31 July, 2006 | 2 Comments

[sorry, lame pee-wee herman joke]

So today we went to San Simeon to visit Hearst Castle, former home of publishing magnate William Randolph Hearst. This was the inspiration for Xanadu in Citizen Kane. The place was quite mobbed with tourists from around the world, which surprised me. I don’t understand the attraction. It’s a huge estate and the main house is certainly grand, but by British or European standards, it’s just a big ol’ house built by a rich egomaniac with money to burn. But then perhaps I’m just bitter.

When I lived in New York, I worked for Hearst Corporation at what was then a start-up magazine (but what is now a huge success and cash cow). It was definitely the worst publisher I’ve ever worked for in my life, run by greedy, stingy bastards (aka the Hearst family). Imagine being a young, starving editorial assistant and having to buy your own office supplies, having your desk in a narrow hallway because they refused to rent a big enough office, and lots of other nasty stuff I can’t blab about because of confidentiality reasons. So I was quite excited to visit the manse today, just so I could put a pox on the entire Hearst family.

End of rant. A few photos…

Hearst Castle viewed from the car park (visitors must take a bus up to the property):

Foggy main house:

Outdoor pool surrounded by early-morning fog:

Library:

View from upstairs bedroom:

31 July, 2006 | 3 Comments

30 July, 2006 | Comments

MY FAMILY:

30 July, 2006 | 3 Comments

I left L.A. this morning to begin a road trip up the coast of California with my family (in a gas-guzzling SUV, natch, because this is an all-American road trip):

On the way we stopped in Solvang, a small town settled by Danish immigrants that’s a rather Disney-fied version of Denmark (windmills, smorgasbords, etc.):

On the drive, we passed many vineyards, like this one (taken from a car going 70+):

We passed through Morro Bay, where Hitchcock’s The Birds was set. Here’s a snap of Morro Rock, the “Gibraltar of the Pacific” (uh, okay):

Late this afternoon, we arrived in Cambria, a small artsy town halfway between LA and SF. We’ll stay here for a few days before continuing on to Monterey. We’re staying across the street from Moonstone Beach and we can see this from our hotel room:

On the rocky beach, elephant seals bathe in the sun:

Right now as I type this, I hear the waves crashing. Very peaceful and lovely. A nice break from police sirens. Ahhhhh.

29 July, 2006 | 6 Comments

[gv data="http://www.youtube.com/v/IiXcR_RptlU" width="425" height="350"][/gv]

29 July, 2006 | 2 Comments

Yesterday we went for lunch at the trendy Real Food Daily (RFD) in West Hollywood. It’s an organic vegan restaurant with its own cookbook, so you know it’s good. I’m not a vegan or a health-food fanatic (by any means!), but given certain food intolerances I have, vegan food is always “safe” for me and I love to visit vegan restaurants. (I’m guessing there won’t be many of those in Paris.)

My sister is a very picky eater and the thought of going to a vegan restaurant literally nauseated her, but she put on a happy face for me. We ordered Better with Cheddar Nachos to share, which are made with the restaurant’s famous cashew cheddar cheese. (This vegan cheese is made primarily from cashew nuts, nutritional yeast, soy milk and miso.) If you’re vegan or otherwise dairy-free, you know how difficult (nearly impossible) it is to find good cheese substitutes. As such, I was really amazed by how delicious the cheese was. It was melted with the exact consistency of nacho cheese. My sister didn’t like it, but as someone who hasn’t eaten real cheese in almost two years, I thought it was fabulous. The nachos were topped with black beans, guacamole, tofu sour cream, pico de gallo and seitan chunks cooked in taco seasoning. I must tell you it was one of the tastiest dishes I’ve had in years.

Not everything I tasted was as good as the nachos. When vegan/vegetarian cuisine tries to mimic very meaty dishes, the results are often hit and miss. But overall I was very impressed and the servers there were probably the friendliest I’ve ever encountered.

