In the span of a week,  two articles that put the social networking phenomenon known as Twitter through the ringer decided to grace the pages of the New York Times. One of them, “Let Them Eat Tweets,” was written by none other than Virginia Heffernan herself, a woman, who only weeks before declared her virtual hatred for the iPhone.  The other, written by Ms. Snarky herself, columnist Maureen Dowd was titled “To Tweet or Not to Tweet.”

In these articles, both women not only profess their annoyance for a tool that is being used by millions of people around the world, they give Twitter a virtual gang beating, make it bleed to death and then leave it tossed on the side of the road.

“I would rather be tied up to stakes in the Kalahari Desert, have honey poured over me and red ants eat out my eyes than open a Twitter account,” wrote Maureen Dowd.

Twitter is connectivity for the poor, boasted Virginia Heffernan. Both came off sounding like elitist and obnoxious curmudgeons. I’m surprised I didn’t wake up the next day to a column from both of them that started with the phrase, “Back in my day…”

These recent tirades in the NYTimes against Twitter bring up fascinating observations about the newspaper industry and the people in it, mainly that that attitudes portrayed by the likes of Dowd and Heffernan are perhaps part of the reason why I wake up to media companies going bankrupt, institutional newspapers halting production and journalists being laid off a dime a dozen.

It is obvious that these curmudgeons still “don’t get it.” And by “it” I mean a variety of things, mainly that the newspaper industry is failing and needs to reexamine their models and strategies, that social media is valuable and that change is necessary and good.

Facing the facts is a necessary evil. Why not be proactive about the changes taking place in the industry, instead of writing a column about how much you hate this new internet phenomenon which does nothing to change public opinion, but instead really shows your true colors as a bitter, self-absorbed, dino-journalist who is resistant to change.

I mean, have you seen how many people have been laid off in the newspaper industry in  2009 alone? Have you? Do you need a refresher? That’s 8,484 and counting, in case you had forgotten. Meanwhile online publications and community journalism are soaring. It’s time to either step off your elitist pedestals, or join the game.

If you’re not interested, I say move over, and let an entire generation of passionate and ambitious journalists who understand social media and welcome change (myself included) take over, because obviously, someone is not doing something right.

Contrary to popular belief, I still pine to one day see my byline within the pages of the New York Times. I still believe  in the thrill of the chase for a story, in long hours poured over research just to satisfy my own craving that I have my facts straight. I still get a rush every time I interview someone for an article and I still believe that journalism can change the world. I want to change the world. And apparently, so do a lot of young people, as journalism programs, at least at USC and Columbia University, have seen a huge increase in applicants:

“It’s like an adrenaline rush. Every day is different. Every story is different,” said Annenberg student Adrianna Weingold, 24. When she added, “There are very few careers that let you get out in the world and talk to people and learn something new every day,” an old flame within me leaped anew. Really.”

Adrianna, I am so there with you.

I am still unclear as to why the two aformentioned journalists have such a strong disdain for such a simple and small thing as Twitter. What is there to not “get,” I wonder. Why would someone who has their feet planted in an ever changing industry be such a curmudgeon? More importantly, why WOULDN’T you want to connect to people, especially your readers. These columnists, I believe, have forgotten one very important rule, that journalism isn’t about them. Journalism is about the world, about people, about different experiences and events. It’s a huge pool of diversity that keeps growing. Why a columnist who has millions of people read her column every week would purposely refuse to take part in a dialogue with them is just beyond me.

But you know, whatever. You just keep hammering away at your columns,  and I’ll keep doing what I’m doing, along with the journalists who “get it” all across the the U.S and beyond. In the wise words of The Borg from Star Trek, resistance is futile.

Since everyone and their mother is on Twitter, including Ashton Kutcher and Sean “Diddy” Combs (both of which have turned a tool for the masses to use into “celebritwity” much to my dismay)  explaining Twitter and trying to understand why it’s so popular is a moot point -  plus there are so many other blog posts and articles who have done a better job doing all that than I ever could. Still, despite it’s massive popularity, there are those who “don’t get Twitter” and feel that it’s just a waste of time, to which I say, “Puck you, sir” as famously declared by Jonah Takalua from the ingenious series, “Summer Heights High.”

