Back in the U.S. of A

If there was a way to lay out the thoughts in my head in a straight line, they would circle the globe three times over. That was before I took my trip to Europe, and now that I’m back - it’s ten times worse. I hope to update with photos, observations, revelations and more, but suffice it to say that I had such an amazing time that I considered canceling my flight and now, three days later I still can’t get London, Paris and Dublin out of my head.

Tea Rooms: My Rapidly Growing Obsession

My idea of a perfect afternoon is a day spent at a swap meet. Since the really good ones only happen on specific days of the month - all of which I always happen to miss, my consolation prize always comes in the form of having tea, but not just the kind where you drop a sad, withered tea bag that has the remnants of what used to be called ‘tea,’ just like the crud you get when you poor the last of your cereal in a bowl, into your mug - the kind that comes with beautifully crafted China, high quality flavorful tea, melt-in-your-mouth tiny pastries and an aura of peace, calm and quiet.

I’d rather let the photos do the talking for themselves, but these were taken by me at “The T Room,” one of the most charming places I’ve ever been in Montrose. The occasion? Two cunning locas by the names of Alina and Nathalie kidnapped me for a birthday surprise last month. I could have spent forever there.

Looking Towards London

In three weeks I’ll be heading to London, a city I adore as much as Los Angeles. The cobblestone roads and old buildings along with the hustle and bustle of the tube among other things appeal to me in ways that I can’t accurately describe in words. The grey skies are beautiful, the people are polite and contrary to popular belief, British cuisine is not only diverse, but delicious. My love of London travels beyond the architecture and food however because my boyfriend happens to live there.

To cut a long story short, you have stumbled upon the blog of someone who is in a long distance relationship. If you have about six hours to devote to a conversation over a cup of tea ( and finger sandwiches of course) I can explain the mechanics to you, but for now I’d rather not go off on a tangent more than I have to.

Though we’ve traveled to other locales for some time to ourselves, London feels to me what I hope Los Angeles somewhat feels like for him: home.

Some of my fondest memories of us - eating a refreshing breakfast as cars whiz by at Le Pain Quotidien, discovering the amazing treasures that encompass Portobello Market and even watching some of my favorite British shows - “Come Dine with Me” and Heston Blumenthal’s fascinating gastronomical creations - have happened in the midst of this quaint, yet bustling city with a steady and soulful pulse.

In an effort to get myself in the habit of writing here more frequently and openly, I’m hoping to be taking a lot of photos, perhaps even some video and sending “Postcards from London” if you will. I haven’t really given too much thought about what I want to do and see, although there might be a trip to Dublin wedged in there somewhere which I’m very excited about.

I saved a fun “places to visit” video of London quite a while ago, so perhaps I might visit some of sites mentioned here:

Here’s to you, 2009

The old saying goes that when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. I like to say that when life throws pomegranates at you, you make sure you know how to cut, peel, seed and eat that blood red fruit, because life isn’t as simple as lemonade. Life throws you heavy pomegranates more than it does puny lemons any day and 2009 was definitely a year of hard hitting fruit.

After a year of dilly dallying with the idea of finally launching myself as a bona fide journalist, I decided in the wee hours of 2009 that I was going to make it happen this year. Writing was my drug and I felt soulless and empty, not to mention deathly afraid that the journalism infused dreams I carried with me so long were going to wither away and disappear. I made up my mind - the economy wasn’t going to stop me, the tanking journalism industry wasn’t going to stop me and neither was a full-time job. After sitting through almost four hours of traffic before and after an eight hour day of editing, I would come home, research, pitch and email into the dead of the night. Something else took over me. I didn’t know what being tired was anymore because I had surpassed it. You know when you start to feel sleepy at 11 p.m. and if you somehow fight it and get to 12 a.m., you suddenly recharge and you feel like you have the entire world in your hands? That’s how I got through it.

The long hours paid off and I soon found myself writing and fact-checking for Edible Los Angeles, contributing frequent feature stories and reviews to the Glendale News Press and Burbank Leader, as well as having my pitches accepted by two publications that I love and adore oh so much - Bitch and Paste. I finally felt worthy of the “journalist” title. I finally felt like my soul was slowly creeping back into my body. And then, in the midst of it all, I got this crazy idea to start an online magazine that has been my pride and joy for more than half of the year. It has allowed me to explore my past, write about what I love and participate in the type of journalism I believe in, the type that I felt was stolen away from me when too many people made bad choices that ultimately ended up collapsing the entire industry, the type that moved people and made a difference .

A strange kind of happiness glazed over me and boy it was wonderful.

