Outback Steakhouse + Burbank = Hell on earth

Well, maybe I am being a little extreme in my assessment of last night's activity. I went to the house of dead cows in the queen of all suburbs (didn't suburban culture originate in the Valley?) and I was only expecting the worst. I was doing this so I could partake in our friend Tim's birthday and hang out with his wonderful friends. How can a vegetarian/wannabe-hipster survive such an outing you may ask? It wasn't as bad as I expected. I got some emergency advice from my vegetarian/real-hipster friend Nick on how to survive in such a mysterious and frightening place. He told me the soup is really good (and homemade) and the salad was amazing. So, even though Outback Steakhouse may not have a vegetarian friendly name, you can find good food there. And Burbank was not as bad as I imagined.

Earlier in the day, Greg and I went to Topanga Canyon State Park (just north of Santa Monica, 20 minutes from our apartment) yesterday and I had a wonderful time with him as always. The weather was perfect: not too cold and not too hot. The scenery and quietness of the place was very refreshing. It was really great because we only saw about ten people for the three hours that we were hiking. We had lunch at the top of this steep hill we climbed up. We were on a mission to find this waterfall on the map (which we never found because we left the map in the car). The trail was poorly marked... arrg. See the photo album for some pictures of the scenery.

Sam, Ian, Tim, Chris, and Melissa came over over for drinks later in the evening. Melissa made pumpkin vodka drinks...oh my, they were good. Sam, Tim, and I decided that in gay heaven they have all-you-can-drink pumpkin vodka milkshakes. We ended the day by pissing off the downstairs neighbor by being too loud at 2 in the morning. She arrived in her nightgown and I arrived in my "I feel so guilty I want to go to bed" place. Greg left an apology note downstairs on her door this morning.

Giving thanks 2005

So I leave this post "untitled" to make an artistic statement. Mostly this has to do with photos I have uploaded. I would hate for words to take away from the art or to place in your mind an idea about what is to come. Anyway, I had a wonderful Thanksgiving with all of my new friends here in Smogville. This holiday is by far my favorite and this year did not change that one bit. Greg and I went to a little get-together over by USC and then drove to Sam and Pete's apartment to have Thanksgiving dinner. Sam and Pete were wonderful hosts, lighting candles, putting on holiday music, and having the table set just right. Oh, and the meal was delicious. It felt like I was having dinner with a close family. The above photo shows how we used Ian and Rachel's apartment to make the rolls and the creamed corn. We left dirty notes on their to-do list in the kitchen. Sam had banned me from his kitchen because I asked too many questions. It was quieter at Ian and Rachel's anyway.

I passed on the flesh but Pete cooked a 20 pound bird for everyone. "Only a half pound per person" says Pete "Martha Stewart" Brophy. That thing looked perfect (see left). Pete will now work at the Butterball hotline. Too bad the job only lasts one day.

We ate....

...and we drank...

...and played Dance, Dance Revolution... Some people were better than others...but I do not judge.

...and we all harmonized to Greg's snoring (someone had a little "too many" martinis). Yeah, it's cliche but I will say it anyway: I am pretty thankful for all of the wonderful people that have come into my life recently and I would not have it any other way.

Attack of the L.A. monster

I am sure that all who read this must think, damn this guy is obsessed with A) bashing L.A. and B) complaining about traffic woes. Well, I must say A) congratulations that you are right and B) congratulations you are right. But before I get into my normal rant about trying to get from point A to point B in this failure of human civilazation and society (Southern California), I must say that when the smog lifts in this city it reveals a beautiful setting. When every square inch of the city you live in is paved with concrete, gated with chain link fences, littered with cigarette butts and fast food wrappers, and polluted with oil stains and nasty brown air, it is difficult to find that "inner sanctum/spirituality/higher power/what-ever-you-call-it. I mean seriously, would it be that hard to plant a few more trees?

