There is, without a doubt, a deep romanticism in standing in the Pacific at Venice Beach, watching the water crash into the rocks whilst wearing your rolled up jeans and contemplating the breathtaking beauty of nature.

It is less romantic when one a.) did not get one's jeans dry before leaving and soforth goddamn chafing when one wanders around for several hours in salty-wet jeans and b.) when one returns and sits down for a bit, one realizes all that endless wandering downtown has caused one's calves to do something desperately uncomfortable and one cannot get one's heels to the floor. Er, yet. Which yes, I should have stretched more, but blame the Pacific for being gorgeous.

I have no excuse for wearing jeans while walking in the Pacific, except come the hell on, it's the Pacific Ocean; you can do many things in life, but refusing the ocean will never be one of them.

(I am also pretending I am not sunburned; this is working extremely well.)

I know it has been called cold (theoretically, I know very well why it's cold), but okay, I'm from Texas and I go to the Gulf; I do not associate bodies of salt-water with being cold and yet, my God. That was very cold.

Currently on the third floor terrace of the hotel near the meeting rooms with two blankets liberated from the service area. Stairs are not easily navigated to here and the maps are surprisingly not really helpful, as some stairs only go to certain floors, some stairs end at certain floors, and some are hidden in a strange, twisty journey through the back service areas, which is actually a good thing, as they recognize me and nod when they see me walk by them wandering toward the stairs (as I've been here since Thursday and while I know this hotel has a lot of staff, only five ever seem to be in this area) and so did not notice me limping pathetically toward the blanket supply to liberate two of them for terrace-sitting purposes; June nights in California are surprisingly chilly, and I am pretending that wrapping my legs up in layers of very warm blanket will encourage my heels go down to the floor now or I will need to liberate a pillow and sleep here. I only brought one pair of heels with me, and trust me when I say, they aren't my comfy Mary Janes that I could run a mile in. These are my platforms that were specifically created so you can sit down and show off how gorgeous they are. I can walk in them fine, but I can fall in them so much better.

You might think balcony entrapment is bad--I am not saying it is great or anything--but experience suggests come around two AM, I will be entertained with a surprisingly consistent array of terribly un-PC language from the sidewalk outside as two or more people (could actually be the same people; the script is weirdly consistent) usually spend this time shouting the same ten to fifteen words at each other for several hours. Weirdly, it's not even like, vitriolic hatred; they kind of sound bored, like they're really in need of new material. I've considered typing up a new script and leaning over to shout it down at them, but then I remember this is not TV and will not end in a humorous anecdote, even if I am in LA and it does seem like the beginning of an indy romantic dark comedy (if it is, I'll be the mysteriously dead body found in an unlikely place; wait, this sounds more BBC Sherlock). Though seriously, how many times can you come to the same sidewalk on the same street when LA has lots of streets and many are much more interesting than this one? Apparently, every time I'm out here at 2 AM, that's how many times.

Claustrophobia has huge downsides at this point.

Still though, the Pacific was beautiful and I can check it off of the list of things I want to see. La Brea tar pits, however, may not be in the near future, however, unless I get lucky and one of the 2 AM shouters ad-libs in that he deals in illicit pharmaceuticals and is willing to take shouted requests for Vicodin, plz.

The con was lovely and culture shock and fascinating all three. The con organizers were basically amazing and I'm honestly awed how smoothly they put this together and how well-organized it was. And my God, some of the vids they showed, both old and new, just floored me. Anyone setting TOS/Reboot to Placebo deserves like, anything they want, ever.

I stood in the Pacific ocean today. I haven't stopped smiling yet.

ETA: I am not singing Take My Breath Away to myself, but oh, it is a very close thing.

Currently in third floor--ish--balcony off the banquet area looking over the city. Skyscrapers always throw me a little; the celebration of nature in its infinite glory is all well and good, but I stand in awe before the creations of men, the infinite stretch of our minds that can imagine and then create, clothe our ideas in steel and glass and set them before the eyes of the world. How can you not sit in awe before that?

Checked in with KisCon just as they were closing up so we were right on the money. There are bags! Canvas bags! I have a canvas bag. I also have a low threshhold of sanity if I don't have the sense to go to bed already, but I'm too used to VVC, where the night before the con starts sleep is for Later, now is for Everything.

It's also different; I don't know almost everyone here. Other than svmadelyn, it's possible I don't know anyone. This is not a criticism except of myself; I rarely go where there's unfamiliarity, and my ability to socialize rises exponentially with the number of people I know. It's the remainder of high school misery which continues to trump good sense; I'm more afraid of rejection in potential than loneliness. I'm far too used to the certainty that I can entertain myself given laptop and wireless to be very good at taking risks.

Star Trek was my first fandom and first fandom love both; X-Men was next (fandom works in cycles; it took eleven years but I'm starting over again from the top). Trek, like X-Men, I don't have to be involved with the fandom to be fannish about it; those things will never end. Star Trek is the infinite space of imagination, the best and sometimes the worst of what we are and can be and could have been; X-Men is the breadth of humanity's potential self, the hope of what we can be if we only learn why we should want to. Both are the definition of hope. Yes, even in the Savage Land. Maybe less so in House of M.