10 x 4 = Cinco de Mayo

Happy Cinco de Mayo everybody!

I know the popular misconception is that everyone who's Latino in Los Angeles comes from Mexico, and so folks should be out in the streets partying hardy. But in my neighborhood, half the people are from El Salvador -- totally different country -- and they could care less about a holiday celebrating a 19th century Mexican battle.

BUT since it's a day for celebration, let's start out the morning with a little "Yes We Can", courtesy of House Music United.



I have no idea what's up with the place-setting video. I didn't make it. But can I just say that records like this are exactly why I like Europeans. No Americans these days are gonna throw an Obama speech over a tech-house beat, and we INVENTED house music! Instead we get will.i.am's folksy version, which is all very touching and inspiring, but when I need to get myself going in the morning, this is SO much better.

Disclaimer: If you hate house music and hate Barack Obama because he's an uppity negro and you think his wife will be blasting "Computer Love" from the White House, sorry! Wrong blog for you!

Yeah, let me push "replay" on that clip. I really need to hear that again. Yes we can! Wake up, that is! I will have you know that I did not go to sleep last night at all. I spent my evening getting caught up tweaking a little something I wrote a couple of months ago and then working on another short story I've been absolutely obsessed with. However, I'm feeling a little wired even though I haven't slept. It must be the sheer emotional adrenaline of what I was writing.

That means it's perfect timing for me to swagger jack this meme from Madame hot-blogger herself, 1969! Get ready, because you're gonna learn a whole bunch about me that you had no idea you ever wanted to know. And if you don't want to know, stop reading now and call it a day, m'kay?

Ten things I really liked when I was a teenager that I don’t much care for now:
1) Baked chicken: Vegetarianism sort of lured me away and soured my relationship with chicken. Gosh, I feel so guilty. I've been cheating with tofu all these years.
2) Horse racing: I think Eight Belles death on Saturday at the Kentucky Derby really put the nail in the coffin. But I used to be crazy for the ponies. I even wanted to be a female jockey at one point.
3) Leftovers: I never ate them when I lived in China and that soured me on them forever. I feel like throwing up if I have to eat them.
4) Blue eyeshadow: I really thought I was fly in that light blue. Gosh, it was an '80s thing.
5) Pancakes and fries eaten at the same time: Too much starch and I like for my clothes to fit.
6) Shorts: I just think they're for kids, not for grown women with two kids of their own.
7) Vanity Fair: The book, not the magazine. I recently tried to reread it and it just irritated me. I kept yelling, "Get to the point!" Waay too long!
8) W Magazine: My mom subscribed and I used to love it. I recently bought the issue with Keira Knightley on the cover. Bored to tears by the wack fashions and the lack of diversity in the models.
9) MTV: Too many Tila Tequila shows and not enough actual music. I'm not feeling it and haven't for a long time.
10) Popular radio stations: Same 10 songs playing over and over again and their morning shows? What in the world are they talking about? Radio has definitely changed for the worse -- or am I just getting old?

Ten things I didn’t like when I was a teenager but I really like them now:
1) Talk radio: I love KNX 1070 out here in LA but I used to fight with my Dad over Chicago's very own, WGN.
2) Walking: Walking is the kiss of death for a teenager but now I'm all for it.
3) Television cop dramas: You would never have caught me watching a Hill Street Blues type show as some teen Now I love Law & Order. (Except I haven't watched TV for two weeks now.)
4) Exercise: We've come a long way from the days of Jane Fonda-type pure aerobics. Thank goodness.
5) Martial arts movies: I've been a Jet Li fan for 15 years now. And Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon is still a masterpiece by any definition.
6) Ice cream: Three cheers for Breyer's Triple Chocolate.
7) Diet Coke: I'm with you on this one, 1969. But I'm being lured away by Coke Zero.
8) Art Museums: Now that I know the history and the stories behind the paintings, I like going.
9) Shopping: 80's clothes were kind of ugly and didn't look too good on me. Plus, if we were going shopping, chances are my mom was getting something, not me. Not fun.
10) Myself: Yeah, I wasn't too crazy about myself as a teenager. Thank goodness I outgrew that.