What’s not to get? You are allowed 140 characters to tell the world ANYTHING you want. All you have to do is take two minutes to register. You don’t have to buy a domain, or start a blog, hell, you don’t even have to think too hard. Why wouldn’t someone embrace that? Unless they don’t have anything to say, which I guess, is the case for a lot of people.  I cannot tell you how many amazing people I have come into contact with all because of Twitter and how much I’ve learned as well. I mean, how else would I be able to follow editors of the New York Times, writers from all over the world, mixed in with my favorite bloggers and quasi-celebrities in the same stream? Twitter is not something to be scoffed at, as a recent article in the New York Times by Virginia Heffernan, suggests. Although judging by the fact that she’s displayed quite a bit of hatred for the iPhone ( a device which has become a truly integral part of my life), I’m not surprised.

But I digress.

Let’s move on to what this post is really about, which is essential Twitter follows those who live in or are thinking about moving to Los Angeles. Perhaps over time, I can start to consistently write about what the best Twitter follows are according to different categories  like food, writing and the like, because let’s face it, this 140 character virtual soap box is not going away anytime soon.

Now more than ever, we live in such a fast paced world, and I don’t know about you, but I find it a bit difficult to get all the news that fit to print (or post, or podcast, you get the idea) along with having lively discussions with others on interesting and important topics every single day.  Twitter allows you to do all of this, all on one site. You can thank the creators later.

• @LATimescitydesk- The home of all things L.A as far as L.A Times coverage is concerned, the LATimescitydesk  is spear headed by Nita Lelyveld, the Los Angeles Times metro assignment editor, where she hand-selects updates to push to your feed every day. Recent tweets have included: “More heat records likely to be broken today. But try not to sweat it too much. Relief is in sight. http://tr.im/jhfC” and “The bomb squad is out at 1st and Main downtown. Suspicious package.”LATimescitydesk responds to tweets and gives you a personal look into how the reporters and editors of the L.A. Times operate. Example: After the paper won a Pulitzer Prize for their wildefire coverage last summer, this tweet went out: “Truth be told, we drank Prosecco today, not champagne — but honestly, I’d rather we spend what money we have on stories, not parties.”

• @LAWeekly - L.A Weekly just excudes cool, so there’s no reason why their Twitter feed should be any different. Bringing you the best in news, food, music and culture, LA Weekly keeps you up to date on the obscure “Happy 4/20 all. This day in photos, 1970: Roman Polanski on his way to court for hearing on rape charges http://poprl.com/1XYC” to the interesting “Numero Uno supermarket founder and president George Torres convicted today of racketeering, solicitation of murder http://poprl.com/1YYF“

• @SoCalConnected - KCET’s So Cal Connected is an amazing Los Angeles gem, and I’m not just saying that because I used to intern at KCET. They bring you news from all corners of this vast city that you probably couldn’t have found anywhere else, at least not as indepthly any way. Follow them to keep up to date on stories that make you think and want more. Recent tweets include “in case you missed it: SoCal’s Val Zavala takes a look at the “un-banked” - http://ow.ly/37cj - “300K households in LA do not use banks. ” and “KCET Local blogger Ophelia Chong ponders the meaning of a facebook reunion - ‘Reconnecting is also about letting go” - http://is.gd/rCcT‘”

• @LAist - Perhaps the best Los Angeles blog about there, LAist keeps you up to breast of great stories that news organizations don’t have the space, resources or time for. It’s the first place I check for ultimate breaking Los Angeles news, whether it’s a car chase or an earthquake - that’s the beauty of blogging and self-publishing on the internet, news really becomes “instant.”

• @trafficla - If you spend as much time on the Los Angeles freeway system as I do, trafficla should be your next best friend. This useful Twitter page tells you what accidents are on which freeways at all times, street closures and if there are any major incidents like fires or lane block offs on the freeway. For me, traffic is in many ways tolerable at this point, but I still hate that element of surprise, and trafficla does a great job of preparing me for what I’m about to face.

• @abc7 - The Twitter sister to ABC 7 Eyewitness News, abc7 is an amazing resource for up to the minute information about all that’s happening around L.A. Abc7 also covers most of Southern California, so you get a well-rounded sense of all that’s happening in the area you live in. Recent tweets: “Josue Luna, husband of woman arrested in hit-and-run death of USC student Adrianna Bachan, was arrested Friday. abc7.com” and “RECALL: 3-oz. packages of World Famous Gourmet Nutty Nanners Frozen Bananas recalled over salmonella concerns - http://tinyurl.com/copunr“

Are you upset little friend? Have you been lying awake worrying? Well, don’t worry…I’m here. The flood waters will recede, the famine will end, the sun will shine tomorrow, and I will always be here to take care of you. -Charlie Brown to Snoopy

Henry has spent the better part of this week snuggled as close to me as physically possible. Usually, he’ll sleep on the edge of the bed, wrapped up in his brown plaid blanket. He’s really good about sleeping through the night and doesn’t get up until my feet touch the ground, but I find him almost wrapped in my arms when I wake up.

