Roxie invited me to a happy birthday lunch in Marina Del Rey after a high quality beach voyage, a tough call to decline when sun shine sparkles outside my window.
Her three good friends Holly, Denise and Camila joined in on the festivities.
Venice Beach cruising on my birthday isn’t so bad.
Considering the brain cells destroyed the last couple days, I’m awarded a little taste of brilliance I guess.
Glory in Bashing is achieved when effortless balance shimmers all around you.
Toughest thing to measure is functionality, how well you cope with the lack of sleep, the loudness, the cake.
Everyone knows I hate cake, so it’s never offered unless ready for denial.
Never before seen strange snake man from the local madhouse.
Not even sure if I can speak coherent English anymore.
11 hate mails today from usually friendly west coast weather haters across the U.S. I feel their pain.
Details of the events surrounding the past couple daydreams are indefinite at best.
It was a very good day for spring breezes and boats.
Even without being plugged into an MP3 player, Yacht Rock was playing in my cloudy head.
Harry Perry even made a cameo, a good omen on my day.
In tribute, I ring my bike bell whenever I pass him; he's a truly defining SoCal legend.
I once belled that crazy Tyra Banks broad in spite.
Venice Beach is the world capital of mentally unstable crazies.
On Venice Beach, you’ll always catch at least one crack transaction.
Street vendors line the walkway, much less than before since permit shakedowns became the norm.
The best time to listen to Ludvig Van Beethoven is when going through fresh photos.
We were hungry, and I knew I was famished from last night’s drink, so any food choice would've been delicious.
Sizzling bacon sounded good, but we went to a storied Mexican place called Baja Cantina instead.
Upon the recommendation of the women, I bought new sunglasses on the way. I had them pick out a pair.
These are now my formal hangover sunglasses. A couple margarita pitchers with some jalapeño poppers and calamari added to a temporary rejuvenation until authentic sleepiness kicked in.Rad Roxie recently cut my hair, another great job by her magical scissors and blade.
Camila was exteremly stoked about midnight crafts. I'm invited to the next session.
Holly is an afficionado of 50’s subculture and hip-hop.
Denise is an architect with Altoon-Porter and expecting.
All the arts were covered at our table.
The sad and empty canal in Venice is sometimes adorned proudly with boats and people.
Even a mini mangy mongrel took notice of our fiery trek with envy.
Holly figure skated as a youth, so she wasn’t afraid to showcase speed skating on the pavement.
Some buildings appear to be slanted after a few margaritas.
Metal detector guy was out digging for 57 cents.
Some fools were just lampin.’
This was better than any episode of Baywatch, although The Hoff would beg to differ.
Denise is an architect with Altoon-Porter and expecting.All the arts were covered at our table.The sad and empty canal in Venice is sometimes adorned proudly with boats and people.Even a mini mangy mongrel took notice of our fiery trek with envy.Holly figure skated as a youth, so she wasn’t afraid to showcase speed skating on the pavement.Some buildings appear to be slanted after a few margaritas.Metal detector guy was out digging for 57 cents.Some fools were just lampin.’This was better than any episode of Baywatch, although The Hoff would beg to differ.
It’s a nice day for cruising in early March.
On my birthday no less . . .
Stresses alleviated by the echo of waves . . . 
This all feels a bit dumbed down like me. I've had four B-Day Bashes this week, thought process is stunted. I'm lucky it hasn't been noticed in conversation. 
Tonight is what's feared, the people from out the woodwork, the ones with previously tarnished luster that blend in terribly with others.
Impossible to avoid, no matter how good you think the collective party-people are. For once, The Coronet scares me . . . to be continued under certain duress.
It ended so suddenly, trying to explain it hurts more.
Almost 8 years and the pain subsists, I smile thinking of the good times, frolicking about with women and laughing at ourselves.
At times of grief or need I look to you for solace, your spirit guiding my steps.
You were too young for your fate; much Bashing was left in your blood.
I can spend all afternoon with you, the sun shining above; just you and me and the sea, not caring about what could’ve been, but sharing all that we already have.
So surly and rambunctious with those choice cuts, I pour a little more on your stone.
How does it feel being next to Ken?
Or Velva at my shoe?
Do you share beer in the heavens like this?
This round is on me.
It’s so quiet, and the wind gently brushes the chimes in the trees.
Flowers being smelled before set to rest, some clean the stone off so it’s lustrous and pure. 
But I leave that to others, for a mess is all I’ll leave, of bottles we drink and flowers for your memory.
The sheer enormity in the number of names astonishes our mortality and some just wander aimlessly, reading one tombstone . . . 
and then the next.
One thing can’t be avoided . . . the finality of being in the ground.
The rest is the meditation in photos. We love you Billy.
A shout out to the LBC . . .