When I wasn’t enthralled in my writing, I got a chance to spend some time in London, take a trip to San Francisco and exploring Los Angeles more thoroughly than ever before.

I survived the Station Fire that engulfed Los Angeles earlier this year, watched as the country my parents and I were born in erupted in protests and bloodshed and made so many new friends on Twitter.

Of course, the year had to go out with a bang - earlier this month I got into my first accident which has still left me car-less - not something I particularly mind but this is L.A. after all and not having a car is the equivalent of saying you don’t have any oxygen.

I’m looking forward to 2010, my theme for the new year is “change.” This year was one of transition for me, one of getting my feet wet and finally having the courage to take a few steps in the direction that I wanted my professional and personal life to go in. For the next 365 days however, the plan is to double or even triple the rate that I was going at. This means more writing, more pitching, more creativity, more devotion and confidence and strength and guts, more love, respect, trust and peace. Watch out world, I’m coming for you.

The Rain in Spain, or Los Angeles

Photo by RodneyRamsey

I find it strange that every time it rains in Los Angeles, I feel compelled to write. Maybe it’s not so strange. Maybe I’m strange. Maybe I don’t belong in L.A., since the sun bugs me and the rain feels amazing, even if it means I’m stuck in traffic for longer than usual. Today it took me almost an hour and a half to get across the palm tree laden landscape. If you think that’s bad, the key word here is almost, as it usually takes more than almost.

The signal of rain in this city signifies the apocalypse in many ways. The vicious mudslides, egged on by the charred remains of fire season, start to wreak havoc, sending Angelenos in a spin. Unfamiliar with the danger of slick roads, they push on the pedals of their (mostly) fantastical, expensive cars, throwing caution and their livelihood to the wind. And so the pileups and minor accidents begin, slowing down traffic even more, if you can believe it.

Some don’t even go to work.

Some complain all day long.

Some have to make use of sandbags so their houses don’t get wiped away.

Whatever way you look at it, it’s a big event.

Me? I rejoice. I love the rain. I love the sadness and contemplation it brings, how it makes you want to hold on to the ones you love just a little bit tighter. I love that it forces you to slow down and think and how it reminds you that the world isn’t just about the next hot party or ridiculously expensive clothing store, at least in Los Angeles. It reminds you that the world is bigger than you, and I wish more people felt that feeling - that the world is bigger than them, than their cars, their belongings, their feelings. It’s nice.

Quarter of a Century

On the first day of the last month of the year, organizations, families, ordinary citizens and even social networks take a few moments out to commemorate World AIDS Day. The United Nations and World Health Organization estimate that 33.4 million people are living with HIV. In Los Angeles 56,000 to 62,000 people are estimated to be living with HIV/AIDS.

I’d like to think of this day only as World AIDS Day, but I can’t because it’s also my birthday. I feel honored to have been born on a day where one of the world’s most serious diseases gets a day in the spotlight, but this year’s birthday feels so different for me.

In short, it’s the first time that I’m not even a little bit jovial about it.

Internet, I am down right depressed.

In the bigger scope of things I am not even that old (25) but I feel like I should have had more to show for being alive for a quarter of a century.  I don’t want to bore anyone with the dreams and goals I’ve had since middle school, but I have known what I have wanted out of life for a very long time, that is, to be a successful journalist whose articles allow someone to learn something new, uncover abuse, bring about justice or elicit change. And though I feel like I have made significant strides, I am still after that journalism dream that has been on a ship to no where for a lot of people.

Of course, there are other things I crave in life, but I feel like I have been so lucky to have a supportive family, amazing friends, a boyfriend who I want to spend the rest of my life with - all those elements in my life feel more or less complete and I feel like I should have had more of a grasp on that pesky thing I love the most: writing.

I know that there are so many young journalists my age who do not have jobs or are struggling in many of the same ways I am - I see it all the time with those who I speak to or those I follow on Twitter. I see the passion that people have for this industry that has failed them and it upsets me. Of the 10 emails to editors that are unanswered, at least 50 are ignored. You can forget about a staff writing position at the moment, because frankly they don’t exist.

When I started following “Ed2010″ probably more than 5 years ago, the idea of achieving my dream journalism career in 2010 seemed so far away, so out there in the cosmos, but now, in 30 days, 2010 will arrive and I am afraid of what it will bring. Last night, I drew out a simple diagram of what I’d like to achieve in 2010, which I am crowning right now as “the year of journalism.” That piece of paper holds my dreams and goals for the next year and beyond in the form of the Los Angeles Times, LA Weekly, Real Simple and GOOD. Here’s to hoping that on Dec. 1, 2010 I feel a little less somber and a little more hopeful than I do now.