Ten things I've never liked and probably never will:
1) Snobby people: If you have to keep repeating where you got your little JD/MBA from, how "good" your hair is, or who your daddy is, guess what, you've pretty much guaranteed that I'm going to HATE you. I could stop this list right here with this one because I will HATE you, do you hear me, H-A-T-E you.
2) Being Broke: Been there, done that. I'll never be money hungry but being hungry because I have no ducats is not something I care to repeat.
3) Big cars: Bad for the environment and I don't know how to parallel park them.
4) Alcohol: I can't stand the smell of beer. Drunk folks tend to get on my nerves, and drunk drivers deserve the slammer.
5) Drama: Especially the sort where people ask me for advice, don't take it and then come crying when their life gets all jacked up.
6) Mediocrity: Come hard with it or don't come at all. If you did your best, fine. But don't tell me you didn't really try or didn't really care what the end result was.
7) Brian McKnight, Wesley Snipes, Tom Cruise, Justin Timberlake and Rush Limbaugh: They all make me sick. Just go away.
8) Greasy Southern Food: Hello! Vegetables can be made without butter and I don't want to eat fried eggs you made with a jar of drippings.
9) Self help books: I have a total mental block against them.
10) Scary movies: I'm still traumatized by watching "Secret Window" and "The Grudge" with my sister two years ago. I seriously can't deal with scary movies.


Ten things I’ve always really liked and very likely always will:
1) My kids: I love them more than anything on this planet.
2) Depeche Mode: In case you didn't know, they're the best band in the world. They just need to hurry up with the new record. Pretty please with a cherry on top?
3) Writing: Ah yes, the reason I did not go to bed last night and the reason I blog.
4) Dracula: The novel, as in Bram Stoker's Dracula. Mina Harker is one of my alter-egos.
5) Orlando Bloom: Is this the wrong time to talk about my unopened Legolas doll?
6) Shoes: I have a particular "thing" for red high heels and I really want some black stilettos with metal heels.
7) Driving a stick shift: I can be a little bit of a control freak and a stick shift helps with that. I'm good at it too. Alas, my current car is not a stick because my husband can't drive one.
8) Traveling: I will go anywhere you want to go. I really like to travel!
9) Jane Austen: Austen's novels are still so fresh and relevant. They're social commentary and soap opera all wrapped into one.
9) Tea: I will drink pretty much any tea that you offer me, not just my beloved chai. I like it plain or with a little milk in it and two sugar cubes.
10: Thai Food: I'm so spoiled because I live right on the edge of Thai Town and in delivery distance of one of the best Thai restaurants in LA.

Whew, I'm tagging some of you...later. I think I need to recover from this post.

Behind the Wall

Yesterday afternoon I came home and, despite the aches in my knee, I couldn't stop myself from heading back out to take a very slow stroll around the neighborhood with my sons. However, almost immediately my walk was cut short, not because of knee pain but because I was absolutely shocked by what was going on across the street.

For as long as I've lived in my neighborhood, one of the houses diagonally across from me has been completely obscured. The house being set far back from the sidewalk and being built into a down slope, strategically placed trees and an extremely high cinder block wall have all ensured that for the nine years I've lived here I've never actually seen the entire property. I've only seen part of one corner.

The cinder block wall was painted a gentle shade of light green and was, almost year-round, covered with a flowering vine. It blended in beautifully with the rest of the neighborhood's scenery, so much so that it was easy to forget that a wall was even there and that something might exist beyond it.

Sometimes though I've wondered what was behind the wall. The secluded nature has caused me to imagine the property as the neighborhood version of "The Secret Garden". I've pictured two worn and weary lovers escaping the cares of the day, quaintly holding hands while sitting on a shaded bench. There's a peaceful silence in their secret garden, the noise of the city magically unable to cross the green-painted concrete barrier and the aroma of honeysuckle wafting through the breeze.