After RFD, we drove to Beverly Hills and stopped at a tiny hole-in-the-wall called Sprinkles, a cupcake bakery. My sister needed to get a dozen for a special occasion. The queue was outside the door and down the street. This place has always had a cult following, but recently it was mentioned on Oprah so now it’s legendary. I really shouldn’t eat cupcakes (!), but I took a bite of my sister’s red velvet cupcake with cream cheese frosting and it was super yummy. However, I still prefer the Buttercup Bake Shop in New York, whose cupcakes are also much cuter. Cuteness cannot be underestimated when it comes to evaluating cupcakes.

So if you’ve been following my trip to LA so far, you know that the highlights have revolved around food. There aren’t too many things I’ve missed about America, but I’ve missed the food.

Tags: Real Food Daily, Sprinkles, vegan

28 July, 2006 | 1 Comment

We drove around Beverly Hills this afternoon, only getting out of the car to buy cupcakes (my sister) and pee (me). The whole place reeks of pretentiousness and we couldn’t get out of there fast enough. We saw one woman who was so anorexic, my sister said she didn’t even cast a shadow. And she didn’t!

I was hoping to see a celebrity – a good one like Johnny Depp – but had to settle for Amanda Peet. However, I like seeing movie stars in person because without make-up and lighting, they really don’t look so hot. (Okay, they look sorta ugly.) It’s good for one’s self-esteem.

27 July, 2006 | 3 Comments

The highlight of my day so far was going to Whole Foods. Pure bliss. I have a smoothie and salmon rolls and other stuff. I’m camped on the sofa with magazines and watching TV. My sister is editing a music video today and I’m pleased to just do nothing. I’m tired and I feel drained. Right now I’m stealing wireless belonging to Mr. Flores. It goes in and out. If I owe you an e-mail, I’m working on it. I promise.

27 July, 2006 | 4 Comments

Ahhhhhh. No more hall of residence “bed” — a dinky mattress on a junky metal frame. Last night I slept in a queen size bed with a…drumroll…box spring! The sleep of the angels…in the city of angels.

I was very sad to check out of the hall yesterday, but now I’m back in grown-up world. Feels damn good.

27 July, 2006 | 4 Comments

safe and sound and tired.

more later!

26 July, 2006 | 2 Comments

there are men walking around terminal 1 at heathrow holding machine guns, their fingers on the triggers. i wonder if this is necessary?

the staff here pronounce los angeles as los angeleeeeze, not the correct way of los angelessss. i hope no one misses their flight because of this mispronunciation.

when the guy at security asked everyone to remove their keys from their pockets, i realized that i don’t possess a single key. i turned the key to my flat in this morning and now i’m homeless for the next five weeks. rootless. free as a bird. i know i’m supposed to be reforming my vagabond self, but i may as well enjoy this while i can. [i find it mildly intoxicating.]

because i’m homeless, i have a lot of luggage. this is a heads up to those of you who will be picking me up from various airports. i didn’t even try to pack light because i knew i would fail. i’m not quite sure how i made it to the airport this morning all by myself. when i got to the russell square station, the guy who opened the gate for me said “you’ll survive somehow, don’t worry.”

on the platform, i ran into a rather chatty guy heading home to denver. he asked me whether my stay in london had been business or pleasure.

how am i supposed to answer that?

25 July, 2006 | 3 Comments

It was a good day.

By happy coincidence, an American friend of mine is in London tonight. We had a nice long dinner at an Italian restaurant. (Neither of us had the energy to do anything more adventurous. As for me, I’m utterly exhausted.) It was strangely comforting to be around someone from home, someone who knew me before I came to London. We ate across the street from the British Library, my old stomping ground. While I always thought of it as an ugly building, tonight in the summer twilight it looked gorgeous. On the way home I felt a bit weepy. I still feel that way now, but it’ll pass.

In a previous post, I mentioned my pregnant friend here in the hall. She had her baby this past weekend and today I saw the little lass for the first time. The baby’s conception and birth have almost book-ended my stay in London and seeing her today brought my time here full circle in a way I can’t describe. She was having her very first outing this afternoon, a stroll around Brunswick Square. You can’t see a brand new baby and not think of beginnings and fresh starts. This symbol is particularly meaningful to me right now, given what I’ve been going through lately. It’s a memory I’ll carry with me for a while.

I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to focus on my fear of flying too much. That’s good. I hope my British Airways pilots are home right now asleep, not out getting drunk. (Why does my mind always go to the bad place?)

