Hollywood Boulevard

What a funny day, the other day, with Bethany.  We decided that we were due for an afternoon together over here in Hollywood.  Pop into a few stores, go to L'Oteria happy hour, just chill for the afternoon together.  Oh, whoops!  We forgot it was Saturday.  What a mess!

I'm pretty used to Hollywood by now.  Eight years will definitely toughen your skin. There's always bound to be some sort of mayhem or other, but, I can safely deduce, there's more on weekends.  I realized that day that no matter how long I've been here, there is nothing that can quite prepare you for a foray into Hollywood being Hollywood, blazing and baring itself in all of its scuzzy glory.

First, we were walking down the block toward Hollywood Boulevard and I saw that the streets were blocked off by a bunch of cops and it was really loud and there was a huge mass off people in the distance walking down the street and I saw flags in the air or something (a marching band?) and I said to Bethany, "No way, it's a parade!"  Which I was pretty excited about.  I figured this was our lucky day.  What are the chances we'd just stumble on a parade at random?  

None, apparently.

Yeah.  It wasn't a parade at all.  It was a really loud march with signage and megaphones protesting against the abuse of women.  Which is all well and good, but, no parade.  

So, we pushed our way through the crowd and noise, crazy stuttered needing pulse of Hollywood, just trying to get into the safe enclave of a store.  When we finally made it through the doors and I was about to jump up and down in relief that we'd arrived in the holy land of peace I calmed down for a second and took stock of where we stood and it was not peaceful, it was amongst a mob of shoppers and clothes sprawling everywhere, not even in the places they were supposed to be at all, just flung like a bachelor's laundry all around us, and the music was so loud we could hardly hear each other. 

Which was funny too, actually, because from the outset of our journey we had been trying to catch up and we had all of these great things to share with each other and thoughts and deep insights as usual and what we've been up to since the last time we hung out and we were just laughing at every turn because I'd try to talk, "So I was thinking…", and she'd just be like, "What?", and then she'd make an attempt, "You know, it makes sense that…", and I'd be like, "What?", and then I'd try again, "I finally figured out…", "What?", and then we'd just laugh and laugh but, still, by the time we had made one lap of the store and gotten nowhere whatsoever with our conversation or anything at all, we were both clearly over it and a bit frazzled and I just looked at her and said, "L'Oteria, now!"

So, she didn't hear me, but she read my mouth. 

We clutched each other for comfort and bolted from that store and began the obstacle course that was Hollywood that day.  We were both teetering between laughing and overwhelmed and annoyed and amused and ready to pull out our best self defense moves.  Then, a few blocks later, someone was acting/was super crazy in the middle of the street, and about a million cop cars and cops were surrounding him and a huge crowd was assembled and Bethany nodded toward the crazy guy and said to me, "You wanna go say hi to your friend?"  That was a good one, because she knows me.  I flee just as fast as my little legs can carry me from any sort of confrontation, or crazy, or cop.  So I gave her the look, but, still, we laughed some more because that was pretty funny to come up with that when we could hardly even think and finally, I mean, by the skin of our teeth, I swear, we made it to L'Oteria.

Blessed sanctuary.  By now that is such a regular spot for me that I am finally recognized there and it's a very comforting place.  I take the same seats, always, so that we can watch the person making the tortillas and griddle cheese.  And also, they recently started offering a happy hour, so we can just relax and it's not busy and, well, appetizers and drinks are half price, so it's kind of the ideal time to go.  And we got our moment to share stories after all, by the grill, under that extremely massive piñata, figuring out the details of our lives, like we always do.  The only thing it seems we kind of have any control over.

Then, on the way back home, oh man, you should've seen us!  It was like we were walking with bayonets and machetes fighting off everything that came our way.  The guy sitting on a carpet trying to sell us flowers made from palm fronds, the guys asking us to take tours every few yards, bands and bums and peddlers.  Just a barrage of pandemonium for blocks.