But when I stepped outside yesterday and looked across the street, I saw that this magical wall was completely gone. The entire thing had been knocked down, a yawning space left in its wake. Four workers with sledgehammers were quickly breaking up the few remaining pieces of green rubble and loading it onto a junkyard truck.

My eyes immediately moved past the workers to the house behind them. Revealed at last was the mythical place that has been obscured all these years, a rather quaint one-story craftsman cottage. And the romantic yard of my imagination? It has a neglected air to it with some ill-kept grass. The honeysuckle bush and shaded bench from my imagination were both absent.

But my jaw dropped when I saw a small sliver of blue rippling in the sunlight. Unbelievably, a small, oval shaped sunken swimming pool is in the front yard.

It was too much for me to process all at once, so I stood and gaped at the spectacle in front of me. My sons began to excitedly chatter with each other about how they were going to go and swim in the pool.

I immediately thought that somebody better have plans to put up a new wall or fence so that the neighborhood kids don't drown themselves. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of my neighbors who lives down the street walking my way. She's lived in this neighborhood for at least 25 years and has seen more changes then I have.

"Someone must've bought it," she said as she approached, her face wrinkled with disdain. "It must be house flippers. Who else would tear down that wall?"

I nodded my head in agreement, disappointed that indeed, some thoughtless newbies would tear down such a neighborhood fixture. Then I figured that perhaps the new owners don't want as much privacy. So many of the newer residents of my neighborhood seem to voyeuristically forgo curtains over their front windows, as if they enjoy being seen and admired from the street.

And then a wave of guilt washed over me. I hadn't even noticed the property was for sale, and moreso I'd never even seen the previous owners. "Who used to live there?" I asked. "I never saw anybody coming in or out."

"No, you wouldn't have," she replied. "It was a much older gay couple and both of them were very ill for the past few years. AIDS, you know. One of them died a few years ago. The other must've either finally died or had to move."

I wasn't expecting her to share such an unhappy and tragic story. Sometimes it seems like we never hear anymore about people in the States dying from AIDS related complications. It's like we're all lulled into believing folks can live a normal life with the right medication. We no longer really talk as a society about the pain and suffering of AIDS. And so I could only murmur inadequately about how horrible it was.

My seven year-old son chimed in with an innocent, "What's AIDS, mommy?"

Our neighbor leaned down to pinch his cheek. "It's a disease that you'll never get if you take care of yourself."

"But do you get it from swimming pools?" he asked. I told him no and gave him the "eye" to shush his curiosity.

My neighbor continued. "They used to throw wonderful parties when I first moved here..." Her voice trailed off and I could see she was being taken back in time, perhaps remembering sitting around that pool, chatting with them. "But then one of them cheated, got HIV, gave it to the other. You know how it goes."

"They stayed together?" I asked. Such an incredulous thought seems against human nature. I couldn't imagine doing such a thing. I'd be too angry, too bitter to wake up and be civilized around someone who is the cause of my mortality, all the while knowing that sooner or later the medication wouldn't be enough for either of us.

She nodded sadly. "Yeah, but they pretty much cut themselves off from everybody after that."

We watched the workers for a few more minutes, chatted a bit more and then parted. I didn't feel like going for a walk anymore after that. I had too many visions in my head of two 40 or 50 something year-old men dying in that house. I pictured them sitting inside, holding onto the last precious moments of life, looking out on that swimming pool and remembering the days of their youth, the days of their innocence.

By dusk, a hideous wooden fence was in place, hurriedly erected by the four workers. It's not as tall as the wall it replaced so more of the house is visible. These new owners, however long they stay, will certainly make the house their own, erasing the memories, erasing the pain those walls have surely seen.

I can only hope they don't meet the same tragic fate.

Love and Hate in Los Angeles

Sometimes it's easy to hate Los Angeles.

There are too many idiots driving SUVs with off-road capability. This is all well and good except that these people consider driving next to a bus on Wilshire Blvd a major car maneuvering event.

When it rains everyone decides to crash into everybody else. I mean, the last rainstorm, we had about 280 car crashes in TWELVE hours. As I listen to rain falling outside on this stormy night, I know that somebody is crazily tail-gaiting some slow but safe driver. And then crazy'll rear-end the safe driver and send both their insurance rates through the roof.

