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.

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.

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?

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.

I find it bittersweet and strange that I have lived in this area of Los Angeles practically my whole life and haven’t really had the chance to get to know my neighbors or talk to them - unless a disaster strikes. The past few days, I have taken every opportunity to document the relentless fire that’s practically burning down my humble neighborhood, and in my outings, I’ve developed a rapport with a few of people who I share this street with.

One man spoke to me about how difficult it was to get fire insurance on his house. Another told me he was visiting his sister who was all but terrified of the fires. As I stood there, with ash and smoke all around, he told me that tile roofing was the safest in this type of situation, having to reach unthinkable temperatures before being affected by fire. I wish interactions like this didn’t occur only in a time of emergency.

The Station Fire has currently reached more than 122,000 acres with what seems like no end in sight.  Helicopters are buzzing above, and we’ve woken up to more ash and smoke than ever before. I find it pretty unnerving that surrounding streets on both sides have been evacuated, yet we haven’t been told to move.  I’m not too frightened of the fire, it’s when I start to think about the items in my house that could go up in flames that I get panicky.

Last night, I took a trip around the neighborhood again, running into a dozen closed off streets and citizen journalists taking photos and setting up their video cameras of the fire all along Foothill Blvd. in La Crescenta. The Station Fire it seems, has its own set of paparazzi.

I made a stop and bought pet food to take to the Pasadena Humane Society, where animals whose homes were threatened by the Station Fire have been brought. As I pulled up into my driveway, there were fire trucks galore.  I soon heard the fire chief trying to explain to a couple why  the enormous amounts of water drops do not produce immediate results.

“When it rains, does your bedroom get wet? Is your living room soaked?” he said.

I asked if they needed water or food. They thanked me and said they were all taken care of, but something tells me they would have appreciated my mom’s Armenian cooking.

By the time I went to sleep,  it looked like the fire might have calmed down. By morning, it was a different story. Smoke yielding cloud bombs descended around my house, making me feel like I was either on Mordor or Mars. The yellow tint outside made it seem like I had stepped into a photograph from 1976.

It wasn’t long before it started to get bad enough that fire trucks showed up and the helicopters became more prominent, along with the firechasers who came up to my street to capture it all.

As helicopters swarm and make the houses underneath them shake, and the people in them shake with fear of an impending fire, the citizens of this small town are hoping for the best.

The absence of presence of posts on this here blog of mine has been due to the fact that the raging fires  in Los Angeles have literally engulfed my life.  I woke up both Friday and Saturday in the wee hours of the morning because the horrid smell of smoke had managed to penetrate throughout my entire house.  From 4 a.m onwards, I couldn’t go back to sleep, a phenomenon confirmed by my neighbor who also woke up at the same time.

It wasn’t until another neighbor across the street came to knock on our door early Saturday afternoon that I realized the capacity of these fires, especially when all I had to do was walk out to my driveway and see this:

Oh my God. Fire behind my house.

Stay calm. Stay calm.

A quick browsing of all local news channels revealed nothing, everyone was preoccupied with the funeral of Ted Kennedy, which was fine - the man deserves it, but suddenly hours started going by and houses were severely threatened by this fire raging literally in my backyard and beyond and no single channel was on it. So I turned to what I usually turn to in situations where I need information fast: print and online. The Los Angeles Times, LAist and the various Twitter accounts of fire departments and city officials came to the rescue. Broadcast journalism got a big fat FAIL.

Then a journalistic instinct hit me pretty hard. I barely had time to grab everything I needed and head out the door. I decided I was going to go firechasing.  It didn’t matter that I had to be ready in an hour for an event I was covering, I had to go. I drove around La Crescenta for about 45 minutes, going up to areas near Briggs Avenue that hadn’t been sealed off yet.

I saw deer and coyote escaping the fire, and more people on the streets of Los Angeles than I had ever seen before - some with cameras, others with their pets, all watching in awe as the mountains violently burned in the visible distance. Near an area closer to the fire, residents hosed down their roofs while police directed traffic.

The air was thick with plumes of gray smoke - ashes strewn on every which way you can imagine.