The last and final onslaught before we were out of the mob was a guy on a podium with a loudspeaker saying, "…so, embrace God and God will embrace you...(silence…silence)…soooooo…(silence)…" and we just started laughing again and I was like, "Nice oration skills." 

When I came back home, though, I felt so happy.  In a way, to the core of me.  I walked into my apartment and instantly decompressed when the breeze came through the windows and all of that craziness fell away and I felt blessed to have L'Oteria and Bethany and to have made my way into the heart of somewhere so weird in my life at all and to really have seen so much and learned so much and figured out how to take it on with composure and to love it still, just for being what it is.  Even if I don't understand much any of it.

Then again, I'm not really trying to figure it out but just trying to live it as it is.  There's something in that for me that I actually do understand.  Like traveling, but through the whole world, through the whole of whatever life is.  Taking it all as it comes and trying to flex with it and remain upright and curious and somehow to really enjoy it in whatever ways I can that make sense to me.  Usually laughing.

And also, when I came home, the whole apartment smelled of jasmine because there's a huge jasmine tree across the street and every year it blossoms bright white and pastel pink and fills every inch of the air on these few blocks with the most fragrant beautiful scent. So I just stood in my apartment and breathed in the jasmine room and the cool air coming in off the hill and the birds chirping spring and thought of this battle that is life.

Here's what we do. We're on this planet and we invent things, we create things, we feel things, we respond, we try, we rebel, we have protests, we find ways to get through it.  And express ourselves.  However that may be.  All of that commotion out there on that street is just people trying to get through this life in this world that doesn't make much sense and, honestly, is really difficult.  It's a battle for everyone.  

Which is what makes me feel so lucky when I pull up a stool in my same spot at the counter of one of my favorite restaurants with one of my best friends after fighting off the world's angst like champions, blessed to find respite in a Mexican restaurant and talking and old friendship and laughing, and then come back to the little home I've created to find that the air is filled with the sweet scent of jasmine. 

Malo, and Space too

Oh, Malo Malo Malo!  Thank the lord I found ye!  I don't know why it took me so long either, because after my very favorite restaurant Cobras and Matadors closed, I was absolutely intent on checking it out since it's the same owners, but for some reason it just didn't happen until one fated night.  

Zooey was in town again, thank the lucky stars, and when we were invited out to dinner there, I was basically jumping for joy.  

I do that sometimes. 

First off, the atmosphere is perfect.  Dim reddish lighting, wooden tables.  To me, it felt like a bigger Cobras and Matadors, like they may have used the same tables and chairs and everything.  Which is just an interpretation based on distant cloudy foggy memories, from the corners of my mind, but I loved feeling that way, in any case.  I can get sentimental about pretty much anything, though, even chairs.

As to dinner, we started off with the creamy Habanero salsa and soft chips. Wow!  That was something else!  I think they have a variety of salsas to choose from, but I really can't imagine there being a better salsa in the universe, so I'd be hard pressed to try a different one next time.  And soft chips.  Well, now, those things are just a little bit of heaven in a handbasket.  I could have dined on those alone and been one happy girl.  

But, then, all of dinner was amazing.  Mine, squash blossom tacos.  Theirs, some spectacular looking carnitas.  And I was one happy girl.  And we were one happy crew.  And I'm real glad I finally found that place.

Plus, it's just good to get out, in this, the era of my unemployment.  Lest I forget how you don't wear sweatpants all the time.

Then it was a glorious Sunday afternoon and Zooey and I decided to venture up to the Observatory.  I've long loved that place, and usually hike up to it, but this time we drove and, incidentally, still sort of had to hike up to it anyway since the parking lot was overflowing about a mile down the hill.  So we walked up there in that crisp air, the hills and city spanning out around us.

We wandered into the Observatory and did some observing.  There's so much to see in there and it overwhelmed me at times because, well, I think too much is the main reason.  We checked out the panel of existence.  I mean, that's the only way I can think to title it.  Just a long walkway with a small model of time along the wall, the Big Bang and the almost 14 billion years that passed before we people arrived here.  Insane.  Insane.  This universe.

