L.A. Anatomía

Like a great many people on the planet, I google myself sometimes. When I began my “writing career” (it was just that - a “writing” career), a internet search usually resulted in my homepage and a few articles that I had written four years ago. See? “Writing.” But today, I googled myself and found a delightful surprise. Suddenly, my search results went from ten to over 90, and they included a variety of my work. Suddenly, I was no longer a one-course writer in that I had few temptations to offer the tempted reader, but a writer with a whole buffet of  creative work, critiques, books, articles and copy.  On the downside, this means I need to redo my website.

But, the revelation also revealed that it was time to move this blog into a new vein by stripping away the veil of a pseudonym. In short, I need to be very honest about why I am writing this blog; so here is the long answer:

I originally started blogging more than five years ago when I began traveling. To keep friends and family appraised of my progress in lands exotic, I blogged, I enjoyed it and life was good. That first blog saw and keeps the memories of many adventures of a life, whether it ranged for several days or several years, in Europe, Asia and Oceania –. But last year, 2007, I got very bored with that first blog because I was no longer traveling. Instead, I was living, working and stuck in the valley of the real. This blog is my attempt to capture the adventure of traveling. However, instead of trekking to ancient temples or indigenous markets, I am setting forth to find the spark in my home, Los Angeles.

Los Angeles is a funny city. When I live here in college, I loved it. When I move abroad and return, I hated it. What I’ve learned is that Los Angeles is a city that can’t be “done” or “understood” in a day. I’ve always felt sorry for tourists who whirl into the city and then tilt and fall out of it. Do they get what they saw? What did they see anyway? Santa Monica? “Hollywood”? The crazies at Venice Beach? An amusement park? Better yet, California Adventure: The Amusement Park? What is that? That is not Los Angeles.

At the present, I’m getting the wonderful opportunity to reacquaint myself with a great urban/suburban/rural landscape. A few months ago, I took a new job that forced me to pack my belongings and move away from everything that was familiar to the northern outskirts of L.A.

Attentive students ask: So what?

Compare Los Angeles to the Earth. The equator is what the world knows (Santa Monica, Venice, Downtown, Hollywood, etc.). The northern hemisphere, i.e. everything north of the Getty Museum, is my current residence while the southern hemisphere, i.e. everything south of LAX, was my former. And ne’er the two shall mix.

When I told my southern friends where I was moving, their first question was always: “Where is that?” Then: “Why are you moving there?

Whenever I tell a new northern acquaintance where I’m originally from, a queer look always creeps into their face that speaks contempt.

No one from the south drives up here because it’s too far. They wonder what’s up there that is so great anyway?

No one from the north drives south if they can help it. They complain about the traffic, the attitude of the natives and argue that everything is better in their neck of the woods anyway.

So there you have it, and here I am: new job, new city, new Los Angeles (Or is it?) and no acquaintances. Sometimes, I wonder if life in a Los Angeles suburbia is more strange, more foreign than any neighborhood I encountered while abroad. Despite so many familiar things, the roads, the ways and the feel of this part of a city I’ve lived in for so many years is just so very different.

And I’ve seen different things: Chinese dress shops in Mexico, Croatian embassies in Korea, a college hallmate suddenly in a bar in Dublin, two fat cats that always stood guard outside a fresh produce stand in Japan and much, much more. Perhaps such things seem mundane to you but to me they were wonderful, and I hope to find that same sense of wonder here in my new, real life, in Los Angeles, whether north, or south, east or west.

Stay tuned.

In reading this article on authentic Regency dancing, where else could my thoughts turn but to this blog and the following issues? Dilemma #1: How to post regularly. Dilemma #2: How to post regularly in an interesting manner. Dilemma #3: How to post regularly, in an interesting manner and in a consistent style. Dilemma #4: How to make readers comment and declare their existence.

I think of these dilemmas because there are a gajillion blogs out on the interweb, but not all (many) (most) (a gajillion minus one) really work because of the reasons above. So what to do? I don’t know, but hey, I said this was an experiment.

You may not have noticed but this website, much like Jesus, was ressurrected this weekend. There were several reasons for this, but the only one I’ll list will be hidden deeply in this seasonally-appropriate metaphor:

An angel of the Lord said, “Dudes, take the stone away.” But the Roman guards could not for they had lost the key. So they sent for someone who knew things as they pertained to stones, locks, and objects that could not be changed, checked or verified until such an obstruction was removed. The angel of the Lord got tired of all the nonsense and flew off to eat cake. Actually, strawberry tart.

That strawberry tart is extremely important to this metaphor.

So there you have it! But aside from putting this blog back into the realm of *live* internet sites, Easter weekend actually dregged up from the earth other things that I loved but had forgotten.

1) The BBC series Horatio Hornblower - the story, the characters, the special features, everything.

2) Strawberry tart.

3) Anne Taylor Loft where I found this dress.

I also realize now that Easter, or the conclusion of Easter (meaning Jesus rising from the dead), is actually a teaser of what is to come. So, I’ll close this entry up with a few of my own:

MARATHONS!

COWBOYS!

LONDON?!

Wait and see.

The key to successful blogging is constant updates, and tonight, I hope to unleash the torrent of a future full of posts. Big ones! Small ones! Interesting ones! Well, mostly interesting. It is Lent and the season to be humble, afterall.

But where was humility this weekend? I went south, past Los Angeles proper and all its traffic into the great Orange beyond, meaning the O.C., to visit with friends and be a miser. The money in my wallet was and is mine, and I had no intentions of parting with a cent from Friday through Sunday.

