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.

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. 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

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.

By the International Vegetarian Union

There are few words I can use to describe the rush and thrill I feel when I’m reporting and writing. If you want a simple answer, it’s that I feel alive. I feel an incredible rush of energy, and  although I don’t think I will ever shake that initial nervousness I feel when I approach someone to talk to, once I get started I can’t stop.

I somehow generate this incredible power that keeps me going – even if I’ve been on my feet for hours and I’m so tired that if given the chance, I could fall asleep. The surge of passion I have for journalism and writing is unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life. It is the opposite of apathy at its finest.

I don’t feel like it’s a job, I feel like I’m in the midst of providing an incredible civil service, talking to people who want and need to be heard, allowing people to pick up a paper or go online to discover something new that has my byline attached to it.  I feel free. I become an optimist, even amidst job cuts and dwindling readership. There is no elegant way to describe the chill that runs through my body when I can introduce myself as a journalist – it’s electrifying and astounding all at the same time. It is every single emotion in me coming alive. It is what I am meant to do in this lifetime. I feel it in my bones.

If you’re wondering where this sudden state of euphoria is coming from, it’s that I was on a reporting assignment tonight (that I pitched)  that really was the highlight of my week. The atmosphere was amazing, the questions I was asking got some amazing responses, the love that I was feeling was overwhelming and I know that when I’m done writing this story, it’s something that I am going to be so proud of.

After talking to a few people, I stepped outside in the almost cold Los Angeles air, my wild, curly hair dancing with the light breeze. If no one had been around, I would have let out a little happy dance, but I smiled to myself instead. I felt my soul radiating from inside. I was feeding it with passion and it was satisfied.

“I knew I was going to be a journalist, and that was it…full stop,” says Suzy Welch. Truer words have never been spoken.

I didn’t realize how much I loved eggplants until I made Imam Bayildi for my news magazine. The above are from the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market.They are so versatile and easy to cook with, not to mention delectable. Cooking was a departure for me, as you can usually find me with more familiar ingredients like sugar, butter and eggs, although I am trying to cut down on the latter two, in an effort to see if I can transform my regular baking to vegan baking.  In addition to the Imam Bayildi, I also couldn’t resist making my annual orange cardamom muffins, but this time instead of using eggs, I used apple sauce and also substituted some whole wheat flour for white and added flaxseed. The results were spectacular, you wouldn’t even know that eggs weren’t in the recipe. In fact, the apple sauce (organic, from Trader Joe’s) made the muffins extra fluffy, just the way I like them.

It was nice to have time to do what I wanted to do this weekend, not what I had to do, not what I’m trying to do and not what I had to do for others. It was nice just thinking about myself and my inner Max, especially since I was in my long johns. Once you get in those things, it’s hard to get out, let me tell you.

I felt like the cluster of thoughts floating in my head had ironed out, even if it was just for one day. Cooking and baking help me think and take my mind off everything. I think it’s the methodical nature of it all. If you follow the recipe, you (hopefully) get the same result, the exact opposite from the reality that life has to offer. That’s comforting and scary all at the same time. I still haven’t reconciled the ease I feel in my baking life with my real life. That’s nearly impossible when you’re doing everything you can to aid progress to your journalism/writing career.

Tomorrow, however, is another day.

I have the worst case of the Mondays, and I fear it’s not going away until Friday. Oh dear.

Two years ago, I became vegetarian. Although I had debated it for years prior to that one day in January that I decided to let go of meat and not look back, the gist of came down to one singular event: I watched a powerful documentary called “Earthlings.” For those who haven’t seen it, it’s not strictly about the meat industry, it’s about how animals are used and abused in all sectors of human life, from factory farms, to the puppy mill industry, to entertainment and beyond. It’s truly an eye opening film that I would recommend to anyone. My path to vegetarianism coincided with interest in volunteer work which finally bubbled up to the surface this year. That’s why I decided to make the 40-mile trek down to Acton, Calif. this past Sunday to volunteer at Animal Acres, a farm animal sanctuary and compassionate living center.

Those who work and run the sanctuary are amazing, they’re not only gracious hosts, but they are great guides with a wealth of information about the farming industry and the animals they take care of, all of which they can identify by name. Regina, one of the cows that isn’t pictured was my favorite, probably because of the intensity of her history. Her mom gave birth to her as she was in line to be slaughtered. Another cow, Bruno, was in the back of a transportation truck ready to be taken to a veal slaughter facility when a faulty lock caused him and the other calves to come tumbling out onto the highway. He was the only one who survived. When you hear these stories and then see how gentle and curious these animals are, no matter how large they grow, it becomes harder and harder to look at that plastic wrapped piece of steak or bacon as just a piece of meat.

If you’re wondering what the volunteer activities consist of, be prepared to don gloves and carry around a huge rake, for shoveling manure out of the pens of course. I am sure that at first thought, that sounds like the most unappealing volunteer work you could do, but believe me when I say that it’s actually fun and not as bad as you would imagine. After a while, you feel like you’re on a mission from God to shovel up every last bit of shit you can find. But that’s only one end of the spectrum – we also got to garden, clean out stalls and interact so closely with the animals.

This is the area where all the birds live – chicken, geese, turkeys. The quote from Gandhi says “The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.” There are quotes down the stalls from George Bernard Shaw as well as Albert Einstein.

This is Rose the Goat.

I don’t remember which pig is which in the photos above, but they were probably my favorite part of the entire experience. They have so much personality that you would never expect and the way they feel is incredible, with their short little course hair and soft ears. It is not easily determined from these photos, but the pigs are massive. When I say massive, I mean 800 lbs massive, because they have been genetically altered to be huge for the pork industry, and since those hormones are in their genes, they pass it along to their piglets. Because of their super size, they are prone to health problems and die sooner.

This horse above was rescued from a backyard slaughterhouse operation and is new to the sanctuary.

All in all, it was such a rewarding experience. I had an amazing time and I recommend it to anyone, vegetarian or not to visit these amazing animals and hear their back stories.

Halloween is always something I look forward to. Despite my inkling this year to dress as Lydia from Beetlejuice, I went with my art idol and all time head bitch in charge, Frida Kahlo.

Of course, with great power comes great responsibility and Frida Kahlo came with a unibrow, which wasn’t any stretch of the imagination for me as someone who is Armenian.

Lately, I haven’t written much here and I’m not sure why. Probably a combination of being extremely self conscious of my writing, along with trying to concentrate my writing efforts else where. Sometimes when I look at this space, the only sentiment I seem to come up with is “What’s the point?” I don’t have any direction here – this is not a blog strictly about journalism, or food or any other niche topic. It’s more or less about me and my likes, dislikes and observations. I still haven’t come to term yet with the fact that that’s ok, because not only do I see other blogs/websites who are so successful because they are niche, but because the directionless feeling I experience on this blog reflects how I feel in my daily life.

I want to be a writer, a reporter, a change maker, and although I have made some strides in that department, the mountain I have to climb just keeps growing.  Maybe that’s why I have been so drawn to Frida Kahlo, although the trials and tribulations of her life cannot even be compared to mine. She’s fierce. She’s strong. She left her mark on the world in some way. Being her for a day reminded me how much I want to be that person. That intrepid reporter who finds stories within the crevices of the world, that writer who manages to seamlessly blend words together, that person who is not just living, but progressing and aiding progress in the process.

That’s enough of my ranting, here are some more Frida Kahlo photos. Don’t mind the ugly.