Once again, I’m not sure if I’m doing any of this right but I thought I would try to contribute to today’s Daily Prompt.
The word is “buff” and I am out of ideas. Like the first two rules of fight club, I don’t think I’m supposed to talk about the fact I’m writing this story based on a prompt. I’m probably supposed to just let it happen but that is not my way.
So buff makes me think of Muscle Beach in Venice,California and just Venice Beach in general. It is probably the only place in real life that I have seen the buff beefcakes that are normally only seen on television or in the movies, the insanely buff. The so buff that you wonder if they have time in their lives to do anything else besides pump iron. That’s not fair. I guess they also tan and cover themselves with oil. They walk around with their hands falling at least a foot away from their trim waistlines due to the mass of their upper arms. So they do lots of things. I take it back.
It seems normal to see those types of men on film but to see them in person is quite different. You can really put their bodies in perspective with the more “normal” looking men. I can’t imagine trying to have intercourse with one of them, though I have often tried to imagine it. They are really not my type, anyway. I couldn’t imagine being with someone who spends that much time on their appearance. It would make me far too insecure about my own. As if I’m not already.
It’s a weird place, Venice Beach and though my husband and I have gone on very few vacations, we have managed to go there twice and will most likely be back. I don’t know why. We have a certain hotel that we have stayed at both times and we thrill at the notion of being regulars there. Though no one knows us. Regulars in the land of the irregular.
From the window in our “usual” suite, we can see the ocean in all of its majesty. It is a sight I never tire of. Though I am aware that there are far more beautiful beaches, not many are as close to so much cheap comedy and great people watching and so we come back.
It’s no secret that Venice has more than it’s fair share of freaks. I use that term both lovingly and literally because you can also see the famous Venice Beach Freakshow from our window. All day long a barker yells into the microphone about the oddities just inside. Two-headed turtles and bearded ladies are a real sight for some people, I guess. I would just feel bad for the turtle and I’d want to teach the lady a few things about waxing. So we don’t go to the freak show.
However, the whole place is a freak show of sorts and that is the part I enjoy the most. I love the juxtaposition of the Muscle Beach crowd, with their healthful glows and arms the size of tree trunks, walking along side the skinny, hippie homeless and the skateboarders and the women who woke up that morning and thought, “a bikini and roller skates, that’s my revolutionary costume of the day.”
I also love the middle aged or older people in business suits and dresses and the grandparents with their grandchildren just strolling down the street, dodging the bicyclists and the inexplicable number of pit bulls. What the hell are these people even doing there?
What the hell is anyone doing there is the better question? I know why I’m there. I’m a fucking mook, a Lookie-Lou, a tourist. At least some of the people walking around have to actually live in Venice. So what the hell are they doing on the boardwalk? Because honestly there is nothing on the boardwalk besides t-shirt shops and carnival food. What could they possibly be there for?
Obviously the Muscle heads are there to work out and show off, the scantily clad roller skaters are there for attention, the tourists, like me, are there for the t-shirts and the carnival food, and the “experience”. If I lived in LA, and I pray that I never do, I’d go to the beach (probably a nicer beach just out of town) but I would skip that boardwalk every single time.
People will come up to you and call you a princess and tell you they like your dress and slip a cd into your hand and expect you to give them five dollars. In this day and age? I wouldn’t pay five dollars for a cd of an artist I actually liked.
I actually sold all my cds because all they’ve done for years was collect dust. Tens of years and thousands of dollars spent on cds and dvds yielded a payment of around $35 dollars at Half Price Books and I was happy to have it. I was just grateful to have more room in my house but sure, I’ll pay you $5 for your shitty reggae cd. After all, you did go to the trouble of harassing me about it and look, you’ve even misspelled my name across the front of it. I will treasure it always.
I used it as a coaster and then left it at the hotel.
I do love how everyone is just themselves. Unabashedly, they are as God made them. I can still hear the homeless people shouting, “Stop fucking looking at me. Give me some money.” It’s quite charming really.
Homeless beach people are different from the homeless we have where I live. They make it seem like it was a choice to be homeless and not that terrible of one. Most are young runaways and they will hopefully go home soon and they will take with them the memory of the experience to keep forever. Which could come in handy if it ever becomes a word prompt.
I love how you never really have to act your age there. That to me is the most impressive thing. I see women in their sixties and seventies rocking the pink hair that I would love to have but where I live, that shit must stop with your twenties. Other things you can do during old age in Venice include blasting music from boom boxes that I didn’t know existed anymore and wearing midriffs. If I keep getting older, and I pray I don’t. I would move there just for that, just to be the age I am in my head instead of the age I am in my face. Oh, and also the carnival food.
<a href=”Buff“>Daily prompt May 30, 2017 “buff”