[Previous entry: "Fishing In Your Genes?"] [Next entry: "Tiger Tough"]

06/17/2008: "Reason To Be Grateful"

They say that no one is really from Southern California, and that there's no real commonality amongst us all other than ZIP code. But I'd dispute that. We all have one thing in common ... we all bitch about the place.

Last week when I was killing time in my hotel in Warner Robins, I stumbled across a cable channel with real estate listings. After watching what I could get for half the money I paid for my house - and realizing I could much more house for that half - I immediately started to bitch about back home. We complain when there's no rain, then again when there is. We complain about the traffic; we complain about the smog; we complain about the people.

Tonight, as I was walking along the Esplaunade in Redondo Beach, I thought back to my stay in Georgia and wondered what I'd be doing for exercise were I still there. I suppose I could be jogging along Watson Blvd, past the hotels and strip malls, sweltering in the heat. Or maybe I'd be hiking in the woods, dodging the kudzu and bugs.

Then I looked up from my feet and took in the sights around me. As I looked north, I could follow the ribbon of Redondo Beach northward as it ran into King Harbor, then saw it transition to Hermosa and Manhattan Beaches in the distance. On the horizon, looming out of the mist, were the Santa Monica Mountains, framing the bay and forming a perfect backdrop. To my left was God's Own Pacific Ocean, crashing on the beach with a roar. Surfers - and surferettes - frolicked in the whitewater as it pounded the sand and slipped back into the water.

Next time you see me complaining about SoCal, remind me of tonight and tell me to shut the hell up ...