I’ll write when I get to Los Angeles!

25 July, 2006 | 6 Comments

I am now officially packed and ready to go. I can hear the cries of disbelief from across the Atlantic. That’s right, bitches. I only went a little nuts this time and none of you were even here to witness it. I won’t spend my last day in London in a panicked frenzy — what a relief! All of my boxes were just picked up and will be stored for a few weeks, then shipped:

The bad news is that when this stuff arrives in Paris, I have to carry it up 4 flights of stairs all by my lonesome. Who wants to come to Paris to help me? Any takers?

25 July, 2006 | 1 Comment

I didn’t have time to sell my TV before moving, so I gave it to the Middle Eastern guy who works at the reception desk. He said I would be rewarded on the day of judgment and that God would bless me. It’s only 8:00 a.m. and I’ve already scored major points in heaven. What have you done today?

24 July, 2006 | Comments

Mom: “Your dad and I just read about your meltdown on your blog.”

Me: “Did you think I was going off the deep end?”

Mom: “No, we just laughed because we know you. But other people might take it seriously.”

24 July, 2006 | 2 Comments

I just called the woman who owns the apartment I’m going to be renting in Paris. We’ve never spoken before. I was very excited to impress her with my French, so when she answered her mobile I began to speak. She immediately cut me off. “I hear your accent,” she said. “You can speak English.” Wah! I thought my French accent sounded exactly like Clotilde’s, the woman on my French Conversation CD. Clearly it needs work.

24 July, 2006 | 9 Comments

If my grandfather the ex-Marine were alive today, he’d surely tell me I’m a short-timer now, about to ship out. It was a favorite phrase of his and I always think of it at times like these. I am a short-timer indeed.

This morning for the last time I did laundry in the skanky mildew-stench infested pit that passes for the laundry room in this dump, where you have to leave your clothes in the dryer for two hours just so they get sorta dry. My apartment in Paris has a washer/dryer! I may just die of happiness.

After I ate breakfast this morning, instead of washing the fork I used, I threw it in the rubbish bin.

Today in the Russell Square station, I realized that after Wednesday I will no longer get to witness my favorite tube-related phenomenon: When you’re in the lift at Russell Square, some boob always rushes to push the lift doors open at the last minute (heaven forbid they may have to wait for the next one). And as they step into the lift, everyone turns around and gives them the evil eye of shame. I love that.

While departing Russell Square station this afternoon, I realized with great sadness that I will not get to achieve my longstanding dream of riding the Piccadilly Line to its eastern-most destination: Cockfosters. It sounds like such a magical place.

After complaining too many times over the past year that there is no supermarket in this neighbourhood, a brand new sparkling Waitrose just opened up literally right around the corner. Bastards.

When I got home this afternoon, there was an e-mail from my boss from my web-based job. She wrote to thank me for continuing to go above and beyond in my work. This was completely unexpected. It brought tears to my eyes. Okay, I’m a dork, but it’s just been that kinda week. So if you’re so inclined, pay someone a compliment. You just never know how much it might mean to them.

23 July, 2006 | Comments

Apparently, my previous post gave some people the mistaken impression that I was about to jump off the nearest tall building.  No no no.  If I were the type of person to do something like that, I would have already done it.  Everything is back to normal chez moi. Things have been returned to their rightful 21st-century order: I have light and a creaky desk fan blowing hot air in my face (but it’s better than nothing). Major meltdown averted.  Everything is almost packed up and ready for the movers, though I did put them off until Tuesday after the hell that was today.

23 July, 2006 | 3 Comments

I’m circling the airport of Meltdown City. Not sure if this puppy is gonna land yet. We’ll see.

The power is out in a large part of London today. My neighborhood is dark right now. I’ve had no electricity or internet service or hot water for almost the whole day. I’m not sure how/why these things are all linked and went kaput at once. For whatever reason the phone is working, I guess so you can call people and complain about how bad the day sucks. I really wish I knew what was happening — there have been tons of sirens all day and helicopters flying overhead.