Me, being existence, contemplating its magnificence. And what it is.  It's magnificence, and so are we.  

And then we walked outside and the sun was about to set and the half moon was floating above us.  And we were in space there.  Zooey and I, standing on the earth, circling around the sun, the moon overhead.  I couldn't quite get my mind around it all.  Naturally, I suppose.  That's some serious business to consider.  Where are we?  What is this?  How did this come from an explosion in the middle of nothing?  But in those questions, there was sincere awe.  And my heart so full of gratitude that it could just about break.  And somehow, I knew that it all had meaning.

The hills were spanning off from dark and close to pale and distant and the sky was orange and bright and then the sun just crept lower and lower softly behind those hills and became an enormous red ball in the brightest golden sky and, for a split second, there was silence.  Just everywhere.  All of LA.  It was quiet.  And then the sun disappeared as we rotated and spun around it.  And there we were, side by side, just standing on planet Earth.  

14 billion years to get here.  

And all I could think was, we're in space.  And, also, this is the best Observatory ever!  

Grand Park

Another beautiful detour, just the other day. My friend Brad and I went Downtown to go see an art show at the Convention Center, but it happened to be on a Sunday when there was a Lakers' game so that whole area was bustling like Downtown only bustles when there's a Lakers' game.  We drove around for a while trying to decide if we wanted to see the art show that much, to brave the mayhem and pay $30 to park, and came to the conclusion that we did not.  More than that, we decided we could find something just as fun to do on that clear winter day in a different Downtown area.  So it was decided.  We were off to explore with no particular plan or destination.  And I think we both felt relieved with that verdict. 

As it turns out, Brad had heard of this park that was recently built and we had really been wanting to check it out.  It was supposedly constructed to be like the Central Park of Downtown LA to accommodate, I suppose, the burgeoning, ever so slowly, I might add, populace of successful artsy sorts.  So we got Siri on the mission, circling around looking for Grand Park.  

Once located, we parked near Grand Central Market.  We popped in there for a minute, just so I could show it to Brad.  I've always been fond of that bizarre bazaar.  That's another place I hear rumor is going to be getting a multimillion dollar makeover, which, on the one hand, I'm sure I'll love.  On the other, I've always found a certain appeal and charm in how grubby and strange that place is.  So, I imagine, where once you could get a bottle of tequila, a cheap plastic toy and a slab of beef tongue, you'll be able to get a microbrew and a yoga mat. 

Anyway, after that short stop at one of my favorite little downtown treasures, we walked over to see what that park was all about.  Hm.  Um.  Well.

First, I think I need to look up the definition of park, maybe.  I mean, it's possibly the weirdest park in the world.  It takes up four blocks and is mostly patches of grass in concrete, nary a tree to be seen, and a bunch of fuchsia benches, metal benches, not even wooden, and a fountain.  It was just about the furthest thing from nature that I could imagine.  It might actually be what I would imagine if someone asked me to imagine the furthest thing from nature.  I'm still kind of registering that place.  Maybe it's not done.  That's what I'm hoping.  Because Grand it was not.

But, as we stood there in that peculiar desolation, the clouds and the light and the world were all so perfect that it hardly mattered.  Looking up, we found our nature.  The sky was incredible that day. It really was.  Bright and serene with abnormally puffy clouds perched just so over the Civic Center. And the park was empty, all four blocks of it, and it was quite peaceful then.

After that, we decided to see how much ticket prices were at the MOCA.  We walked over there and up to the ticket booth and for some reason it was free that day so we got to go in and look at all of this modern art that I don't understand (yet? ever?) and it was all really quite beautiful, in its strange way.  The MOCA suddenly being free.  We got our art show after all.  And we whispered a lot.  And giggled.  But every so often, we stopped and were silent.  So, there's always something that gets you.  

