This is my favorite house on my LA street.
Category Archives: L.A.
i woke up to what sounded like gun shots
then i ran down to the street to make sure i had hung the parkng permit on my car
yesterday i gave a homeless man $20 – he wore braces on his teenth – he was obvioulsy newly homeless. and it was raining.
HRH had a tumor biposied – still waiting for results
i am having lunch and dinner with friends, and both dates will require approx 1 hour of driving to and from
my friend A is turning 40 tomorrow
50% of my students failed the midterm
True Blood still isn’t out on DVD
hard to focus on one cogent paragraph when all this is floating around my brain at 9 am. i blame the gunshot wake-up. although i suspect the sound came from the construction site 2 blocks away, and had nothing to do with guns…
The world is in chaos, thousands in Gaza are living in the ruins of their bombed homes, 62 thousand trillion people will lose their jobs this year and what am I blogging about?
My washing machine.
And a cleaner for the drug cartels in Sinaloa, Mexico admitted to disposing of 300 bodies in acid, the State of California still doesn’t have a budget and can’t afford tax refunds, and what am I mad about today?
The ugly windows that are being installed in my living room at this moment. At the rate they’re going, the job will be finished by approx 10 pm.
New (ugly) windows installed by slow workmen in my living room versus no windows not installed in any room of bombed out and no longer existent home.
Someone needs a reality check.
I left Oregon, land of vast expanses, clean air and wonderful boyfriend for Los Angeles, city of crammed apartments, definitely not clean air, and occasional visits to and from the boyfriend. I also left an LG washer dryer set that noone, and I mean noone, should be without. I imagine other brands are just as good, but it must be front loading, high efficiency, quiet and capable of cleaning a silk blouse and drying cotton sheets without destroying either.
For the first 4 months of my California return, I shlepped 17 pounds of dirty laundry to my nearest fluff ‘n fold. As long as I could not fit a stackable unit in our rather small one-BR, their machines washed my undies. This is not how I prefer it to be.
Now LG has come to my rescue again : a beautiful, compact, washer/dryer combination, it is 24 inches wide, and I can wash large towels and not so tiny undies. And then, when they are clean, that same machines dries it all! It’s like a domestic plug and play machine – hooked up to the water faucets, plugged into the power outlet and voila! I have been washing clothes (and drying them ) all week-end. And to finish off this inauguration (a new President, a new washing machine!), I ironed in front of the TV hoping for a True Blood rerun on HBO. I did not get the rerun, but I have a lot of clean and ironed clothes.
And now you know of my predilection for ironing and vampire stories. I am laid bare (albeit in clean clothes).
ps: as if I could top this home appliance bonanza, the most lovely PB was in town this week-end and bought a coffee maker. I can’t handle the mess of the French press anymore (with my apologies to the purists), and if I can figure out how to program the new machine, I’ll have freshly brewed coffee before I even wake up.
sorry readers, i’ve been away. not away as in not home, just away, as in not writing. teaching, publishing, stuff – it gets in the way.
the vignette has also become this week’s racist experience, mentionable largely on the heels of proposition 8 and all the hullaballoo, not to mention traffic, it has caused in LA. and so, the event:
this week, on a morning stroll with the princess, a middle-aged gay gentleman from my block rushes over to me hurriedly, asking if i have seen a tabby cat. “tommy” has gone missing. i enquire as to this cat’s habits, and apparently tommy is an outdoor cat, one who never misses a meal however. my neighbor is concerned bc tommy is not coming when called. i suggest he might have taken a new girlfriend and will show up when the honeymoon is over.
my neighbor winces and visible frowns at the possibility: nonono tommy is not like that (i wonder, like “that” as in “tommy’s not into girlfriends? honeymoons? what??)
and he continues – “but i am worried. i don’t trust this neighborhood anymore. so many chinamen. i worry they might be eating him.”
[ jaw drops]
[pick jaw off the side walk]
[proceed with walk, walking away from racist neighbor]
and this concludes this week’s vignette. that is all.
Or Gala in Oregon, the cranky edition:
Sorry dear readers dad*, this moving back to California business really threw a wrench in my blog plans. It has thrwon a wrench in EVERYTHING. California is HOT – and I don’t mean in a Daniel Craig way. It’s the middle of October, almost Halloween for eff’s sake, and yesterday at noon it 97 bloody degrees outside. HRH has not stopped panting in 3 weeks, I am convinced I have taken her back to California to die, to die a slow, heat-induced death. To top it off, the street I am on has daily, DAILY, trash removal service, apparently one for each house on the street, and the trucks make the panes on my lovely but quite inefficient french-doors-to-a-rickety-balcony shake. And they wake the almost dead Highness up from her geriatric slumber.
Mmmh, let’s see, what else irks me here? The noise, the wastefulness, the lack of a single small deli-type store that I can do my shopping, my forced reliance of Trader Joe’s or Wholefoods, that icky flavor of tap water, the dry, brown, drabness of the views. Million dollar homes in the Hollywood hills are nice, but they hold no candle to this
That’s my gorgeous mom looking at a beautiful tree behind our house, and that’s my hand shielding my eyes, looking at the wonderful PB who was taking the picture this summer.
It doesn’t help that since this Gala is no longer in Oregon, we have had too much bad news – it would sour even the biggest optimist in Optimistville. Friends are ill, friends have died, friends are going through traumas the likes of which I cannot imagine going through without a generous helping of Scotch, valium, or both.
So is it such a wonder that I can’t find much pleasure in my academic life again, that what little satisfaction I get from it is completely drowned out by this avalanche of ick?
But November 4th is aorund the corner, and next week a w-e in Oregon, and this w-e a visit from my peeps from Oregon, and soon Thankgiving and Xmas, and more Oregon, and more peeps and more PB. I keep my eye on the good stuff, trust me, but sometimes, when it’s a million degrees above what is seasonal and humanly allowable, and when your old dog can’t stop panting at you, a transplanted Gala gets cranky.
* my dad commented on my Nike sneakers – the ones I posted about last month, the ones he could not possibly know about unless he read the blog!