New "Whatever" Year

It’s gonna be New Year’s Eve tonight which I’m looking forward to because; I’ll be spending it with good friends and not working tomorrow. Also, 2008 was crazy. It was a long and stressful year and plenty of awesome and amazing things happened and also a lot of shitty things. At New Years you can use this time to reflect on the past; make resolutions to improve your existence on this planet, and/or get totally wasted! I usually prescribe to the later like most young adults but, this year will be different. I’ll only have a few beers and concentrate more on the Arts and Crafts activities that I’m organizing for earlier in the evening. On tap we’ve got the Times Square ball decorating, glow in the dark bocce ball painting, making super nachos, and then midnight bocce in Beverly Hills.

It feels like a proper end to 2008 and calendar change into 2009. We’re not doing a stupid countdown or cheering when the New Year comes. We’re just going to be hanging out and waiting for New “Whatever” Year to arrive.

So here are my resolutions for the New "Whatever" Year:

· Work out more with Kate. (Leg tosses twice a week and going for a jog once a week.)

· Ride my bike in the mountains at least once every two weeks.

· Rethink why I am an artist and make art.

· Be nice and not say negative things about people anymore.

· Get out of debt. (Not gonna happen but, I’ll take some major steps in doing this.)

· Quit smoking. (I’m just kidding, I don’t smoke. But, if you do, you should quit.)

Have a wonderful transition into a new Judeo-Christian calendar year everyone!

With Love,
Ben

Letter to Samy's

You want to know the truth? No matter who you are, there is someone or something much bigger than you, stronger than you, nimbler than you, and you got to pick and choose your battles. Most of the time it's not worth it. Earlier this week it was Fedex. And the answer by the way, is that no, the Palace was not closed, my key contacts and many others were on vacation and neglected to inform us. Because the palace is so grand, the Fedex rep in France didn't quite know which cake shaped door to leave it at. Long story short, that shit finally got there.

Today, I'm treating you to a letter to Samy's Camera. Don't go there. Read the reviews on the interweb for yourself.

*****

December 26, 2008

Re: Thanks!

Hey Samy's Camera,

You ever read the book, Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus? One of the main points in the book is that women listen by hearing while men listen by skipping over the hearing and understanding and they go straight into problem solving. From my own census of the place, it seems to me that Samy's is run by problem solving men and that's a good thing because there are a lot of problems out there.

I appreciate Samy's and the myriad products and services that it provides to countless photographers in Southern California. My patronage at your establishment is purposely limited for several reasons of my own and this evening's interaction made all of them perfectly clear.

I purchased a Canon SD790IS for $250. Nice camera. When I got home, by sheer coincidence, a pesky pop-up ad for Best Buy connected me to another page for the same camera, on sale for $179.99. Hard to believe I know.

Rules are in place for many reasons, and even if I don't agree with the rules, I respect them. You'll never ever see me park my Porsche in a loading zone. Never. I understand Samy's return policy as it is noted in the store, but not as it pertains to price matching. On my immediate return to the store, I asked the gentleman helping me one simple question - Does Samy's offer price matching? And I further stated, "if not, I understand, I will leave." That was my question. In Mars-Venus Speak, I came in with a question and I wanted to be heard, understood and answered, but what I got was a good dose of problem solving.

The gentleman was not happy about my query as he told me that that price, shown on the web page print out is well below cost. A simple yes or no would have done the trick. I am thankful that I'm a business person, so I used my special business person hearing and I understood this statement to mean "no". I requested my receipt so that I could leave. The gentleman did not hand it back, but took it away to confer with others and returned stating that he would honor this price, but only in this instance. Problem solved right? And he added further, "If all customers were like you, there would be no Samy's." No, problem created.

I am not out to ruin an independent business over $70.00, and I regret that I even bothered with this. I was simply seeking clarification on Samy's position re price matching. I gave the gentleman several opportunities to state Samy's position on price matching. He chose instead, to not answer my question with any clarity and offered a price reduction in resentment, and then returned his resentment to me as an insult. Whoops, there goes that Mars again.

Let's be clear about something - in this new era in which all old modes of doing business are swiftly rendered useless, it is statements like this to customers like me that will put Samy's out of business.