It got out of control enough that a few of my relatives were evacuated and came to spend some time with us. I decided I wasn’t taking any chances and packed up a few bags just in case. On my drive to Burbank later that night, the fires were glowing, completely out of place in the night sky.

On Sunday the fire had pretty much doubled in size and as I write this (Monday, August 31, 2009), the fire has doubled again from Sunday, having destroyed around 87,500 acres.

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No Los Angeles summer is complete without a fire and this week, we not only got one, not two, but FOUR.

A fire in the Angeles National Forest, literally a hop, skip and a jump from my house was set ablaze today, a sight I could see 35 miles away in Santa Monica.

Isn’t the photo above quintessential Los Angeles? Palm trees, freeway, cars. Oh yea, and a brush fire.

I was halfway home before I realized that I was literally driving into the fire. As I got closer, the thick gray cloud gave way to a orange fiery blaze underneath. It looked like Los Angeles had transformed into Dante’s Inferno. It was something out of dreams really. I don’t think I have ever been that close to a fire and when I saw it up close, I noticed that the fire was the exact visual interpretation of what I felt when I saw that hot mess Heidi Montag snatch Britney Spears’ retired costume from an MTV performance eons ago and shimmy on stage at the Miss Universe pageant to words and sounds which I would prefer NOT to refer to as a “song.”

Here’s to hoping these fires are contained as soon as possible.

I have a confession to make. I’ve lived in Los Angeles practically my entire life and though I have visited downtown on occasion, I never saw much of the beauty in it as I should have, that is until I saw 500 Days of Summer.  Unconsciously, that was probably the inspiration of our little downtown adventure. We could have taken the metro to another locale, but downtown Los Angeles, with all its grittiness, history  and renewed interest seemed like the perfect place to spend a Sunday afternoon, and being someone who loves old, good, things, Clifton’s Cafeteria was just the right place to start.

I know what you might be thinking. Why would you go to eat there? Clifton’s it seems, doesn’t have the best reputation concerning their food. I’ll tell you why I went  - because you don’t go to Clifton’s because you’re hungry and in need of some elitist four-course meals to savor your appetite. You go there for the atmosphere, the people, the kitschy-coolness of it all and if you can’t get past the taste of the food to see all that, well then I don’t know what to tell you. Go to a swanky restaurant on Sunset and call it a day.  Let’s move on to the green jello.

Yes there’s jello. Lot’s of it. This particular one above is a pear jello, but there were all sorts of flavors, including a “cheese jello” that looked a bit strange. Clifton’s also has bread pudding, fruit salad, tapioca - you name it, they got it. They’re also quite the creative bunch, as evidenced by the vegetable swan/duck below.

Beyond the desserts and salads, you find enchiladas and turkey breast and meat loaf and all the macaroni and cheese you can eat. Candy colored beverages, in flavors such as watermelon, mango and lemonade line the end of your journey as you make your way to the counter to pay. It’s only when you’ve gotten a handle on your food that you begin to notice the decor of Clifton’s.

It looks like the home of a hunter who decided he couldn’t fathom being away from the forest during off-season, so he did the next best thing: brought the wilderness into his home. There are moose heads and bass hanging in various places around the cafeteria, along with a fireplace and various objects on the wall - it’s like Elmer Fudd’s mothership, but that makes for a more interesting time and conversation.

After Clifton’s, it was time to wander around, hopefully do some shopping and waste time before we had to be back home. Because Los Angeles is so huge, you tend to forget what else it has to offer beyond the 10-mile radius you live in. It’s just waiting to be explored, there are so many interesting parts of this city that go unnoticed because someone happens to live in Santa Monica and it’s just too much hassle to drive beyond the 405, a sentiment that is probably echoed in the other direction by  your average Valley dweller.

The Orpheum Theatre above opened in 1926 and was a popular venue for the Marx Brothers, Judy Garland as well as Ella Fitzgerald and Duke Ellington. I mean, Ella Fitzgerald was in Los Angeles, in the same building, decades and decades ago - that just blows my mind.

The buildings below make up the famous Santee Alley, known for its fashion and furnshings you can score at affordable prices.

