride back, he napped while I watched his alma mater Ohio State knock off Wisconsin on the TV in the lounge.

Then it was straight to Venice, where he plays beach volleyball every Sunday; it was the first time I went with him. I set up my towel and my iPod and my New York magazine, and he asked me, "Are you having fun, baby?" I said, "Are you kidding me? This is the best. weekend. ever."

26 Miles (Santa Catalina), the Four Preps

Twenty-six miles across the sea
Santa Catalina is a-waitin' for me
Santa Catalina, the island of romance, romance, romance, romance

Water all around it everywhere
Tropical trees and the salty air
But for me the thing that's a-waitin' there--romance

It seems so distant, twenty-six miles away
Restin' in the water serene
I'd work for anyone, even the Navy
Who would float me to my island dream

Twenty-six miles, so near yet far
I'd swim with just some water-wings and my guitar
I could leave the wings but I'll need the guitar for romance, romance, romance, romance

Twenty- six miles across the sea
Santa Catalina is a-waitin' for me
Santa Catalina, the island of romance

A tropical heaven out in the ocean
Covered with trees and girls
If I have to swim,
I'll do it forever
Till I'm gazin' on those island pearls

Forty kilometers in a leaky old boat
Any old thing that'll stay afloat
When we arrive we'll all promote romance, romance, romance, romance

Twenty-six miles across the sea
Santa Catalina is a-waitin' for me
Santa Catalina, the island of romance, romance, romance, romance

Twenty- six miles across the sea
Santa Catalina is a-waitin' for me

2 comments:

Dubin said...

Ah. Mah. Gah.

I read that nephew part and I was like, "Oh, Jackson." And then I was like, wait, he's born already. And then I realized that the nephew in utero is DEAN and it's ME whose utero he's in. GAHAHAHAHHAHHHHH!!! Gah! Impossible!!! Mostly impossible. Ok, not impossible.

mexi melt said...

I wish i could get away with wearing the "i'm a little crabby" shirt and make people go gaga over me.
instead i'd probably lose all respect from every person in my office. except for the receptionist who works down the hall and has 12" naturally curving fingernails and an 8x10 school picture of her son posted to the wall adjacent to her desk for all to see.
see likes everything i wear.