Call me if you want your $70 back, I'll personally hand deliver it. You could use some of it to buy the book.

All the Best,

Yirko

Heaven or Hold

Following is a transcript of a conversation I had on or around 4:00 this afternoon. I transcribed it as the conversation unfolded.

*****

Fedex: Thank you for calling fedex, how may I assist you today?

Me: Hi, how are you?

Fedex: Fine sir. And yourself? [male voice seems "young"]

Me: Great thanks. I need your help. I'm tracking a package right now and I can't understand why it just can’t seem to make it to its destination. I need your help in knowing why when I track it, it looks as though it’s been turned away twice. I’m looking at one note here that says the business was closed.

Fedex: Ok sir, do you have the tracking number?

Me: Just a sec. Ready?

Fedex: Anytime sir.

Me: 779316133267681318362475579321779331248546843126 (this is the only embellishment in the dialogue, the rest is as true to form as I could simultaneously type and talk.)

Fedex: Let me check for a moment. [Hold music and other Fedex whoozymaroo]

[Long wait]

Fedex: Thank you for holding sir, it says that the business was closed and they will try again tomorrow morning.

Me: Yeah, I see that on the website. That was on Friday though and I'm wondering why they didn't deliver it today.

Fedex: Sir, it appears that it’s to a rural address and that's maybe why they can’t find it. I need to check on something, can you hold sir?

Me: Sure.

[Long wait]

Fedex: Sir, it says that the package will go out for delivery again tomorrow. It's a rural address and maybe they are having a hard time finding it.

Me: M-hmm. Rural address. I see. Can you tell me what address is listed on the piece of paper, uh you know, the airbill? I want to make sure that it's what I have on file.

Fedex: Okay. Let’s see, just a moment while I look that information up. It says…

Sha...

Tow...

Day...

V...

E...

R...

S...

A...

Me: Versailles! Chateau de Versailles.

Fedex: Yes, that's right sir.

Me: [Pausing and doing trademark anger management inhale] Just so we’re clear on something, your notes are correct. This is in fact a rural address, but this particular address to which I am sending this extremely important package is a PALACE. It’s a big building, probably the only one in the area.

Fedex: Oh OK. Hold on.

[Hold music. Long wait again]

Fedex: Sir, what I know is that it went out for delivery on Friday and it will go out again in tomorrow morning.

Me: I know this too. It says it on screen. [lowered, fakely calm voice] Lemme tell you this, this palace is kind of like the White House of France. It's a big place with people all the time. It's not a little farm house.

Fedex: Ok sir, can you hold on, let me check something.

[Hold]

Fedex: Sir it says that the package -

Me: No listen, even if something was not completely correct about the address I entered, the people handling this know what this place is. What I’m trying to say is that it’s hard to miss. It's very hard. You have to imagine that I'm trying to send something important to the you know, the White House of France. Can you understand why I'm having a hard time understanding why the driver can't find it?

Fedex: Sure sir.

Me: What I want to know is why my package was turned away. The tracker thing says the building was closed on Friday. As far as I know, it's open all week. And today, for no reason, it was out out for delivery and at almost 11 at night, at night! it comes back to the fedex facility there. What is the problem so I know what to do with my other packages?

Fedex: I see. Hold on.

[Hold music. I'm breathing]

Fedex: Sir, what I can tell you is that is that we tried to deliver it on Friday and for some reason that was the only time.

Me: No. The website indicates two trips, both unsuccessful. [Pausing and breathing] I see that you are doing all that is in your power to help me, and I appreciate it, is there someone else I can speak to who can just answer me this question: what is happening that my package can’t make it to a known landmark that is always open?

Fedex: Sir, it’s just my supervisors above me and they can only tell you what's in the system.

Me: A similar thing has happened before, can I talk to someone in Atlanta C.A.T.?

Fedex: Sir, you can talk to someone in E-CAT, but they are above me.

Me: But wouldn't that be a good thing?

Fedex: Not really. See, they have to do the same thing I do. Well, it's in ODA. That means it's out of our hands.

Me: ODA.

Fedex: Overseas Delivery Agent. It's all in their hands now. Uh I guess I can put in a request for a tracer.

Me: A tracer?

Fedex: We can put a tracer on it. We can put in note to call the local station agent and get that person to explain what happened.

