My Hotel Plug (as seen on BookIt.com).
My girlfriend was to meet my parents for the first time and I wanted to make her as comfortable as possible while not wanting to pull my own hair out over the thoughts of the questions and comments my parents were sure to make, (e.g.: “So, when are you two gonna get married?”; “Are you gonna make grandparents out of us anytime soon?”; etc).
I know Huntington Beach well, it’s my hometown. I’ve seen it go from the perfect, small town-friendly, beach community that I never wanted to leave to a wannabe starch-white collar, snob smorgasbord that’s full of egocentric constituents and rude tourists that I couldn’t get away from fast enough — this opinion of mine is pertinent, because it weighs bias, negatively, and caused me to search for the best possible way to enjoy myself in a place with a general public I care for very little.
I purchased our room at the Shorebreak Hotel via “Mystery Location” (i think it’s called) on Bookit.com. It was one of three hotels that were located on Pacific Coast Highway with a 4-star rating and at a steal of a price. I’ve stayed at the Waterfront Hilton and the Hyatt Resort (the other two of the three possibilities), both are very, very nice. The Beachfront, though, was still new to me since it is (or was, depending on when you’re reading this) less than a year old, and I had yet to explore it’s wonders and disappointments.
To get to it: it’s a giant cliche surfer setting that’ll probably perk the fancies of out-of-towners and made my inner voice sound a bit like Sean Penn as Jeff Spicoli in “Fast Times at Ridgemont High”. That being said…
Wow! The place was immaculate from the entryway to our spoiling waterfront bedroom suite bathroom. Despite the odd decor of things like white Easter Island Head lamps and funky blue and white saltwater denim-like plaid headboards, this place was amazing! The one thing that Huntington Beach has that the people can’t rob it of is the pleasantries of it’s geography, and the Shorebreak Hotel allows its guests to indulge in it like nowhere else (Waterfront Hilton and Hyatt Resort just don’t cut it comparatively in my experiences — don’t get me wrong, though, you won’t be displeased with your stay at either location).
Our room was on the fourth floor (the hotel staff allowed me to upgrade from the standard queen room I purchased on Bookit.com when we checked in that afternoon), and had a leading line view of the ocean following the Huntington Beach Pier. I have surfed, body surfed, body boarded, skim boarded, skate boarded, played volleyball on, run across, swam in, had bonfires on, and was even a jr. lifeguard on that beach in my youth, and in contempt of my knowing, still, I had never before been able to enjoy my hometown the way that I did during my stay at this hotel.
Genuine and friendly, often accented (Kiwi’s and Aussi’s?) staff at the front desk greeted my girl and I with a smile and offered any guidance and assistance without ever being asked. Any questions, wants, and needs we asked of them were met without sigh or labored attitude. Their brief inquisitions towards our stay and well-being felt sincere and were comfortable, not imposing or invading. The offshore breeze bridged the distance from the ocean to the air of our room through the balcony’s sliding glass door that we left open throughout our stay, day and night. The late evening and early morning marine layer brought a bit of a frost to the place though the heavy curtains and wall with cutout spaces between the balcony and our bed made it very tolerable, even desirable, from underneath our warm comforter. It was perfect.
The bathroom was the key point for our decision to upgrade the room. My girlfriend is fairly tall and has a thing for bathtubs large enough for her to stretch her legs out and lay down in. The one we had in the suite was large enough for she and I, both, to lay in with a little room to spare; she’s a lean 5′ 8″, 115lbs and I’m a bigger 6′ 1″, 220lbs… it was a big tub. The only bummer part about it is the floor of it was a little slicker than one would expect and the decline from head-place to foot/drain was inconvenient as we found ourselves sliding and slipping down, (i was told there’s safety/security handles and bars in other rooms if this is truly a concern of yours). It added a bit of comedy to the luxury, but I didn’t mind since I found my place better suited in the oversized shower. No door, no curtain, tiled, and bettered with two large showerheads on opposite walls. Washing off the soapsuds from our bath in the shower was an unnecessary necessity we made for ourselves, and enjoyed.
