Hot as Hell

On Thursday night I went to Lucha Vavoom, a crazy spectacle of Mexican wrestling, comedy, and burlesque dance. It was great fun and the kind of over-the-top fun and zaniness that I like to have.

Some of the pictures are online and can be found here

On a quasi-related note, I was coming home from work yesterday and was in the elevator with this sweet old lady. "Hot out there!" I tell her. "Yes! Oh! It's as if God has opened the door to hell just a little to show us how it is." she responded in a german-sounding accent. I was taken aback, but tried to be polite. "Well, this would be the place for that to happen." We walked some more and she introduced herself and I told her my name. I just had to ask where she's from because I thought she was Austrian, like Dr. Ruth or something (there was a strong resemblance). "Baghdad," she says, "but I have been here for a long time."

An Omen

This morning I took my car to get serviced. I had about an hour to kill so I decided to take a walk, find a nice cafe someplace, have a coffee and a pastry or something for breakfast. I walked and walked through the wasteland known otherwise as Glendale until I finally found a little mexican bakery. Looked a little grungy but I figured what the hell, it was the only place I'd come across in 30 mins. I poured myself some coffee and when I tried to add sugar, the big metal lid from the container falls off and straight into my cup, splashing me with hot coffee. At this point I wished I could crawl back into bed and start the day again.

After cleaning myself up some, I grabbed a croissant, paid and thanked the owner lady who was actually pretty nice to me post-accident. Actually, I was kind of pissed at this shitty little place with its insecure lids. In any case, I headed out the door and started walking with my coffee and croissant bag in hand.

I walked and I walked in search of a place to sit down and enjoy my breakfast. Any bench or table or anything would have been great. No dice. I turned onto Chevy Chase blvd. hoping to find a park or something. Finally, I could see some green stuff coming up and my hopes were raised thinking it might actually be a park coming up. When I arrived I saw it was just a landscaped apartment building called "Central Park". It felt like an omen straight out of The Alchemist.

I've finished Kafka on the Shore. It's kind of lame how long it takes me to get through a book, but I just have to savor every word and let it absorb through my skin, right down into the depths of me.

One more excerpt from the end:

"Time weighs down on you like an old, ambiguous dream. You keep on moving, trying to slip through it. But even if you go to the ends of the earth, you won't be able to escape it. Still, you have to go there -- to the edge of the world. There's something you can't do unless you get there."

Now it's onto Freakonomics. It's time for some.

Visitor

On the plane ride down (up?) to Canada, I kept my nose buried in Murakami's Kafka on the Shore. I've been reading and not reading this book for a while and really need to finish it both because I have a pile of others waiting and because it's terrific. Anyway, I was so into the book that I didn't notice we were landing and as the plane was touching down -- at the exact moment -- I was reading the part of the story where the words to the song Kafka on the Shore are revealed:

You sit at the edge of the world,
I am in a crater that's no more.
Words without letters
Standing in the shadow of the door.

The moon shines down on a sleeping lizard,
Little fish rain down from the sky.
Outside the window there are soldiers,
steeling themselves to die.

(Refrain)

Kafka sits in a chair by the shore,
Thinking of the pendulum that moves the world, it seems.
When your heart is closed,
The shadow of the unmoving Sphinx,
Becomes a knife that pierces your dreams.

The drowning girl's fingers
Search for the entrance stone, and more.
Lifting the hem of her azure dress,
She gazes--
at Kafka on the shore.

On the flight back and also as the plane landed, I read these words:

"The entrance opened up, thanks to you."
"You know something, Gramps? I mean, Mr. Nakata?"
"What is it?"
Faceup, eyes still shut, Hoshino took another long, deep breath and exhaled. "It better have opened up. Otherwise I killed myself for nothing."

Going home for a visit. Something about that sounds backwards. Home shouldn't be a place you visit. Everywhere else should be the place you visit and home should be home. I'll post some pictures of food and fun when I return!

Gonna Get My Chili On, Homie

No, I'm not making chili. When I was at work this week, one of the touchup artists (a guy who looks like he could either be an ultimate fighting champion or at least be the #1 fan of the sport) was heating up canned chili in the kitchen and said those words to me completely seriously. I retreated to my cube and proceeded to laugh for 4 days.

I've been keeping busy and having a terrific time. I suspect that I even had a celebutante sighting the other day. It *might* have been Paris. I noticed someone in their car sticking out among the other, more ordinary looking drivers in Hollywood. I wasn't sure who it might be but the next day on tmz.com they had a photo of Hilton driving and it looked exactly like the person I spotted. But everyone here wears sunglasses at all times in order to confuse you about whether they're famous or not. Is it possible that the overuse of sunglasses is what caused L.A.'s culture of detachment? Isn't it pretty important to see someone's eyes when you are talking to them, or even walking by? What are they looking at? I must know!

How are things with you, blog reader?

I took my time making this salad. Cooking is like kissing, I think. It's best when you're not in a rush.

Lazy Sunday

So Cinco de Mayo didn't end up being the wild party I was hoping for, but nevertheless I was determined to make my Sunday count. At around noon, after eating part of a banana and packing up my essential supplies (Kafka on the Shore, sunscreen, hat), I got in the car and started driving in the general direction of the ocean.

As usual, it was a beautiful day. I was actually thinking to myself "L.A., I really don't appreciate you enough". I ended up at Point Dume state beach, which is just east of Zuma and is one of the few public beaches I hadn't visited yet. It is smaller than Zuma, and felt like it had more older couples. But that might have just been my imagination since this was my first solo beach outing and my eyes were more... busy.

The warm breeze sounded like a flickering flame as I savored the tranquility of it all. I got into my book for a while and then set it down in the interest of just lying there and spacing out. At around this time I did some deep breathing and was totally in nirvana. This is why I'm not crazy about massages. I can pretty easily reach that level of relaxation if I just clear my mind and focus on breathing. I guess it's a holdover from yoga classes. But seriously, take 10 minutes to lie on your bed and do 20 deep in/exhales very very slowly.

I just had to dip my feet in the water. It was really, really cold. That's the thing about the ocean here, it never quite gets warm enough but it sure looks inviting most of the time.

At around 4 I got into the car and started heading for home. I was cruising down the PCH at a liesurely pace and just appreciating the ocean and mountains in my rear view mirror. A motorcycle club/gang of about 100 caught up and were passing me. I remember how rare it was in Toronto to see even one motorcycle, and here there are numerous motorcycle subcultures that you can spot. This "gang" was comprised of scary looking black guys. Many of them fat and some of them with waifishly thin ladies strapped to their backs like knapsacks.

When I got home I fixed an acceptable pizza out of frozen crust, crappy Prego sauce, and some mozzarella. I have this huge brick of moz' which came from Costco and I am trying to work through it at a medium pace. I also had a glass of red wine with the 'za, which was nice but added to the overwhelming sleepiness that hit me at 7:00pm. I was determined not to give in and stayed awake until 10 watching Rocky Balboa.

Stallone is a moron, but if I just look at the core idea of the story, I can relate to it. I think I'll always feel like an old man because of how much I look back and try to process what I've done with my life thus far.

There is a bitterness to adulthood that I can't quite express. Something that lurks in all of us as we proceed through the same hoops. Part of it is captured in the movie The Last Kiss (old or new version). Does anyone not feel a sense of resignation about the whole game of life? Make money, pair up, reproduce, have a few laughs, die. Sometimes it seems depressing, but on Sunday I felt like I was winning.