Me: Yes. That’s what I want. I want to know what exact truck it was on, and who the driver is, and why it’s not getting there. This is an extremely important package and I have a hard time understanding why it just can’t get to the palace. People are waiting for this thing.

Fedex: Well, I'm putting a note into the blah blah blah blah blah

Me: [Praying. Writing down a case number, not melting down.]

It's winter time in Los Angeles! Really it is.

Hello readers,

As most of you know by way of our news feed on the right, we've had some terrible winter weather in Los Angeles (translation: thunder storms). We survived, barely. It does get kind of crazy around here with a plethora of vehicular accidents, flooding, and mud slides. But, right now all of that is over and it's super sunny and the Angeles Mountains just north of Los Angeles are dusted in wonderful snow.

Being from the east coast I miss weather. Los Angeles doesn't really have seasons. It rains about 10 days out of the year so it can be kind of strange for someone like me who's use to stuff falling out of the sky occasionally. Having wilderness and 6,000 foot mountains right next to where I live is very overlooked by the wider world and Angelinos themselves. Luckily for me I’m an avid cyclist and all around bike nerd so I find myself up in the mountains every weekend when I can make it, breathing deeply of the fresh air and observing nature from my carbon road bike.

Well now all that's fucked. The snow has come to the mountains so I will try to ride up there on New Year's Day with a whole bunch of other cycling nerds and, we'll see how far we'll make it. One of the places that I always ride to is Mt. Wilson (elv. 5,700 ft). The last time I was up there was about a month ago and it was just starting to get chilly, you needed arm warmers. Now it's 20 degrees with 20 inches of snow! The roads up into the mountains are all shut down but, when they reopen the LABLOGituders and I are definitely going sledding! There's an entire winter wonderland to explore and trust me we're going there no matter what.

So winter does come to Los Angeles. You just have to drive 30 minutes to find it. Below is a pic. from the Mt. Wilson Observatory Towercam today. . .and if you really want to geek out here's the url.

Pudding

At 2:45 this afternoon, the work team had a pudding party. Last week, we had a fried chicken party. The breading was made of crushed Snyder’s of Hanover pretzels. Earlier today, the boss brought in a plate of deep fried pretzel balls. What's a pretzel ball? Crushed pretzels, cayenne pepper, salt, eggs, milk and flour, deep fried - the breading we used on the chicken, sans the chicken.

Pictured above, clockwise from top: chocolate pudding, stainless steel pig nose, clear plastic cups, vanilla pudding, pistachio pudding, whipped cream.

A Little Pudding Dialog. Dorky employee who I can't stand just walked in here. I offered her some pudding.

DEWICS: Eeww, green. Green pudding. I can't eat green pudding.

ME: Well did you look at the rest of the table? There are other colors.

DEWICS: Oh yeah, I guess I didn't notice that. How does this work?

ME: If I have to tell you how pudding works, I can't help you.

DEWICS: I don’t know how to work it.

End of conversation. I keep looking at my screen, hoping that I can dissolve her with my silent brain power.

Say Cheese

It's holiday card time.

My coworker asked me to help him fix the Cujo laser robot kill dog eyes on this photo.



With a little ye olde photoshoppe magic, I sent this, my best work so far.



But I'm not that big an asshole, so I eventually emailed him something less apalling.

Happiness is a Warm Truck

This truck and many others like it are among the legions of mundane heros that keep the LA juggernaut in full tilt, every day without fail. It’s going to rain again today, that’s why the money taker isn’t wearing her trademark snakeskin print jeans. She knows us all by name, but prefers to call us Corazon or Baybee – comforting in a most unusual way. The cook slings all orders, yelled into the window by the workers, in less than ten minutes. My kind of efficiency.

Sure, there are firefighters and cops and a great many others who'd happily run into a burning building to save you as you clutch your Abba records, but nothing tears up my Man-tang more and makes me smile as much as when I see the Taco Truck, bringer of tasty, greasy, hope.

*****

For your listening pleasure, Barry Manilow

I drove a truck today.

I'm back from an extensive, exhaustive, artistic adventure and I'll blog about it later or not. It was a lot of fun but, really stressful and numbing so I might not want to revisit that period of my life for a little while.

