Brea

Recently, I took a trip to Brea, California. I used to live in Brea, right there on the northern edge of Orange County, just south of a valley of dried brush oil well emptiness.

When I think of Brea, my gut reaction is happiness mixed with nostalgia. There are no bad feelings. Only good ones. I lived there from September 1988 to July 1990. For most of that time, I lived with my friend John. For a few months, I lived alone. After that, a roommate whose name I simply can't remember.

I lived in the La Casa Brea apartments on Date Street. Then - and now - the exterior of the apartment complex was dotted with over-sculpted trees. There was a pool. And carports that seemed to hold secrets. Yes, I just wrote that. Brea is Spanish for "tar." La Casa Brea translates as "The House of Tar." (The La Brea Tar Pits in Los Angeles translates as the the tar pits but that's another story for a different time.)

I wrote my best poem ever about Brea. It's called "Brea." Here it is, in its entirety:

We don't live there anymore

I wrote my best poem of 2007 about Brea. Read it here.

To most people, Brea is a nondescript smallish suburb, a typical Orange County community, populated by nice families with mini-vans, its streets filled with chain stores and bigger chain stores. It is all that. But, to me, there's something really special about the place. I lived there in my early 20s, which might explain the nostalgia. I moved there at 22, left at 24. 23 was good. 24 was worse. 25, 26, 27 - not much to say there.

I've been thinking about writing this blog post for almost two weeks. I have a lot to say and I'm just not sure how to say it. Maybe I'll make a list:

My Top 10 Brea Memories

10. Walking with John to the Brea Mall (just down Imperial Highway from where we lived) to see The Burbs starring Tom Hanks. We thought we were so cool. For walking. Half a mile.

9. Going to the Olive Garden with John, Katinka, and Matt. We probably did this more than once, some combination of the four of us. I'll count it as one memory. We were poor, so the all-you-can-eat soup/salad/breadsticks combo was exactly what we needed. Yeah it was the Olive Garden. So? Got something to say about that?

8. Buying the album Flood by They Might Be Giants at Tower Records and then listening to it in the parking lot, laughing as they sang about Flood, "a brand new record... for 1990."

7. The first party at the Date Street apartment - February 1989.

6. Listening to Matt and his friend sing So Alive by Love and Rockets, accompanied by acoustic guitar, in the parking lot behind Denny's.

5. March Madness 1990 at Hof's Hut with the gang from the Developmental Psychology seminar.

4. Spending a Saturday afternoon with Katinka as she went bikini shopping at the Brea Mall.

3. Two weeks ago, going to the Improv in Brea with Katinka and her friends. It was sort of a reunion... although I really only knew one person there. Since 1990, they've torn up and rebuilt downtown Brea. It still feels the same. I still like it there.

2. Going to Denny's after the Leonard Cohen concert on that October 1989 night in L.A. with John... That night, we met Matt and Jim, who led us to Katinka and Haley and Rob(v) and the rest of them.

1. The second part on Date Street - March 1989. This one was filled with tension. And love. And doubt. At the end of the party, I remember listening to the first Jane Siberry album (from 1980) as six of us sat on the Pier 1 double papasan and the little couch.

Yeah, so it was the time of my life that explains Brea in my mind. It really is just a place. But there's something about the place - I like everyone I've met in Brea, everyone from Brea. I can't say that about Yorba Linda. Or Fullerton.

Brea smells nice. There are cool little houses - purple ones, green ones. There are ancient burger stands and the only cool Denny's in the world. Shopping carts.

Wow. I almost forgot one of the most memorable memories - not exactly a favorite because it involved the destruction of furniture. It was right before I left Brea. I had rented a U-Haul and loaded it with all my furniture. I'd be leaving for Minneapolis the next morning. But first, I wanted to give Matt (who lived on the other side of Brea) my lame cheap computer desk. So I drove the U-Haul across town. On my way there, I heard loud rumbling sounds behind me. Apparently I hadn't properly latched the U-Haul's back door. Lambert Road was strewn with broken pieces of the cheap furniture of pre-IKEA America. Matt never got his desk. The desk got the worst of it. Luckily, only about a third of the contents spilled out.

We put back together what we could. And then I left Brea.

I'd go back every few years. In the mid-90s, I had an unreasonable crush on a waitress at the Renaissance Cafe, the overpriced "bistro" next to the book store. The crush was unreasonable because I lived 100 miles away in Ventura at the time. I'd always check on La Casa Brea to make sure it was still there. It's still there. Most everything is still there. The one big change is the entirely recreated "downtown" Brea. with its movie theaters and comedy club and other "destinations" that, for the most part, shut down at 11. It's alright, actually. There's a Starbucks there now. There never used to be one in the late 80s.

One more favorite memory: Craig Park, on the corner of State College and Imperial... going there with Alex last year. We sat at a picnic table and looked at a design book...tattoo ideas.

Another memory of Craig Park: walking through the park on a Sunday morning, listening to The Waitresses' Bruiseology on a Walkman. That night, I couldn't sleep. For the next five days, I couldn't sleep. It was my longest insomnia ever. It was toward the end of my time there. My friend... they were all gone. I was about to leave town. Maybe I should have stayed.