Words do not do the feeling of waking up with a warm dog next to you justice. There are few pleasures greater than a friendly and loving lick in the morning or a black snout buried within the confines of your arm. He doesn’t need to be by me, after all- his puppies day are behind him and he’s already 2-years-old in human years, but he wants to be.

I stroke his belly and pat his head and he settles into a ball for the rest of the night. Sometimes, I wake to find him sprawled out on his back, his legs are far apart as can be and his front paws so close to his chest that he looks like a little otter. He feels at ease, relaxed and without a care in the world. It is in these instances where I am truly jealous of the life Henry leads.

He has no work to worry about, no social life, no bills, no traffic. His only concerns involve him securing the parameters of the house, perfecting his Academy award winning begging routine and resting after a day’s hard work of scaring away imaginary invaders.

At night, he turns almost human. The shapes in which he sleeps in, the content noises he makes when he’s come into an agreement with a space in which to lay his head and the way he rubs his eyes with his paws first thing in the morning, turn him into my little child instead of my little dog.

And that’s one child I’ll happily accept at this point in my life.

You know when you reach that point in your life when you think, gee, it would be so great if I could own a pair of comfortable shoes that I could slide my feet in and out of?  In fact, it would be just astounding if they were totally modeled after my OWN FEET. Oh, what’s that? You haven’t reached that point? Well me neither and I’m pretty sure our chances of reaching it are slim.  It just seems that you and I are mentally stable people with good judgment and decision making skills, because there is only one word that can be used to  describe Vibram Five Fingers Shoes: fuckery.

The Vibram Five Fingers is made from polyamide fabric and provides excellent grip in both wet and dry conditions (imagine that!) They’re machine washable and made from vegan friendly materials and stimulate muscles in your feet apparently to build strength and improve range of motion.

This is all fine and dandy and I’m sure to the running aficionado or sports lover, this just sounds like the most AMAZING invention on the world ( I mean, shoes I can wear in the shape of my feet that improve my range of motion? Sign me up STAT.)

But to a shoe lover like me that would most definitely rank the range of motion a shoe can provide at the utmost bottom of my shoe preferences, this is murder.  BLOODY MURDER.

These are worse than crocs. There, I said it. Worse. Than. Crocs. Put that in your pipe and smoke it Vibram Five Fingers too many. No one better tell Mario Batali about this, because there is no way I can continue watching Iron Chef if I see him standing on stage with a pair of fatigue print Five Fingers on.

In California I dream of snow
And all the places we used to go
With the night falling down
With the night falling down
Now I’m living in Korea Town
Waking to the sound of car alarms

Los Angeles, you’re one concrete jungle of a city. You’re envied, hated, spit on and loved, all at the same time. The city of debauchery, where souls go to evaporate,where love goes to die - that’s what they all think of you. They say you’re a big vapid black hole, sucking everyone’s dignity, self-respect, trust and dreams back into outer space with you.

This sprawling city of wheeled-in palm trees, pavement and overrated parties is where I grew up.

I remember your face when I showed you the ticket
Said you were happy for me, your heart wasn’t in it
Just a phone call away
Now there’s nothing to say
As the days roll by, disconnected

In the land where the sun is always shining on
Crying alone, palm trees are laughing at me
Another fool playing songs that don’t matter
For people who chatter endlessly

I understand why people hate you. I’d probably hate you too, if I hadn’t spent my entire life within your confines. If I had landed here one day in my 20s, I wouldn’t even know where to begin with you. You don’t have proper public transportation and walking is out of the question most of the time, so you force me to buy a car. I don’t mind because driving to me is like drinking water, it must be done.

You’re too hot, and not in a good way. You just don’t know when to stop with the blazing heat and sunshine. Evenings are worse because they bring out hordes of practically naked women and men who wear sunglasses at night and do their best to get in any club they can. Call me crazy, but dressing provocatively, standing in line for two hours and then gaining entry into a crowded, extremely loud, sweaty club with pretentious assholes and horrible music is not my idea of a good time. But whatever.

Another suicide on the 405
The Black Dahlia she smiles and smiles
It’s the same old town that bled her dry
One more starlet one more time
Bound to make it do or die
Take a walk to Bonnie Brae
Try to wash these dreams away
They tell me L.A.’s beautiful when it rains

But you know, just because I’m critical, it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, because I do, I really really do. Despite the traffic that ravages and rapes my life every day, the heat and the pretentiousness,  you’ve given me a lot. Amazing memories, convenience, In n’ Out (back in my meat-eating days), the ability to do the things I love and perhaps most importantly, diversity- a diversity of culture, of ethnicities, religions, behavior and backgrounds. Where else can you find a Little Ethiopia, Koreatown, Little Armenia and Little Tokyo alongside each other? Where else can you coin the term “Tehranegeles?” You have so many people from so many places, Los Angeles, and your open mindedness and ability to accept is just enough for me to love you.