So it's raining in Los Angeles. It started right when I went to bed and it made me feel really happy and cozy to hear the rain dripping on the porch boards. I woke up in the middle of the night to the raccoons making strange raccoon sounds in the rain and then ringing these bells I have hanging. I've got to do some more extensive research on them sometime.

So when I woke up in the morning I was tired and still sore from San Francisco. It was dark and raining so I decided to drive my truck. I hate driving but, sometimes I need to. When it rains I drive for the following reasons:

1. You'll see 100% of car drivers doing the following three things when it rains in Los Angeles: Skidding, turning without using their blinkers, and routinely coating their hands in baby lotion while waiting at traffic signals.

2. Grocery shopping is way easier and I can buy as much as I want when I have the truck. This also means I always buy beer.

3. I know my chances of dying on my bicycle are: Zero. I think my girlfriend really likes this reason.

I'm sure the Nor Cal (Northern California) vs. So Cal (Southern California) debate will begin shortly. And the debate on using the terms Nor Cal and So Cal will also begin. I know if I lived in San Francisco and it was raining I'd be riding my bike to work. When I'm up there and it rains I see everyone going through their lives like it's a bright sunny day. I love that about San Francisco. When it rains in Los Angeles it's kind of like getting a Gremlin wet. In San Fran when it rains it's like getting a Mogwai wet and that's way cuter.

We Are Everywhere

It hailed earlier today and just a few minutes ago, we looked outside to see this.



This goes to show you, that whether you are alone in your bedroom listening to the Depeche Mode, or working at your chosen career, in an unmarked building, across the street from the Pepsi plant, feet dangling off the edge of civilization, the power of the Great Gay Spirit is so unrelenting, that it can find you anywhere you are and restore your spirit, even if just for one moment.

22 hours, part 3

The other third of LA BLogitude stayed in LA this weekend, as to keep the home fires burning. True to form, here’s a rehash of Friday. While it’s just shy of 20 hours, please accept it as the latest toilet flush.

5 a.m. Hit snooze

6:03 a.m. Run to catch the first bus of the morning

6:37 a.m. Move one seat over after the guy with scabs on his face falls asleep leaning against me

6:45 a.m. Exchange smiles with an older man in a suit as I wait for my espresso drink at the Starbucks in my building lobby

6:56 a.m. Nibble on whole grain toast and a banana at my desk while checking email

8:51 a.m. Stop into the conference room for another cup of coffee and say hello to my coworkers

2:03 p.m. Stuff my walking shoes and dirty Tupperware in a desk drawer before heading out to the office Christmas party at the Century Plaza hotel

3:15 p.m. Congratulate my bosses on their special recognition and employee of the year awards

3:58 p.m. Ask the bartender for a half refill on the red wine before the bar closes

4:30 p.m. Head back to the office to finish a writing assignment

5:23 p.m. Meet a group of coworkers at X Bar for the after party

6:18 p.m. Make impromptu plans to see a musical in West Hollywood due to unforeseen free tickets

7:08 p.m. Hop into a friend’s car in the Century Plaza driveway

7:46 p.m. Standing in line at will call at The Coast Theatre, overhear a casting director unsuccessfully trying to throw her weight around to buy a ticket to the show, which is sold out

9:06 p.m. During intermission, notice that director Floyd Mutrux is wearing iridescent clogs

10:21 p.m. Arrive at the W and order a vodka tonic

10:33 p.m. Head upstairs to meet friends of friends but realize a room key is required for the elevator; luckily a hotel guest gets in at the 2nd floor and puts her key in the slot

11 p.m. Read a random email from an ex boyfriend I haven’t spoken to in years from the laptop of a new acquaintance

11:14 p.m. In the substantially more happening bar, male friend comments “there’s a lot of fake breasts in this room”

11:27 p.m. Valet opens the passenger door for me and hands me the seatbelt strap as I get into the car

11:41 pm Cruise the 405 without gridlock

11:55 p.m. Arrive home and snack on vegan macaroni and cheese

12:22 a.m. Lay in bed with a lavender eye pillow, click off the light and dream of my morning jog

Observation

Two thirds of Blogitude went to San Francisco this weekend for Ben's art opening in the Tenderloin. The Girlfriend supplied her magical, whirring, earth-fondling, Al Gore mobile to transport four - Ben and his GF, me and my BF. Yes, it's a Prius.