Traffic and cars. So cliche, right? Well here's another one for you: We're the porn capital of the world.

If you find yourself wondering why Blu-ray won over HD-DVD, well wonder no more! The porn industry decided a year ago that they were only doing Blu-ray, the same way they chose VHS over higher-quality BETA years ago. Mmm hmm.

And you thought VHS got chosen because it had less letters than BETA. Sorry to disillusion you.

It goes without saying that we have bad schools. Of course, if you live in any city in this country, chances are the public schools aren't that great. But did you know that the Los Angeles Unified School District spent millions for a new payroll system that's SO messed up that in October my son's teacher got a paycheck in the amount of...drum roll please...$10 whole dollars!

Our mayor? Well, last fall it came out that Mr. Villaraigosa cheated on his wife with a Telemundo reporter. Needless to say, the wife left him and people aren't so sure he should run for governor anymore. Now he's not even with the reporter, leaving yours truly to wonder if a few nights of hot sex were worth it?

Ugh. Let's just list it out, a few other dreaded LA things:

-Gangs.
-Homeless Capital of America.
-Annoying Westsiders slumming on the Eastside, which isn't really all that far east but they're too scared of Latinos to head into Boyle Heights or East LA.
-Housing prices through the roof.
-Overpriced valet parking.
-Slimy Hollywood types that firmly believe in the casting couch.
-Breast implants, extreme tooth whitening and orangish tans.
-Celebrities terrorizing the streets of Hollywood, WeHo, the Sunset Strip, general Beverly Hills area...basically all the places TMZ puts live webcams.

Yes, if I think about all that too much, I'm not too fond of this city.

But today, I'm not thinking about that. In fact, after today, I find myself more in love with Los Angeles than ever.

Why? Well, we had a break in our torrential downpours this afternoon so I went for a long walk through the hills around my house. I walked for at least an hour. Maybe two. I don't know since I don't wear a watch on these expeditions.

The time flies because I love my neighborhood. And I love to walk in my neighborhood.

This isn't a neighborhood thrown up overnight, Las Vegas style. Nope, there's no urban subdivision cookie cutter tract housing over here.

Instead, every house, every building is unique. A Spanish style apartment building next to a a Craftsman home, next to a very modern glass and concrete structure.

And it all works. It works because as developed as this city is, every once in awhile there's a section that looks like a wilderness. Who would have thought that nature would even begin to reclaim the cars left parked too long?

I live in a very hilly section of Los Angeles, so hilly that many of the streets in my neighborhood have 15% grades, which are challenging to walk up.

As butt blasting as climbing these hills can be, if I go a bit east to Echo Park, I can try to walk up the steepest street in all of California, Fargo Street with it's 33% grade. I haven't tried climbing Fargo Street yet, but one day soon I will.

But I don't walk just for the exercise.

I walk because it's beautiful and I want to drink that beauty in. I want to create a lifetime of memories, visions that will forever resonate in my head and my heart in case, by some strange twist of fate, I go blind in the future.

I can go outside any day of the year and see bushes blooming with flowers, hummingbirds sucking nectar from vibrant blossoms.

I see flowers like these every day, but so rarely do I stop and pick some. Today though, I just couldn't resist.

To any observer I must have looked bizarre, holding a bunch of flowers, leaning against a light pole, watching the world. But I was captivated by a thin river of rainwater running down the hill. It was the sort of thing I would have noticed as a small child, the sort of thing I've forgotten to "see" as an adult.

Hours later, I'm still thinking about where the flowing water was coming from since it was no longer raining.

I walked a bit more and saw an old man sitting out on a plant-covered balcony of a Spanish style duplex. A young woman was cutting his completely white hair. The distant traffic noises faded away as I listened to him complaining that she was cutting it too short. She only smiled affectionately down at his head and answered, "Yes, Papa."

I walked some more and eventually went to my neighborhood park. As I sat and read my copy of LA Weekly, I listened to one mother scold her children in French. Another in Spanish.