Ah, I almost forgot: the bathroom door. The door that separates the bathroom from the bedroom is a large, heavy, sliding door that hangs on a rail bolted above the door on the bedroom side. Something one might expect to find in a warehouse. I liked the style of it, to be honest. However, the drawback is that it doesn’t really close. It just covers up the doorway. There isn’t as much isolation from the world while one is taking care of personal business. If you plan on sharing one of these rooms with your wife, girlfriend, or coprophiliac pal whom may have critical sensibilities (in one direction or the other) when it comes to the restroom, you may want to ask to see this room for yourself to make sure this door won’t be an issue; I sufficed to turn the faucet on and she didn’t hint or comment. (Success!)
The beds and pillows were super comfortable (as was the sofa bed that we pulled out of the couch to enjoy a movie on while watching the water), the lighting was adjustable from soft to purposeful, the TV’s were conveniently placed and retained their AV inputs that allowed us to connect a DVD player, the carpet was soft and stainless, and the balcony stayed dry in a downpour of rain allowing us to keep the door open throughout the night — the sound of the breakwater AND rain was really something wonderful to enjoy.
Honestly, aside from the slippery slope of the bathtub floor, the one thing I would change would be the presence of three pairs of 100+ dollar sunglasses inconveniently displayed in plastic bags on the counter. They added clutter to the room and the bags they were in made ‘em fall off the display stands all too easily. One pair I had to chase behind the dresser — thank God they didn’t break.
On that matter, if you’ve forgotten your sunglasses and you’d like to purchase a new pair, you’re a minute away (walking) from half a dozen surf shops and even a store that’s specific to sunglasses that would probably better accommodate your aesthetic and financial preferences.
If you’re coming to Huntington Beach and you really want to make the most of it, get a waterfront room on the top floor of this place. You’re in walking distance of everything but the airport, the kindness you’re hit with by the staff buffers the absence of it in the other tourists and locals, and the location puts you front and center of what makes Huntington Beach so beautiful… ever seen the purple sunsets of Huntington from a balcony four stories up? It’s the next best thing to laying on a surfboard 75 yards offshore. I’ve stayed in five star hotels, this place equates a few of them, and the location makes it even better on some scales.
The Immense Edifice of Memory
My friend Cheryl was sharing with me a story about how her two year old had happened upon a bit of dog poo and somehow managed to get it all over himself and the interior of her car. I was sad for her and her son, but felt privelaged and happy that she shared her story with me because I was able to truly sympathize with her and (much to her dismay) coat-tail her story with an anecdote of my own from just last night:
Poop is my kryptonite, you see. Not the dookie itself, really, but THE SMELL: A stagnant potentency so wretched my memory has forever ensconced its record on my brain. Poop.
“When nothing else subsists from the past, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls bearing resiliently, on tiny and almost impalpable drops of their essence, the immense edifice of memory” – Marcel Proust
We find ourselves in a lot of undesirable positions as 9-11 responders in the County of Los Angeles. Nevertheless we can’t leave the poor people where they lay, beit their own swamps, piles and pools of poo; we can’t abandon them, though they are cheifly responsible for the scented hell they’ve called us to at God-awful hours of the night; we can’t leave them — THOUGH WE’D REALLY LIKE TO SOMETIMES!!!
So we hold our breaths, candy the off-lee of our noses with odors like mint and breathe through our mouths; all but to no avail! I see the shit forthcoming! My mind innately triggers the memory of the smell at the faintest sight of fecal genesis despite my flagrant plea for memories of daisies or tulips or ANYTHING ELSE FOR GOD’S SAKE!
My breath can hold no more, the clear mint oil dissapates as if it were a facade all along. My open mouth, my last resource for breath, lays bare my naked tongue for the heavy caustic fumes to pass over. I don’t smell it, I DON’T SMELL IT! The memory strikes! I SMELL IT! I TASTE IT! My eyes begin to water, my uvula swells readying to gag, my face reddens, the saliva thick in my mouth bathing my tongue from what my mind told me it tasted. Swallow. UGH!@
She was 87 years old, with a systolic blood pressure of 70. She was sick and dangerously dehydrated. She farted and opened a flood gate of lighter-than-caramel colored diarrhea that filled, saturated, then overflowed around and THROUGH her Depends and pajama bottoms! My breath caught and I watched in horror. My eyes flashed forth and from the cardiac monitor to the small pulsating geyser of SHIT(!) quietly erupting beneath her legs that we’d just drawn up into shock position.
I had no choice but to suck-it-up and brave the vomite-inducing stench that was surely going to make me wretch my belly up through my nose. I inhaled, ugh, I smelled it! It SMELLED! …Like buttered popcorn with only the slightest hint of poo. It was the ODDEST thing. It was warm, and harsh, but smelled like someone had just microwaved a gallon of butter in the same room!
I choked back what was about to heave from the deepest pits of my stomach and blissfully swallowed the lie my mind was feeding me.
We picked her up (GROSS!) and placed her onto our stretcher with heaps of paper sheets both under and over her, “Anyone else smell popcorn?” I asked. In visual stereo I saw blushing faces earn their color back with new air and several happier faces smiled in surprise and appreciation as they tested the air with their noses, “yeah, I do!” one of them chimed. It DID smell like buttered popcorn!
The Fervor Upon The Frost
I was drowned in a very conscious verisimilitude of animations of still flashes of memories and dreams involving you and I, I regarding you, and you I;
Like a kiss pressed upon the window glass I remember your affection the way the frost remembers your warmth upon that window glass and silhouettes your lips as if to boast that you had been there;
You had been here;
Your body aloft in my arms, head pillowed by your hair upon my shoulder, and your arms about me. We walked while you rest, a Waltz in my mind, a dream in my heart;
And on my heart I boast your impression like a kiss upon the window glass.
Prologue (for the now).
Satan was executed at dusk, beneath the bloodmoon rise. The sun setting in the opposite end of the sky fizzled into the ocean. The shadows of the mountain peaks stretched as far as they could just moments before breaking into the infinite shards that create the black of the night; stars had never been visible here. The breath of the caustic breeze carried the voice of an exhausted man.
“…It is done.”
The lazy strides of his walk made for heavy steps. The fine grains of obsidian at the shore of the black beach unsettled and rose between his toes with each impression. He turned to regard the world he had destroyed and smiled at the trail of footprints, Man’s first in Hell.
The outer-darkness, the place of eternal damnation that had hosted timeless accounts of pain and misery has forever changed. No more would the ignorant suffer or the foolish burn; no more would the ill-of-mind thirst or the indebted pay; no more would those of imperfect design be faulted for it. And no more will the Fallen perpetuate the faults.
Through his nose he inhaled a slow, deep, breath, and held it for just a moment before exhaling the same way. He gazed awhile, took in all that was before him for that last mental picture before leaving: Moonlight caught the small unburnt particles in the air still rising in the cooling heat, how they shimmered as they turned! The obsidian beach he stood upon wreathed the massive land, and the soft powder upon it sparkled to the night sky that would never answer. The weeping was silenced. The fire and brimstone were cooled. The outer darkness received light for the first time since it was stricken from it.
This place had been created for the purpose of abandonment. The guilty condemned to burn in a lake of fire for all time. The tortured here have been given the release of death after life. The demons and their company cast into oblivion.
For the first time in a very long time Clare found himself at peace.
He turned again towards the water, his motion brushing the obsidian aside in a flat explosion of black powder amidst the trail of footprints. He looked down, wiggled and spread his toes, smiling at the feeling of the soft silt sliding in between.
A short series of simple motions and breaths bade him farther away and into the water. And a few more brought him deeper and off of his feet. There he waded and relaxed, floating on his back. With an exhale he succumbed to the depths, and his body passed in the darkness.