It’s already been a loooong hot week and now this! I’ve been trying to get packed up over the last few days and the heat has sapped the little energy I have to devote to this project in the first place. Today is the last day I have to pack everything that’s being shipped to France and what a day it’s been. No fan to keep me even a little cool, no ability to cook anything, having to take a freezing shower in the darkness, having to walk up six flights of stairs every time I need to go out. Forgive me for admitting this, but I really just want to cry. I’m at Starbucks right now because I had a hard deadline for my web-based job. I can’t be without the internet, not even for one day. Lucky me! I’m using up the rest of my connection time to write this sad, sad post, which really serves no purpose except to spread misery and bum people out.

I’m not just being a whiny brat. Everyone I encounter is pissy. It really has been a nasty week. On my way over here, I saw a young Australian woman. She was outside the Russell Square tube station, which is gated shut (as is King’s Cross, Euston, etc.). This woman was obviously hoping to catch the Piccadilly Line to Heathrow. When she realized the tube was shut down, she dropped all of her luggage in the street and screamed: “I hate this fucking city! I want to go home!” It was quite spectacular. While I don’t agree with her sentiment, on presentation alone I must give her ten out of ten.

[This guy has just sat down next to me. He asked me a question, heard I was American, and now he wants to know why i'm living here. Uh, I'm a student. Now he wants to know what I'm studying. Literature. Now he wants to know what newspaper I read. WTF? Can't I have my rant in freakin' peace?]

So anyway, I am about to venture home into the great unknown. Let’s hope for the best, shall we?

22 July, 2006 | 1 Comment

I recently had a medical appointment and the women at reception asked me where I was from. I usually just say “Boston” since that’s where I lived last. Upon hearing this news, they all started raving about how much they love the Boston accent. Yes, I swear. I looked around, half-expecting Ashton Kutcher to jump out. I mean, it had to be a joke.

I explained to the ladies that to an American ear, the Boston accent is about as pleasing as ten sets of fingernails running down a chalkboard. The sound of a cat in heat is like Chopin compared to it. I explained that people go to vocal coaches to get rid of this blight on oral communication. But they wouldn’t believe me, so I’m pretty sure they have no idea what a Boston accent really sounds like. I only lived in Boston for four years and I would have sooner jumped off the Longfellow Bridge than let phrases like “wicked smaat” [translation: wicked smart] creep into my vocabulary.

Not surprisingly, the Boston accent and Northeastern US accents in general are actually similar to the English accent. The chief similarity is the dropping of the letter “r,” usually after certain vowel configurations. But the overall sound is quite different, obviously. The Boston accent is very nasally.

A handy pronunciation guide:

Normal English (the kind I speak, all letters pronounced): Park the car in Harvard Yard

English English: Pahk the Cah in Hahvahd Yahd

Boston English: Pak the Caa in Havid Yad

New York English: Screw you and your caa

Those of us who are physically capable of pronouncing the 18th letter of the alphabet when it follows a vowel often have a difficult time understanding those whose alphabet consists of only 25 letters. What’s so scary about the letter “r”? She don’t bite.

Because of all this, no one here says my last name “correctly.” My name contains a very hard “r” sound, preceded by a vowel, so people here pronounce the “r” as if it were an “h.” And it sounds like a totally different name to me. To be fair, my surname could not be more English and it seems to be even more popular here than in the US, so perhaps everyone here is saying it right and I am saying it wrong. But it’s strange to hear your own name pronounced in such a different way by fellow English-speaking people. Many people in Boston also dropped the “r,” but for whatever reason it didn’t sound as foreign. The vast majority of the time, whenever I tell people here my surname, they don’t understand me. I want to say “How can you not understand me? I’m pronouncing every single letter!”

I guess I should admit to at least one of my verbal quirks, so I don’t seem completely monstrous. I guess the worst one would have to be overuse of the word “like” in casual conversation. I usually don’t even notice when I slip into this mode, though I’ve become much more aware of it since I arrived in London. I fear I may sound like a ditz sometimes when I speak, but it’s a deeply ingrained habit that’s hard to shake – perhaps the inevitable result of being a native of Southern California. I haven’t, like, decided whether I should, like, try to stop saying “like,” or if I should just, like, embrace it, like, you know?