By the end of the day we were tired, but the 20 minute ride back home was calming, except for the girl who went on endlessly about how other people shouldn’t be blaming her for being more successful than them. I guess the cost of public transportation is annoying people, but you take what you can get.

More photos here.

Taking public transportation in Los Angeles is an anomaly.  This 498.3 square mile city’s driving force is the car . Because of this, the metro is often ignored, under funded and unexplored. Beyond the concrete jungle that spans the entirety of L.A., there’s a rapid transit system that spans about 73 miles of rail and has five lines: Blue, Red, Green, Gold and Purple.

Though a rail system is synonymous with a major, metropolitan area, the people of Los Angeles had this crazy idea in 1963 to close down all streetcar lines in favor of using cars on the freeway system. This action, as you can guess, helped created one of the most traffic-congested cities in the country. in the 80s, a measure was passed for a half-cent sales tax increase to rebuild the metro and light rail lines, with the Blue Line opening in 1990, with subsequent lines opening later. Amazingly, the Red and Purple lines averaged a weekday ridership of 153,928 by June 2008, making it the ninth busiest rapid system in the U.S.

Having always been fascinated by the metro system in other cities I’ve visited like New York and London, and since I seem to spend quite a majority of my waking time in the car, taking the L.A metro had been on my mind for a while and this Sunday, the opportunity presented itself. With a True Blood episode to catch at night, we set off to downtown in the afternoon, starting off at the Lake Ave. stop in Pasadena.

Let’s talk about the ticketing system of the Los Angeles metro system: it works on an honor system. AN HONOR SYSTEM, meaning, there are no turnstiles, no little machines you insert your ticket in before you can get through, no regulation. Basically, THEY TRUST US. Big mistake. Huge mistake. We  could have not bought tickets and have managed to get home and back on a free trip, in fact we saw many people that did just that.

Ticket barriers are coming, however it is estimated that the Metro loses 5.5 million a year because of this method.

The trains were really clean, with cushion seats and the most eclectic bunch of people you could have imagined, accurately reflecting all sectors of L.A. One of the major reasons I’ve always loved public transportation is because you can feel the heart beat of the city within its system - everyone with somewhere to be, someone to meet or something to see, everyone with one specific aim, shared by their mutual journey. It’s a lovely feeling, one that this city severely lacks. In L.A., everyone is a lone soldier, in their own car, after their own priorities - we even lack the proper patience for pedestrians.

After taking the Gold Line, we arrived in Union Station, opened in 1939 and known as the “Last of the Great Railway Stations” built in the U.S.

It’s a lovely place that makes you feel transported to the 40s. Serene and quiet, the most you hear there are the footsteps of travelers hurrying by with their families or luggage to get from one place to the next.

When we finally arrived in downtown, the sign below was the first thing that caught my eye. I wish all newsstands, however many there are left anyway, looked like that.

The blue building on the left is the Eastern Columbia Building. Opened in 1930, the Art Deco building housed clothing and furniture stores until it turned into condominiums that opened in 2006.

Our first order of business was Clifton’s Cafeteria, another Los Angeles landmark, that was recently in line to be sold, due to declining profits. Part deux of the exploration of a different side of Los Angeles coming tomorrow.

It’s raining in L.A. today and as per usual, people are dry-heaving and panicking about the wetness falling from the sky.  It might be because it’s June, but it’s mostly because Angelenos-transplants or not, do not understand the concept of bad weather. They can’t compute it. “Hey, there’s snow in New York!” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Or, “I just got back from London!” [Insert gross face or entire body shiver here] “How can you staaand it?”

Listen up people of Los Angeles. I’m sick of your whining and complaning about the weather. I know you think we live in paradise, but let me tell you, every parade needs a bit of rain. Or a lot. Take your pick.

Do you know how cold it is in other parts of the country when the sun is shining out of our asses in L.A.? People actually have USE for Uggs in other countries, and they sure as hell don’t have idiotic women wearing them in the dead of summer with leggings and ripped up short skirts. So stop complaining about the weather.  You don’t even know what cold is, got that?

I mean, we’re all in our cars for crying out loud! It’s not like you have to walk home. So you don’t get to wear your sunglasses for one day, you’ll live, I promise. And then you wonder why people make fun of us, or why there are vids like this made: