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tough guy poetry and manly stories of loneliness
all contents copyright Jon Rolston 2004, 2005, 2006

February 27, 2007

Planes that love heaven

The plane rattled the ice in my plastic cup and my stomach went weightless as we fell through a pressure leak in the sky. “It happens over mountains,” I heard the stewardess say. “Las Vegas is worse.”
We landed in Burbank and the brakes slammed on, the bit of the wing folded up into an air brake, and everyone clutched something…armrest, knee, a favorite curse word…we lived to fly again.
I had seen snow dusting the oil fields on hill tops of the santa clarita valley. Barren cowboy hills with snow and oil derricks. Los Angeles eighty miles away. Burbank was warm enough, and I saw a few showgirls in short shorts and built-for-big-tips blonde hair pulling pink carry-on’s, wheels clicking over the sidewalk forms.
There was a movie to be made this weekend, and I was heading to Val Verde to shoot it. A lot of progress was made, in spite of my vomiting, diarrhea, and a twenty nine hour nap – thanks to Alina, who provided a really expensive camera and a really expensive film school education that allowed her to edit the thing. It should be done very soon and I look forward to sharing some of my favorites recipes on first installment of “Recipes from the Sad Cafe”, a cooking show!
Thank you all for your patience.

Yours truly,

Jon Rolston

2 Comments

  1. You come to Burbank and didn’t get to Venice? I realize it is thirty six hours across town in a car, but still… We could meet halfway, maybe at a sunset strip bar or brothel. House of Blues. Laugh Factory.
    ?

    Comment by Oggy — February 28, 2007 @ 12:21 am

  2. I’ll be back down in a few months, hopefully, with more time to spend. Let’s try one of those $35 Thai massage places at the mini mall then.

    Comment by jon — February 28, 2007 @ 2:49 pm

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