L.A.-ians will tell foreigners that spending cash is unavoidable for several reasons: 1) You can avoid spending money, but can you avoid buying gas to get where you want to go? 2) You can avoid buying anything, but can you a) avoid paying for parking or b) avoid being polite and just buying something because you i) want it or ii) can’t help it ? And 3) we, the consumers of Los Angeles, are an economic machine! We buy and you are fed; we drive and fill your coffers; we watch TV, and I’m sure something else amazing happens.

But I was going against convention! I was going to pull through the night by not pulling out my credit card! And that was why, the Art Walk at the Lab seemed like such a good deal. Art, which is not consumer-based, would surely be the haven of a pennypincher.

First, let’s talk about the Lab.

Orange County has a plethora of malls, but the Lab is the anti-mall. It is an escape for hipsters tired of brands, corporations and stores that don’t sell hemp. Taking up a little space on Bristol Blvd, the Lab entices with bohemian eateries and cafes, non-mainstream boutiques like Urban Outfitters, quite a few hair salons and quirky, architectural and (perhaps) local art. There is no GAP! The anti-mall repels alls mega-mall-o-maniac ideals!

I get a kick out of the Lab. Go to Zipangu for delightful Japanese food.

Anyway, Saturday, me and my friends met up at the Gypsy Den at the Lab to tour the three art galleries open for the evening. First up was The Box, a chic, sleek, modern and brand new salon that moonlighted as a chic, sleek, modern and brand new gallery. Two artists were on display, but only one’s name shall be etched into eternity on this blog: Jeff Claassen. The group consensus was that his work was edgy, interesting, Japanese-inspired and very accessible. I liked his work but was more impressed by his marketing techniques and use of different mediums. His paintings were on blocks of wood and canvas, and he had a range of merchandise for sale: wallets, miniprints, t-shirts and etc. for people who wanted to buy art by only spending so much. Of course, this blurs the whole idea of the unique soul of an art piece. By mass-producing his art, is it still art? By releasing a larger piece in smaller pocket-sized mediums, does it kill the value? Or does it just bring greater appreciation and a larger audience to the artist and art-in-general’s doorstep?

Shrugs. If you have an opinion, go ahead and share. And if you don’t, I like the play Art by Yasmina Reza. And that’s all I have to say about that.

The other plus about the Box was that they truly pampered us walkers. As soon as we wandered across the outdoor entrance (a sidewalk, which you could chalkdraw on), we were treated to free wine! Free fresh-baked cookies! Free bit-sized sandwich wraps! And free candy! Here’s the thing: When the lady offered us candy, my friend and I were about to turn it down for even though the closed boxes suggested delicious chocolate, we really didn’t think much of it. The lady saw our doubt. She made us pause. She opened a box and lo! There were fist-sized chocolate-covered strawberries! What could we do put pick and choose one juicy berry?

We ate. We were very merry.

The other two galleries were ok. We (I) felt the art of the second was safe rather than interesting. It’s goal was to succeed in alarming no one, and it did. The third gallery was also at a salon-turned gallery. I’m sure the works belonged to longtime and newly-started artists, so there were some intriguing pieces, others that lacked maturity and more that were nice but failed to excite.

The night ended at the Tin Lizzie, a gay bar guarded anxiously by a chihuahua, in which we all realized it was St. Paddy’s weekend, and two of us had apple martinis. There was also a very concerned debate over whether men really do walk up to women and offer to buy them drinks. Some said it was a reality. Others said it was a fantasy. But the concern was such that we took it with us to Memphis Cafe across the street where I, at least, accosted a few other person as to their opinion before ending the night.

Total amount spent: $0.00

Moral of the story: Ask your friend to drive and, if a stranger won’t buy the drink for you, hope that you are in the presence of a kind and generous friend who will. (^_^)v

Spring is subtle in Los Angeles, but more noticeable in northern L.A. I think it’s because northern greater Los Angeles comprises the San Fernando and other landlocked limbs of our fair metropolis. This means that the climate is more like a desert - colder nights and mornings, violent winds and hot, dry days. In fact, I could feel the change in weather come on by the dryness of my hands. But I bikeride, which could a reason rather than a sympton.But spring is here, and it came on so quietly that I wouldn’t have noticed but for the sakura trees. Sakura, meaning cherry blossom trees in Japanese, bloom in the spring, and it was heartening to feel a change in weather by the measurement of a sakura’s blossoms.

How do I describe the magic of a sakura tree? They take your breath away, blend the line between eternity and mortality and are always surprising. Every year, they amaze, give hope, brush away the depression of winter and make the year seem really new. Brand new like little pink flowers clustered close on a brush, trying not to get shaken off by the wind. Yes, I’m a poet. How are you?

On Tuesday, a sakura tree surprised me with its existence by my office. I was walking during lunch, enjoying a very blue sky, a very green moutain line and then, suddenly! I was standing under a sakura tree. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to enjoy all its splendor so the very next day I took my lunch and had a little, solitary hanami of my own.

There is nothing more beautiful than a sakura tree against a vibrant, blue sky. That is, unless you count a sakura tree at night, lit by candlelight. Or, a sakura tree on a lukewarm day….. You get my meaning, I assume. But no matter what your reason is for sitting under a cherry blossom tree, in the end, they refresh, reenliven and wipe a slate clean. And this is why I have started my new blog today, under the blessing of spring.

I have long considered starting a professional, travel blog that skates the line between job and hobby. Let it’s grayness live long and happily. I have also long considered writing under a “professional name,” which is why friends will note that this blog is written under a pseudonym. I have my professional reasons: androgynous name, easier for readers to pronounce and etc. But I also find that writers like wearing a veil and staying hidden behind their work. I am not any different.

And really, that’s how I felt under the cherry blossom tree. My thoughts and me guarded in a falling veil of pink petals. Where was time? Where was my office? Was lunch over? Who knew. Who cared? I was starting anew.