I've got a lot to say about the trip - chain restaurants, the hard laughter when filling the Prius with cheap gas, starbucks, red bull, Ben's art, the screening of my BF's documentary, the Live DJ mixing in the car both ways, the farting, the food, the farting, the homeless, some yoga that I got out of, the bitter cold, our friends, my refreshed leather pants - but I'll save it for Ben, or maybe I'll get back to it later, or never, I'm busy this week making holiday-based shit.

I'm gonna get a mighty ass-whoopin for saying this - You spend one minute in San Francisco, and even if you were Helen Keller, you'd know right away that Los Angeles is a great big, glorified pile of self-tanning compost.

We got good tacos though.

Officially Chain-ed

Darn you, Nike, you’ve finally done it. You’ve slowly worked your way into so many facets of my life that I have to admit….gasp…brand loyalty.

It wasn’t enough that you gave money to build both the library and law school at my university. I spent what seemed an endless number of hours in those buildings. And being in Track Town, the legends of Pre and Bowerman were everywhere I turned. But my anti-establishment sensibility kept me skeptical, as the student newspaper intermittently ran reminders about the sweat shops.

It still wasn’t enough when I got hooked on your sponsored training runs four years ago. I fell in love with the routes and appreciated the freebies—like food and the Dri-FIT™ shirts. I made friends and came back religiously. But I wasn’t drinking the free promotional energy drinks—or so I thought.

Then there was the ad—the one for the Nike Free™. You know, with the guy reenacting the barefoot beach run scene from “Chariots of Fire,” then remembers he’s running on a city street. I laughed. I loved it. I told people about it. But I refused to demo the Nike Free™ at running club. Later I would use the New York Times’ article about the launch of the Le Brons campaign as an example in the class I was teaching.

I figured I was safe if I didn’t wear the shoes myself – and was proud when I would tell my runner friends that they just didn’t fit me right. But a few years later, I went for a special shoe fitting—and to my surprise, I came out of the store with a pair of Nike Air Structure Triax+ 11™. I’m reluctant to say it, but—they’re amazing and I’m on my second pair.

This was a turning point: I’d joined the cult. I messaged my friend who works for Nike to tell him. Not much later I found myself defending the company to a colleague, talking about the products and how the company provided the money to build that library where all of my knowledge came from.

But I didn’t realized what had happened until last weekend. As I headed to yoga class, I glanced in the mirror on my way out. I looked like a Nike poster child. The shoes. The track jacket. The yoga mat. “Top to toe,” as they’d say at the running club. All with a little swoosh peeking out to signal victory.

Holiday Party

Last night was a really busy night here in Los Angeles for your LABLOGituders. First off I have to apologize to all of my fans for not posting for a few weeks. I’ve been super busy putting together an art show that’s opening up in San Francisco this weekend and I’ll post more about that later.

So I made it back from installing the show just in time for my work holiday party and going to Get Mortified. I work at a non-profit and I must say that the holiday party here is up there with any corporate shin-ding. This year they really out did themselves and with the collapse of another notable non-profit art institution in Los Angeles and the cancelling of their holiday party we were really lucky to have such an outlandish and over the top party. They spared no expense and it was a good one this year. We had:

Three free alcoholic drinks per person (more if you ask for extra tickets from your co-workers)
Dance floor with DJ
Santa
Palm reading
Caricatures
Handwriting analyzing
A mash potato bar (where you eat mashed potatoes out of martini glasses)
Dessert bar
Cookie and coffee bar
Vegetables, salad, and roast beef
A raffle for prizes like a T.V. and gift certificates

Last year I snuck two people into the party (we’re only allowed to bring one guest) and this year I was able to smuggle three people in. I was really hoping to win the plasma screen this year so that we could have an excuse to get Guitar Hero and DDR but, I didn’t win, maybe next year. The tradition of the holiday party must go back to that original party when Jesus was born and people were hanging out at night under the stars with gold, weed, and animals. There was gold decorations, AV guys smoking weed, and party animals so it was rather traditional. The party was really fun while it lasted which didn’t last long because, we had to climb into the Yirkomobile and head up to Hollywood for Get Mortified. One thing we did get to do was have our picture taken with Santa. Unfortunately, I don’t have a copy of it, so I found this picture of some young people with Santa on the internet that would be a good stand in. I wish you all safe and festive Holiday parties this year and I hope you can eat some potatoes out of a martini glass too.