So back to my point (whew!)... Today from my classroom I could see both the mountains and the ocean and let me tell you, it was so amazing I got a chill (aesthetic experience anyone?). The ocean was sparkly and details of jagged features of the mountains were incredibly in focus. As my eyes traveled from the distance of the ocean to the east, I noticed it was pretty flat (with a few hills here and there) and then BOOM... the huge mountains off to the distance. Maybe this was really an exercise in gaining my bearings in a city that makes no sense. Or maybe it just takes me a few months to notice stuff like this. I mean, for those of you that know me well, know that I like to look at maps... and it was kind of neat to actually see the topography that the cartographers say is there...

So my title of today's blog really has nothing to do with anything I just wrote. Instead, I wanted to share with you information about a frightening monster that attacks randomly at any hour of the night or day. No it is not the Manhattan Beach Yoga Mom... though they are pretty scary. No this monster is much much much scarier. They survive all year round since the weather is perfect for their habitat. I am talking about the cell-phone-talking-[fake]blondies-who-drive-luxury-convertables. Yes, L.A. is overrun with these monsters who sport boobs so firm and so huge (and so fake) that I am even drawn to the power of their cockeyed display. These boobs are topped with a head so blonde and so made up, they make Bozo the clown look like a normal human being. You see, these cell-phone-talking-[fake]blondies-who-drive-luxury-convertables distract you with their near-white hair (with really dark roots) blowing all over. The pho-mane is usually accentuated with a whip of the head or a brush back with the hand, just like in the beer commercials. But then the attack... you pull up next to them while sitting at a traffic light, the volume of their hideous music overwhelms your ear, and they look at you with their bug-eye sunglasses and fat fake lips. This causes much humilation as they apparently are judging your late 90's compact economy car and the dirt that has accumulated on the aformentioned. If you end up in the same parking lot (which always happens to me), they descend from their BMW one long leg at a time, slam the door shut, brush back with the hair with the hand, lean over to grab the rare alligator skin purse, and clomp off in their high heal boots. The chatter that is being transferred to their cell phone slowly fades the way of the doppler effect. Their strong expensive scent does not. This scent causes an onset of a minor headace. Okay, I guess they really don't attack (I hope I did not scare any small children in the telling of this)... I just hope none live under my bed.

Camels and mustangs

So it took Mexican food to reawaken my senses to the point that I must write about it. I cannot even remember the name of hole in the wall that Dawn and I went to for lunch today but it was heaven on earth mexican food. The place can only seat about 15 people and the line starts to get long at around 11:30. It has a great view of the ocean despite the greasy windows. You know a place is good when all of the Mexican construction workers go there for lunch. The walls are covered in surfboard and skateboard stickers (those annoying things you see pasted on the back of stop signs) and an assortment of random bumper sitckers. One sticker said "California permit to hunt terrorists #091101. Expires 2050" I thought that was kinda scary but there was another one that said "Curran for President" (who's that?) and "Give peace a chance". The walls are really dirty and the people that work behind the counter are pretty sweaty and speak "un poco" English. You can only sit at the counter on broken stools since they have no tables. Okay, the salsa is amazing... I will dream of it tonight. The best part... entire Mexican dinner: 2 enchiladas, rice, beans, and salad for $5.00.

Greg's friend JC is visiting this week and last night we drove out to Fullerton during rush hour (38 mile drive from where we live) to meet Greg for dinner. JC rented a Mustang convertable for her little vacation in Los Angeles. What a great idea... watch the sunset as we pull away from the city enjoying the original American Dream: the California freeway system. Go anywhere, do anything, show off your wheels, where big sunglasses, look fabulous. Just so you know... riding with the top down on a freeway in L.A. is not what the movies make it out to be. It's not "fun" or "glamorous" or "freeing". You see, there are 700,000 other cars and trucks pumping exhaust in your face. So many pounds of fumes did I circulate through my lungs that when JC started to smoke, I enjoyed smelling the organic substance of tobacco smoke. And for the first time in my life, I asked her to please blow more smoke in my face.