And then coming back home, the sky was that quintessential LA sky color.  For me at least.  All golden and white and bright and vast.  And when we were at my door, it began to rain and when I got out of the car and felt the raindrops hit my face, I felt so happy.  So happy for all of the years here and that I have found that I truly love this place and that every day is an exploration.  And I love it for being that.  Sincerely.  

A Small Case for the Magical World

So, I'm testing my theory on how life works.  Unemployed for a month and believing that the right thing will magically come my way because the right thing always comes my way and it is always magical when it does.  I might be a downright proper fool for this theory, but I'm sticking with it. 

I mean, realistically, though, it's pretty incredible how all of this is running and operating and going on along with no conceivable power source, no plug and no batteries.  To me, that means there's obviously something mystical occurring.  How this is here at all.  How we stay moving and think.  So, in my opinion, it's no far cry to assume that mostly everything is working in some mysterious way that I don't understand but kind of have to believe in and acknowledge, in some sort of way.  And the way I do that is trust.  And bravery.  Or, really, being brave enough to trust it.  And to just say, I have no idea how this works, but it's goddamn astounding.  And so my own small life is too.  That's what makes the most sense to me, anyway.  It always has.

Also, I'll have you know, it's no unfounded theory, either.  For me, at least, life has a proven track record of not steering me wrong when I just throw the reins into its hands and say, "Ok, here you go.  Lead the way. I'm at your mercy and, well, I always have been anyway, whether I want to be or not. So do what you will."  

And then I say, "Surprise me!"  Out loud, too.  Just to really drive the point home.  

Oh, and how I've loved the surprises so far, the detours I've been taken on that have led me to things better than anything I could have expected.  It's like that with everything, though, the detours and unplanned are the best, life unfolding in ways that are quite remarkable.  And we could never have crafted it so well ourselves.

Like when Zooey was in town for a week and two of our days were more incredible because of what was unplanned than planned.  First, the day we went to breakfast in Silverlake and decided to walk back to Hollywood, five glorious miles that took us all day long, but it was the most perfect crisp winter day and the best company I've ever had.  And we found ourselves stopping in little shops, getting educated on tea by the most pleasant young English chap, climbing the wall of El Cid, because I've never been there and it was closed but we just had to see what was down there, popping into bookstores and browsing our hearts out, stopping for a Bloody Mary by the Koi pond at Home and learning ever more about each other.  

And then the next day, we had bookend plans, but nothing in between, and we started out at the LACMA for the Stanley Kubrick exhibit, which was amazing and breathtaking and so much of what I expect of the LACMA, and then decided to walk a few blocks and discovered the craziest most jam packed antique store I've ever been to and there was so much to see and we just looked around and played in there together with all of these interesting artifacts and paintings and swords and masks and sculptures and I don't even know and then I remembered that there was this little wine bar called Sheddy's in the area and we found it and crept in and sat in the tiny beautiful red room and got sangria and the strangest appetizer of chips and manchego and jalepenos and avocado and it was all just delectable.  The ambiance of that place, the whole day.  Feeling how much I love this life and that there are so many wonderful things and unexpected moments and how good it is to find someone whose hand you could take and just walk through the world with forever.

And so it is that I've found the wonderful little hidden secret of just seeing where life takes me.  And so it is that I have learned to say to myself, wait for it.  Something beautiful is going to emerge. Something real.  The right thing.

Roosevelt

ph. by k. fatehi

What a day it was, the other day!  Just when you think you've got it all under control, holding your head high, stepping forward, conscientiously, bravely, determined, to whatever end.  Well, that's when it gets you.  Just because, I guess, sometimes it has to.  I do know that you've just got to be sad sometimes.  And not understand. And be confused and overwhelmed.  

