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.

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.

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.

A Visit to Animal Acres

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.

Moving Forward With Food

This past Sunday, I had the chance of attending, photographing and  writing about a fruit picked put on by Food Forward, an all volunteer grass roots organization that gleans fruit off of the trees of Los Angeles residents and donates 100 percent of the proceeds to food pantries. Although it required waking up pretty early, it was a thrilling experience for me, especially since I pitched the idea myself, and because I am such an advocate for sustainable food. I’ve included some photos here, but you can read the article through this link.

Why Are There Billboards on the Freeway. I’d Like to Know.

I was making my long and tedious drive to work this morning and between all the cars in front of me and the glorious view that the 10 freeway offers of industrial Los Angeles I spotted a digital billboard that I seem to pass all the time but only fully took notice of today, frankly because it had a huge photo of Dr. Oz, another one of Oprah’s prodigy, and flashing text telling me to watch the Dr. Oz show. That’s happening LIVE. RIGHT NOW.

Dude. I’m driving. You’re a billboard over a freeway, you should know this. What do you want me to do, make a break for the nearest exit, sit in more traffic until I arrive home, pour myself another cup of tea and wait for Dr. Oz to come on and tell me about erectile dysfunction and heart burn?

WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO, BILLBOARD.

No, as much as I’d like to turn around I can’t. As much as I want to take part in your graduation from Oprah’s stage to your own, I don’t have the time. You should know this, you’re a billboard.

And frankly, if I was going to turn around and go home, you better believe I’d be tuning into the  hot mess that is the Maury Povich show. I cannot afford to miss a “You are NOT the Father!” proclamation because Dr. Oz wants to teach  me about hypertension. No way. I have my priorities straightened out, as you can tell.

But, seriously billboard - I don’t take too kindly to your shenanigans and I’m sure the thousands of cars around me don’t either, what in between spewing out colorful language with their windows rolled up, mind you, to the motorcyclists that zoom by windows (they deserve it) and trying their hardest not to drive their vehicles off a cliff because they just. can’t. take. it. anymore.

And you know what else? Just WTF are you doing on a freeway anyway? I mean, am I not meant to be looking straight ahead so I don’t become a Los Angeles casualty instead of looking at you? Why do you tempt me with your smooth LCD display and blinding neon graphics. Why must you call out to me with a dapper looking Dr. Oz in a  sexy lab coat and elvine ears.  DO YOU WANT ME TO DIE?

We Didn’t Start the Fire

My heart aches for Los Angeles. It’s not enough that we have people bagging on us from all over the world, but in addition to a horrid budget crisis, water shortage, etc.,  in a matter of a few days, 148,258 acres of this city burned free. Two firefighters were lost, dozens and dozens of homes were destroyed and our lives were disrupted by more than just traffic.

After two sleepless nights where all I could manage to inhale was the pungent smell of smoke, and another two where I  was thisclose to being evacuated before a fire swallowed up my house whole, all I could think of was how much my heart aches for this city.

Growing up, I never felt a particular connection to where I lived, it was just, well, somewhere I happened to live.  But as I got older and started to explore more of L.A. including a 35-mile traffic romp across the city every day, I realized that I care about Los Angeles more than I ever knew. And I had this insane desire in me to defend it, and find the beauty in it and try to get transplants to understand that there was more to Los Angeles than the west side and palm trees.

Mt. Wilson for example, which was severely threatened by the Station Fire, is home to the  100-inch Hooker telescope on which Edwin Hubble made discoveries that lead to the Big Bang Theory. The Wildlife Way Station, a 160 acre non-profit animal sanctuary and rehabilitational facility is more or less five minutes from my house.  Then there’s the Adams Pack Station, also threatened by the fire and  believed to be the last pack station in the United States, which serves 80 cabins in the Chantry Flats area. Cabins in Los Angeles. Who would’ve thought?

When I drove through my neighborhood of La Crescenta and Tujunga, trying to get more information and photos about this fire that was really putting a damper on our summer, I took in how much nature I’m surrounded by. I mean, I see deer coming down the mountain behind my house. Altadena is home to a native parrot population. If you go as high as you can near Angeles Crest, you will see signs telling you to beware of mountain lions.  Tujunga was once a socialist Utopian colony. Its location also frees it from some air pollution that plagues the rest of Los Angeles.

Besides the wildlife and recreational benefits, the residents of these areas are not cut from the same cloth as the stereotypical Angeleno. Case in point: When I drove to work yesterday morning, I saw handmade signs thanking firefighters and calling them heroes hanging from the bridges above the freeway and at Stop signs on major streets. Even Century 21 changed its marquee to reflect gratitude. In addition to that, many residents decided to band together last weekend in an effort to save their houses.

“We started thinking smart and came up with a plan,” said Greg Lievense, 54, an engineer at nearby Jet Propulsion Laboratory.

The group broke up into teams of three with an agreement that no one would be alone for the duration of the emergency. One neighbor began stockpiling ladders and flashlights.

“We broke up into ‘ember shifts,’ ” Lievense said.

“We developed an emergency signal — three long car honks — which would mean that a home is on fire and we need help or we all have to leave,” he said.

Their mission in turn would be to peer into the eaves and backyards of neighbors’ homes with flashlights in search of glowing embers or flames and respond if possible.

How awesome are these people? So awesome.

Though it’s a given any Los Angeles resident is upset about this fire, especially since it is now being treated as arson, along with a homicide investigation because of the two brave firefighters who lost their lives, there’s something else that has been itching in my head. This isn’t really how I wanted my neighborhood to get on the map. Neither was the Michael Jackson funeral and memorial service. Every cloud has its silver lining though, I suppose and I’m hoping that those in L.A and beyond realize that this city has such a rich background and isn’t just a bunch of connecting freeways, cars and plastic surgery.

There are so many treasures here, the important thing is that you have to go looking for them.