I looked around me and I thought about the racial diversity in this city. More Persians than any other place except Iran. More Koreans than anywhere outside Korea. More Armenians than any place besides Armenia. The most Thai people outside of Thailand.

And believe me, I don't think this diversity's a good thing only because of all the deliciously amazing food that those culture bring to the table.

No, it gets me excited because if we can achieve racial unity in this city, what a model we'd be for the rest of this crazy world.

Pull back the veil and there's a humanity to Los Angeles. That humanity has nothing to do with Hollywood or the vain imaginings the entertainment industry throws our way.

Yes, these are the things that make me fall in love with Los Angeles all over again. What about you? What makes you love or hate the city you call home?

Salt

My whole life I've been fascinated by the concept of "What if?"

What if I had driven instead of taking the train?
What if I'd gone to Notre Dame instead of Northwestern?
What if I hadn't seen them sitting together in Clarke's that morning?
What if I'd slept in?

I rarely sleep in on Sundays. I'm up early, packing in a workout, hustling to complete chores around the house and stocking up on carrots and grapes at the grocery, all before ten-thirty in the morning. Yesterday, I found myself not wanting to do any of it. No trekking to the Bally's in Hollywood. No fighting for a parking spot at the Trader Joe's on Silverlake Blvd. No loading laundry into the washer. Nope. Nothing. Nada. Rien.

I suppose my lack of motivation was in part due to the fact that I've been sick for most of the past week with the cold/flu that will not die. I hadn't slept well Saturday night, despite popping those friendly little Nyquil pills and some Tylenol. At seven in the morning, I looked in the bathroom mirror and said to myself, "You look like crap." No one in my family was up to either reassure me that I actually looked fine, or to concur with my observations. I seriously considered going back to bed...

Instead, I decided to go for a long overdue walk.

My weekend walks around the neighborhood began last spring in an effort to have some quiet time by myself. I'd stroll wherever my feet took me, trying not to worry about where I was walking, how long I'd been walking or how far I'd traveled. Sometimes I'd end up a couple miles from home, walking through parts of this city I'd previously only experienced by car.

Something changes when you get out of the car, when you're down on the street, analyzing the odd architectural quirks of this city, admiring the skyline through the early morning haze, inhaling the perfume of a thousand flowers and running into other people who are also up with the dawn.

"Do you have salt?"

This heavily accented question was not what I was expecting to hear as a reply to my chipper, "Good morning!"

The question was so strange, so oddly perplexing, I simply couldn't stroll by the sari-clad woman standing on the sidewalk. I mean, who asks someone who's walking by if they have salt?

"No. I'm sorry. I don't have any salt."
"Oh." She looks at me curiously before continuing, "You don't have salt?"

I repeat again that I have salt at home but none on me. I explain that I live about a mile away or else I'd go get her some. I can tell she doesn't understand all of my rapidly spoken English. After about ten minutes of repeating ourselves and laughing at our misunderstandings, I gather that she is from Bombay and is here visiting her niece. She wants to cook breakfast, but the niece doesn't usually cook and so doesn't have any salt. In the midst of our conversation, I hear stirring from the apartment next to hers.

"Maybe one of the neighbors has some salt."

I take her hand in mine, lead her to the door and knock. A middle-aged woman comes to the door and I explain the entire situation.

"So if you have some salt, that'd be great so she can cook breakfast instead of eating pop-tarts." I'm realizing that I've probably over-contextualized this in the hopes that she doesn't think we're some sort of crazy serial killers trying to get her to open the door.

"Oh of course I have some," the neighbor says. "Hold on a sec."

Next thing you know, we've got salt in a styrofoam cup and my new auntie from Bombay is hugging me in gratitude. I snapped her photo to remember her by.

Which brings me back to my question. What if I'd slept in? Would she have gotten her salt? What made me decide to go for a walk and then walk up a street I almost never walk on? Were we meant to meet just so I could get her the salt?

I reminds me of the one poem I know by heart, "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost. What would happen if I'd taken the other path?

At the end of it all, will I know for sure whether or not I took the right path?