I was making a quesadilla for lunch, and a slight panic was setting in and I was trying to avoid its presence, and  then I sliced myself on the can of beans and my finger was bleeding and I went to get a band aid and there was one, just one, left.  So that was good, I suppose, I only needed one.  But, still, that already made me sad.  Why don't I have band aids? And then I was eating carrots with ranch waiting for the quesadilla to cook and somehow at some point a carrot slipped or something and flew into the air and ranch splattered all over me, down the front of my shirt and all over my face even, which was kind of funny, just because, it was like, seriously, I can't even eat carrots? So I was standing there in my kitchen with a ranch splattered shirt and face and a bleeding finger and I just, little by little, crumbled.  I peeled off my shirt and washed my face and climbed into my bed and curled up freezing and just cried and cried for the better part of an hour.  And I fell asleep, all curled up and not knowing anything.

The next morning I gently nudged myself out of bed.  And delicately, ever so delicately, went to the window and looked out to the blue crisp day.  The sky was bright and life was continuing out there.  It was still chilly and the birds were chirping all around the park.  And I was a part of it still, looking out at it. And I made the hot chocolate and marshmallows that my sister sent to me just because and poured some strong coffee into it and sat at my table.  And I was quiet. 

And then it was Christmas Eve and Bethany and Johnny and I decided to go to the Roosevelt.  We went to 25 Degrees for burgers first, sitting all cozy together in a red booth, burgers stacked high, talking about life and laughing on Christmas Eve in Hollywood. 

Afterwards, we wandered over to the Library Bar for a cocktail which was fun but funny because the mixologist was just a little too arrogant and young to win us over and though we were slightly repelled, we enjoyed it more because of how bad it was than how good.  That seems to be how it goes sometimes.  And we laughed some more.

At the end of the night, we sat in the old lobby together, in the big leather couches and chairs, the lights dim and warm, sharing gross drinks and stories and that sweet and lovely Christmas Eve and it seemed, somehow, sacred and holy, and, I don't know, but I felt blessed beyond measure.  

Rain

Well, it's been raining again, and the crows are getting rowdy.  I'm happy today, which, though not generally rare, is a bit unfamiliar. The past few weeks have been full of effort and turmoil and deep deep contemplation and I must say I've taken a few emotional beatings and things got confusing, too.

There were some wondrous highlights for sure, though, in the past month, for which I am so grateful. Gifts amongst the tumult.  Like when I went on a weekend trip to Denver and everything about that was amazing and there was Van Gogh and The 9th Door and The Brown Palace and singing around the piano late into the night and so much love holding on to me and I forgot about everything that's been difficult and I could have almost just stayed there and not come back at all.  

And then, there was one week here after I got back that it rained and rained and then it was misty all morning one day and then it was all just thick heavy fog sometimes and then it kept raining.  That was likely the most serene I've ever seen LA.  It was almost too much to bear every day just how beautiful and quiet it was around here. I don't know.  Sometimes the world is just overflowing and speaking to me and I just want to grab it and squeeze it and say thank you thank you thank you!

So those things were good. But then there's been the shadow of my job, cast just so, just enough to darken the rest of the landscape.  And it was only recently that I decided to move on from it.  I'm leaving it, and I don't even know what I'm going to next and for some odd reason that doesn't scare me.  There was a time when it sure would have, though.  There was a time when all of the unknowns scared me, I guess.  Now I just know that I keep figuring it out anyway.  

Here's something I realized about myself.  I begin idealistic.  Because that, I will always be.  Then, if the actual circumstances don't match my image, I adjust my own response to them because that's the main thing I can control.  Like how I was faced with a long, taxing commute and poring over math equations.  So I created devices to make those things all right, shifted my thinking and found ways to enjoy those bastards.  I'm resilient, to be sure, and can endure a lot and make things good.  But there's a limit.  And then there's an urgency to come to my own rescue.  When it's just taking too much effort and my joy is starting to dim, well, that's when I have to call it a day and change the circumstances, because I'm practical too, even though I'm one hell of a dreamer. 

So here I sit.  And everything feels right.  And onward I continue.  And the shadow is lifting.  And the joy is brightening.  And the rains are coming again.