L.A is beautiful when it rains.

Lyrics by Neko Case, “In California.”

I can’t think of the exact moment that I decided I wanted to be a writer, but I suspect that it was some time between the ages of 10 and 13. My first experience with journalism took place when I signed up for a newspaper class in 7th grade. I was a shy, timid student who was intimidated by my classmates at times. I kept mostly to myself and a few friends in my social circle, but more or less didn’t fit in. Unfortunately, the time I spent producing the newspaper was cut short when I was forced to switch schools in the middle of the year. I was upset and confused, and wondered to myself how this public school kid was ever going to make friends or succeed in the new private school I was going to be attending.

My new school didn’t offer me an outlet for my writing, so I had to create my own. I spent hours holed up in my room writing poetry in journals only appropriate for a 12-year-old girl. I’d read them out loud to myself and searched for poetry contests to enter while listening to Sarah Mclaughlan. What a 12-year-old was doing listening to music appropriate for Felicity in her college endeavors, I have no idea, but it helped me think.

After finding a contest I liked, I managed to print out my poem, typed in fancy cursive font and sent  it off. A couple months later, I received a letter in the mail that my poem was slated to be published in an anthology. You can’t imagine what that did to a 12-year-old me. Actually, you might be able to. I was ecstatic to say the least. I must have danced all around the house at least a couple times.

I still  have the anthology saved, although the poem is a bit embarrassing to ever reprint anywhere (trust me on this).

I guess you could say that was the first time I was “published.” It felt like I was high. The idea of being published brings with it such euphoria that I can’t even describe. That’s probably when I knew I didn’t want an M.D after my name, or a business degree under my belt. That’s when I knew that there wasn’t anything else I wanted to do in the world but write. So here I am.

On the 10 east, heading home. Yes, I am crazy and take photos while driving.

• I haven’t been able to think much during traffic for the past couple weeks because it’s been actually pretty good. I’m sure it has everything to do with Spring break and absolutely nothing to do with the way Angelenos drive.
• What I have been thinking about and actually doing is contacting magazines, newspapers and other various publications about freelance work. I have one copy editing stint and article coming up, which I couldn’t be more ecstatic about, but getting editors to email back is like pulling teeth sometimes. I know, because I am one.
• The cultural studies section of the bookstore is now my new favorite section.
• I’m excited about Easter, and that excitement has absolutely nothing to do with the religious connotations, but more with the fact that I get to dye and paint eggs.
• Taxes went well for me this year, which was  a relief from the arm and leg I had to pay last year.
• Every time my shoes come into close contact with another animal, be it dog or cat, rest assured, I will find Henry marking his territory on them if I leave them on the floor.
• Sometimes I wish I was working at a bakery.
• Other times, like this week, I write and read to keep from crying.
• I saw a license plate that said “foolery” today. It was awesome.
• What I want for my future and what will be my future might be two different things, and that scares me.
• When I hear stories about animals having to be given up at shelters because of the recession, I can’t help but get teary-eyed.
• I am afraid that there will be a big earthquake in Southern California soon.
• I’m also afraid about the state of journalism.
• I wish my thoughts were longer than a sentence.

I am a big lover of yogurt. Plain, vanilla, low-fat, non-fat, savory or sweet, you put it in front of me and I’ll eat it.  The majority of my yogurt obsession probably stems from my Armenian background and countless hours watching my grandmother go through with the tedious process of making her own yogurt. I hope I can muster up the patience to try my hand at homemade yogurt one day as well.

When I made the decision to become a pescetarian over a year ago, I knew it was going to be hard for me to give up dairy products if I ever wanted to take the next step towards trying out veganism, but lately, I have been trying to limit my dairy intake. I drink soy milk whenever I can and have cut out butter consumption by eating Tofutti, which by the way, tastes amazing, even to my non-veg/pesc friends and family.

Even though I’ve made these subtle changes, I have always been wary of trying soy yogurts, mostly because I haven’t had very good experiences with them. They’ve always either had very strange flavors that left a WTF taste in my mouth, or they’ve tasted like a mad scientist conjured it up in a lab.