Mortified

In the spirit of the Get Mortified Show I'm going to tonight (http://www.getmortified.com/live/), I leave you with this:

You know what's worse than sulking about your crush getting married? Finding the online wedding gift registry (Yirko, note: Pottery Barn!) and seeing multiple pages of matching dishes supposedly picked out with the new spouse. Yes. I did this recently. I don't recommend it.

Yirko in Chains, Still

It is oft said, that there are Smiths lyrics for every occasion. In this instance, these hail from Accept Yourself, available on the album Hatful of Hollow. Morrissey whines in one verse, “Oh, but plans can fall through (as so often they do) And time is against me now...”

So true Stephen Patrick. My coworker cancelled on me because I hemmed and hawed about our mall adventure, in light of our current financial meltdown, so no Chow King, no Banana Republic or H&M for me. If you count being stuck in traffic as a time killer, then yes, time was also against me.

I hummed that part repeatedly.

It’s just as well, I took a different route home, which brought me to my neighborhood, via The Grove on Fairfax. The Grove is what happens when you slam down Main Street Disneyland onto an open oil field in the middle of Los Angeles. Instant Multi Cultural Shopptertainment, (multi-culti-sho-taint? Sho nuff). These days, if you show up at the right time, it snows soapsuds at The Grove, perfect for your cozy dry clean only cashmere sweater that you got on sale at the Nordstroms Don’t-Let-The-Recession-Scare-You-Off Sale.

Here’s what we know – things don’t make us happy or complete. In fact, the things we own quickly own us. Still, I bought a black moleskin coat at Banana Republic knowing this and yet, I left feeling transformed. I felt so integrated with my coat. It was as if the coat and I were pressed from the same die. This pressed fit feeling helped me to see something I had been making myself blind to – The GAP makes slouchy clothes that are designed specifically for citizens who wear a big protective wine barrel underneath their clothes.

I went to the GAP after the BR to further help out the economy, but became horrified at the realization that I am not a GAP kid after all. I thought I was, but I had been fooling myself all along. They make clothes for people with more generous BMI (Body Mass Index) than me. Not a big surprise right? Maybe to someone in GAP-aholics Anonymous or GAP-anon. They don't have those in L.A. GAP clothes are too baggy for me, and I’ve been spending my time and money getting my GAP pants altered in the keester to fit me better.

For much less and money and effort, there are better fitting pants out there, all over the place, well made too. I paused on my way back to the Mega Garage, wondering, what other simple truth have I been blind to that’s right in front of me.

A threshold crossed does not have to be large to be significant. I can't even begin to imagine what my new eyes will see. Perhaps I will be amenable to safari print post-its and purple Nike Airs?

Then someone turned the volume back up on Accept Yourself, which had apparently been playing on loop in the background and it reminded me,

“Anything is hard to find when you will not open your eyes.”

I thanked the coat, and remembered once again, whenever I think I’m alone, the Smiths will always be there to guide me.


*****

Here for your listening pleasure, is the song

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hAxpvw4qOZQ

Thank you, I love you, truly

Yirko in Chains

You ever hear about Banana Republic? No? Are you visiting from Borneo or something? How about Chow King? Google it.

You don't have to love chain stores to live in Los Angeles, I know this though - my love of the chain has only enhanced my experience on this little patch of hard baked earth. All Angelenos owe their existence to two great beings 1) William Mulholland - the guy who engineered the great water theft of the west - and 2) Land Developers who generously bring us easily accessible, fondly familiar retail chain businesses with plenty of free parking. God bless you all.

Tonight, my coworker and I are going to Banana Republic and H&M at the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. It's an open air mall that creates a controlled downtown feel. Whether or not it's successful at this doesn't matter to me - it has a Gap and a Barnes and Noble and blocks and blocks of free multi-level parking.

We will first nourish ourselves at Chow King in Van Nuys. It's a chain and it's brilliant. Look it up. You should only be so lucky to have one in your state.