Gay Skating Comes Out in Los Angeles

Photo by  flattop341

On a whim one day, while I was searching on Twitter, I found an incredible lead for a story that I immediately pitched to my editor. It was about a Los Angeles area skating rink that had been having an LGBT skate night for the last 23 years, mostly kept under wraps to give that particularly community their privacy.

When the story was given the green light, I made my way to the skating rink after an 8 hour  day at work and a one hour drive across the L.A. landscape on a breezy Wednesday night. The next three hours at this rink, where I spent time interviewing around 10 gay skaters, as well as management and watching this fairly large group of people hammer out the most amazing moves on the rink floor can only be described as euphoric.

As if I needed any more confirmation that I had the word “journalist” imprinted in the strands of my DNA, this was it. I still have not managed to describe the high of talking to people about important issues in such a grand atmosphere and then going home and having the power to string all the words together to make it sound coherent.

When I left around 10:30 p.m., I was incredibly tired, wishing I could just blink myself home like Barbara Eden from “I Dream of Jeannie” but beaming from ear to ear. I loved every single minute of my time in that rink, I loved the interviews, the transcribing, the follow up calls, the writing, editing and of course the skating.

The finished result can be found here. I can’t wait to feel this rush again, which I’m hoping will carry me over to bigger and better things within the amazing realm of journalism.

Los Angeles, Where’s Our Song?

Photo by Kevitivity

I was driving down the 405, which in addition to being a freeway, is also known as my second home, and out of boredom and contemplation, decided that I needed a break from the news talk shows I’m usually tuned into at nights. Although I’m frequently disappointed with the airplay of Los Angeles area radio stations as they offer no real diversity or advance the conversation of music, I felt like I had struck late night gold, or at least silver, when I heard Jay-Z and Alicia Keys’ collaboration “Empire State of Mind.”

This infectious song, complete with  sharp tongued verses delivered by a calm and collected Jay-Z and a booming chorus by Ms. Keys is just what I needed to get me through the 35 mile long stretch home on a Tuesday night. But as the lyrics progressed while I passed The Getty and headed towards downtown Los Angeles, I got an inkling of jealousy and disappointment that I couldn’t shake off.

“Empire State of Mind” made me want to go home, pack my bags and head straight to LAX for the next flight to New York. It so accurately captures the essence of the city that I could see the crowds in Times Square, the vibrant community in Greenwich Village and millions of people crowding into its metro system that serve as the city’s pulsing heartbeat all within the span of three minutes, and Los Angeles, I got jealous.

I really did.

“Wheres our song!” I said out loud.

Before you bring up the slew of songs that have been written about L.A. or 2pac’s “To Live and Die in L.A.,” which, by the way, is incredibly dismal if you listen to the lyrics closely, I have to clarify that I’m looking for a song that makes me a) proud to live here and b) is somewhat hopeful and definitely current. In short, I am looking for an anthem. I want an infectious chorus to sing along to. I want to be driving down that parking lot of a freeway and go, hell yes - I live in L.A., and you know what sometimes I might complain, but I love this place. I love these people. I love these ragged streets.I want someone to sing about the big lights of L.A. inspiring them.  I want soul, and I want heart and I want it packaged into a 3 minute distraction. I don’t want to know about plastic people and expensive cars or gangs. I have no interest in listening to a song about the movie industry or celebrities or Beverly Hills (ahem, Weezer.)

I want to hear about the immigrants who carry the pulse of this city. I want to hear about Tehrangeles and Little Ethiopia and the Dodgers. I want to hear about the amazing streets artists whose art work deserves at least a verse. I want to hear about protesters and the firefighters who worked so hard to stop the recent Station Fire from swallowing L.A. whole.

Someone needs to do this - it’s not just a personal request, it’s a request on behalf of El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Angeles del Río de Porciúncula. That’s Los Angeles to you.

Los Angeles I love you, Los Angeles I hate you

Los Angeles, I love you. I feel so lucky to have grown up in such an incredible melting pot of a city where I’ve met people from all different backgrounds, orientations and faiths. I love your supermarkets, your farmers’ markets,  your vegetarian-friendly eateries and your diverse little suburbs and ethnic conclaves that enrich your corners. I love that if I need something, whether it’s a place that will repair luggage or supplies to make a model airplane - you have a store for it. I love your public radio stations and public channels and all the people working for them who are clearly passionate about where they live.