I had given up on trying soy yogurts, until one day this week when a hunger pain struck me in the gut sharply enough to make me get up and wander on over to the kitchen at work in search of something to eat. I noticed a package of yogurt in the fridge and became intrigued. It was only after I had snagged a cup and a spoon did I realize it was made from soy, and on top of that, it wasn’t yogurt, but pudding. “Oh dear,” I thought to myself, “this is going straight to the waste basket after one spoonful.”

But I was wrong. Oh was I ever.

The pudding I had had came from a company called ZenSoy which produces soy beverages and pudding that can be found in stores across 41 states. ZenSoy began in 1999 by the founders of the Elmhurst Dairy Brand, one of the largest milk producers in Metro New York. Their organic soy puddings were introduced in 2000 and can be found in Wild Oats stores across California.

It was delicious to say the least. The consistency, which is always a big factor in my decision making process where pudding and yogurts are concerned, was perfect - not too watery and easily scooped up with a spoon. The flavor was surprisingly delicious. I think something to note when trying out soy-based or vegan/vegetarian products is that expectations tend to be skewed. You should never think you’re going to get something that “tastes exactly like the real thing,” because, well, if you’re so concerned about the real thing, then you can just have it instead of whining about alternative products. With that said, ZenSoy pudding don’t taste exactly like milk-based pudding or yogurts, and they’re really not meant to. The important thing is that they taste good enough to be liked by this foodie.

I guess I should have known that I would’ve have liked it from the get go, since I have never once met a pudding I didn’t like.

My search however, doesn’t stop here. I’m still on the lookout for good soy yogurts and I suspect there are many I have not tried. Here’s to hoping they’ll be as decadent as ZenSoy’s puddings.

After one long tedious and never ending day, I found myself at the convenient ATM in the super market not even a block away from my house, depositing a couple checks I had in my possession, one of which was a bonus that had been ripped to shreds by way of taxation. After conducting business, I went to have a casual look around the market, to see if there was anything new or interesting to buy. If there’s one form of shopping I love, it’s market shopping. Whenever I’ve traveled, I’ve been more interested in going to shopping markets in Rome, Barcelona and London than I have been doing actual, you know, shopping that normal people without weird tendencies do.

As I strolled around the white tiled floors and passed the useless security guard who was more interested in looking in the liquor isle than keeping an eye on all the thieving, sneaky housewives and children who might have planned on stealing paper towels or candy, I decided there wasn’t anything here for me. Disappointed, I made my way across the market to leave when a site I hadn’t seen for a while caught my eye.

There was a woman using the self-checkout counter (best idea EVER) with a one-year-old sitting in the cart. I didn’t notice at first, but when she turned around, it was more than obvious that she was heavily pregnant. She looked like she was probably only three to five years older than me. While I whizzed passed the counters I saw another woman, again, no more than five years older than me, with three kids, ranging in age from seven to three with another one on the way.
At first my mind went into some sort of epilectic shock. When I recovered there was only one question I had:

WHY.

Why God why have you subjected yourself to an eternity of hell at such an early age? And also, I’d like to introduce you to someone. Woman-that’s-almost-my-age-and-has-four-mouths-to-feed, meet birth control. Birth control is going to help you not ruin your life and lose your mind so that you start acting out like a 20 something  when you’ve turned 40 and have had enough of hell you’ve put yourself in.

At this point, I might seem like I’m a child-hater. On the contrary, this writer, who once took a child development course that made her smitten with kids and her ovaries cry, does not hate children. In fact, what she hates is when young  20 somethings decide that the best thing they can do with their lives is spawn, despite all the opportunities they have under their nose, despite the fact that they don’t know what they are getting themselves into, despite that they don’t even know who they are yea and despite the fact that they might look back in 20 years time and think, why didn’t I wait.

Don’t get me wrong, as this is not a generalization, but just a difference of opinion. At 24-years-old, I have just begun to understand what vision I want for my life. Some details have always been there from an early age, like the fact that I would love nothing more than to be a bona fide journalist who makes at least a bit of a dent in the world, but I am just beginning to understand who I am and what I want. There are times when I can’t even fathom the idea of calling myself an “adult.” Because I’m not an adult. Sure, I have a full-time job, I have car payments, credit card debt, but until I can master how to cut fruit seamslessly and smoothly without the aide of a peeler but with a knife, like my Armenian mother or feel entirely comfortable in my own skin, in my mind, I’m not an adult, I’m just the ghost of an adult.

But maybe it’s just me. Spawn away.

Because when I wake up and see a gem of a comment like this, it makes my day just that much brighter.

I wish everyone would die on Earth except me. I hate people.

Oh dear commenter, I feel like we should discuss this over a late lunch, where we exchange horror stories about our encounters with the human race. You can go first.