I'll let you know more later.

In the meantime, have a Pinkberry for me.

The Chase

Ever since a sprained ankle cramped my style for more than a month, I’ve developed a greater appreciation for running. Today’s adventure was particularly fun, as it featured a chase sequence.

After warming up on residential backstreets, I turned onto Los Feliz Boulevard and noticed I was 50 feet in front of another afternoon runner. This in itself is not out of the ordinary, but when I he passed me a few minutes later, I took note.

I’m trying to get my speed back after the injury – so I accepted the challenge. I paced off him for a few minutes, keeping in stride 20 or so feet behind him. But I was gaining. Just like in the car, it’s bad etiquette to slow down after you pass someone. I hit the accelerator and kept speeding as I felt his eyes on my back.

I sensed the space between us growing and I figured I’d seen the last of him after I turned down Vermont. But when I stopped briefly at a light, I caught a glimpse of him 50 or so feet back and my stopping was giving him a chance to catch up. I looked both ways and ran on the red.

Then I got caught again at the light at Franklin. Shit. No chance of jay crossing this time. Suddenly he was standing next to me. I glanced at him, turning my toes up to stretch.

He ran as soon as the light turned yellow and I lost my lead. I ran closer behind him this time. To strangers, it might’ve looked like we knew each other. My stride filled the space vacated by his last step. And we were careening down Vermont, dodging pedestrians, chained-up bicycles and sidewalk tables at Fred 62. But his unassertive navigation was slowing me down. I blew past him at Russell, jumping off the sidewalk to pass a combination stroller-couple roadblock in front of the Los Feliz 3.

I was flying – past Skylight Books and the vintage clothing store, catching the lights across Prospect and Hollywood, dodging dogs on leashes and foot traffic around the red line station. My leg nearly grazed the top of a lit cigarette dangling from an old man’s fingers as he shuffled down the sidewalk. At a light on Sunset, I glanced back for my race partner, hoping for another round. But he had vanished, leaving me to admire the Hollywood sign all alone.

LA from the outside

I’ve hosted out-of-town visitors for three weekends in a row now – and whenever I do this, it brings me into a greater awareness of LA. And I’m always amazed at some of the things I’ve become accustomed to:

Freeway traffic
Some areas’ likeness to Central America
Parking rates and availability
Crowds at Trader Joe’s
The fullness of my schedule
Pervasive billboards and the number in Spanish
Exotic cars
Palm trees

A former graduate school classmate of mine up north always wanted to come to Hollywood; he had come to the U.S. for school from China and said the movie industry was the best part of America. I imagined him with his camera around his neck, wandering amid crowds on the walk of fame, dodging cockroaches and homeless people as he cooed in delight at the exteriors of Ripley’s and the Hollywood Museum. He never came to Hollywood – he moved to New Jersey instead to take an internship in New York City, and last I heard, he said it was dirty and crowded.

I told you

We get jacked up about fog and rain here in L.A. because we see it about as often as a cat fucking a monkey on its own accord. As I searched for Fog Stories in the LA Times as A suggested there would be, I found this interactive map of the vote count, by county, of Propositions 4 and 8 lending to my assertion that Angelinos and Southern Californians really are closer to cave people as I had suspected.

Look at the map. Make your own conclusions.

But I need you to agree with me, otherwise I'll send my cat to pay a visit to your monkey.

The Map

Riot Ready

We put Los Angeles news briefs along the right side of the blog for fun. You read this story by KTLA about the fog – an interesting phenomenon in which a cloud hangs low to the ground – and you could reasonably conclude that Los Angeles is populated entirely by a people flash frozen during the Paleolithic era, kept in deep freeze for about thousand or so millennia, and thawed out around the time Al Gore invented the internet.

The article goes on to caution that fog can lead to dangerous travel conditions as it may create moisture on the roads. I want to work at KTLA. If you’ve ever watched the News at Ten on channel 5, you’d know immediately that many people have made recession proof careers at transforming the obvious into a stupefying force majeure that excuses all Angelinos from the social contract.

If they are not hiring because we’re in the Great Depression 2.0, then, the next time I see fog, I’m hitting the streets with my guns blazing. Gonna make the Rodney King riots look like a garment district sample sale.