I love that you’re a pretty clean city, for the most part anyway. I love that I have access to mountains and beaches all within a 35-mile radius. I love your rich albeit short history. I can forever look at nostalgic photos of a 1950s Los Angeles and never get tired.  I love your bustling and vibrant arts community and that there is never an end to finding something you can do within your borders. I love that there’s everything for everyone. Perhaps most of all, I love your swap meet scene. If you know me, you know that the idea of a perfect afternoon involves digging through all the treasures that swap meets can bring and Los Angeles, I am proud to say that you have the best swap meets I have ever been to. I’ve tried New York, I’ve even tried Europe but none can surpass the quality of the swap meets you have to offer. You might say my view is skewed having grown up an Angeleno, but this thought is backed up by the swap meet loving Englishman that is my boyfriend, so there.

In many ways, you’re an amazing city, but Los Angeles, I also hate you. I don’t mean that with spite. I mean that like a big sister who cares.  I hate your sorry excuse for public transportation that forces me to be in traffic for more than two hours a day as I make my way across your landscape. I hate that you don’t have any seasonality in your weather patterns. I don’t want to be subjected to the blistering sun every single day of my life. I want rain and I want some snow and wind. I want to make use of the scarves and hats and (gasp) even gloves I have in my closet that are collecting dust. I want to wear a winter coat, do you understand? You don’t understand the pain I feel when I walk into stores and I can’t justify spending money because I will die of heat exhaustion if I wear that beautifully crafted beige wool sweater even for 2 minutes in L.A.

I hate that we have been branded as the “gang capital of the nation.” I hate that I have to wake up every day and read stories like this. I hate that there are thousands upon thousands of homeless people on your streets and people treat themselves lavishly to shopping sprees without thinking twice. I hate that you’re so disjointed and spread out because this completely deters a real sense of community. Everyone is fending for themselves, no one seems to care for anyone else. I hate your grandiose celebrity worship, and your paparazzi and your overwhelming sense of materialism that reeks the air. I hate that the streets leading up to Beverly Hills are dilapidated and in need of funding. I hate that people hate you, and I hate that people love you for all the wrong reasons.

Both photos by amazing Los Angeles street art photographer, Lord Jim

Homeless Veterans in Los Angeles

Creative Commons/by predosimoes7

Along with the beautiful ocean view, hundreds of spectacular shops and care-free attitudes that epitomize laid back Southern California, the streets of Santa Monica are home to a large number of homeless people. You see them everywhere you go - in the parking structures, near businesses and certainly on 3rd St. Promenade, Santa Monica’s city center. Some hold signs asking for money, others walk the streets aimlessly and still many can be found looking through the various  waste baskets placed around the city, hungrily eating the remains of that red velvet cupcake you threw awake from the gourmet bakery up the street. You can see the street on their clothes, the smog in their hair and the dirt on their face. What you might not know is that many of them once served in the United States Armed Forces. Pick a sector - the navy, the army or the air force and you are sure to find one of them walking the streets of Los Angeles, because this sprawling city has the largest population of homeless veterans totaling 20,000 in the country, according to New Directions, an organization that offers comprehensive services to homeless vets, many of who suffer from mental illness, post traumatic stress disorder and are substance abusers.

Although there have been considerable efforts to reduce the homeless population in Santa Monica that have paid off, delays and negotiations have left three empty buildings that could provide long term therapeutic housing to homeless vets still, well, empty.

Buildings 205, 208 and 209 on the West Los Angeles Veterans Administration  (VA) campus were designated for this purpose on Aug. 21, 2007 by the Secretary of the Department of Veterans Affairs yet the buildings remain idle while homeless vets continue to live on the streets and suffer from a slew of problems.

Although it has been two years since the initial proposal was granted, the VA is still in the negotiations stage with developers to transform Building 209 into homeless housing. In fact, it only just received a business development plan earlier this month. Buildings 205 and 208 aren’t even being considered at this point, since the VA wants to reach a conclusion with the developers before moving forward.

Creative Commons/ by kaprov the wrecked train

The question is simple: What is the hold up? With an ongoing war that is sending back troops who could be suffering from PTSD, abusing drugs and ending up on the streets, why are three buildings being used as merely decoration in L.A. when they could be used to save lives. With the largest homeless vet population, this city can’t afford any delays. These are initiatives that should never have to take this long. No matter how many negotiations are involved, by not expediting the process those involved in implementing these policies come off as careless, as being apathetic towards the people in this city who are in dire need of our help, these are the people who have served in wars to protect our freedoms - the least we can do is give them a warm, dry bed to sleep on at night.