A while ago my sister and I decided to start taking #AsianSquatBombs because it cracks us up. Here are 24 photos, mostly of me. Some are of my sister and parents, and two are with my coworker MY.
I’m in LA today; just got my haircut in Koreatown and now I’m at Vita. I bought my coffee beans and am cooling out now. Writing. Will meet Dr. J for dinner later, and then pick up H from BUR, who is in town for a wedding. Disneylandia tomorrow.
I had planned a post about the way protests are going these days, about how the organized public demonstrations seem to be ineffectual. How people don’t seem have thought out the consequences; not ready to fill the jails, not really thinking about changing people’s minds, really with fear in their hearts. The best protests nowadays are the town halls, where people are yelling at their representatives to their faces.
Anyway, that post was going nowhere, I got bored of it.
I visited my folks in Las Vegas over the weekend. My mama scolded me for making the four hour drive in four hours, for driving too fast. I didn’t drive that fast, actually, I just didn’t stop for a tburrito in Thousand Palms.
I got to Vegas on Holy Thursday night. On Good Friday I treated my parents to Joe’s Crab Shack, which we had been wondering about for years. We finally went, and declared it to be bullshit. Bland. We wondered if they had washed the flavor out before serving it. At one point the manager came to scold my mama and I for not wearing our seafood bibs. Mama zoned out and I told the dude that it wasn’t our first rodeo. Dad told the manager to take a hike; it was hilarious. We spent the rest of the night analyzing what was wrong with that place, and the following day we went to the Canto place we always go to and ordered a salt and pepper crab, to erase the memory of Joe’s.
I got back to the Coachella Valley on Easter Monday, and met up with Don D, who is in town for some sunshine. Apparently winter was bad back in Seattle, and everybody is starved for sunshine… these widespread stories of misery make me more homesick. Here I am, surrounded by sunshine, and I have stacks of papers to grade. All this wasted sunshine seems vulgar to me. Give me some gray skies, and I’ll finish my grading, maybe plan my classes, maybe stick to my nutrition program, get up in time for crossfit.
I have big plans for the summer. More on that later.
It’s been a while since I’ve blogged; I’ve been trying to keep my head above water teaching. I’ll blog more when my time is my own.
I’ve done a My Spots in Manhattan and a My Spots in Shanghai. For some reason I didn’t get around to a My Spots in Seattle, or Taipei, or Manila. Maybe someday. Maybe I’ll even do one for the Coachella Valley. Who knows. Here goes:
NELA Athletics. My friend E told me once, with a far-away, misty look in his eye, “You never forget your first box….” I wrote about Crossfit once here, and again here. The day after elections I dropped by the old Merge (they re-branded as Northeast Los Angeles Athletics; NELA) to buy a T-shirt, for old times’s sake. People were doing squat snatches, and Coach MJ was there, and I thought, aw, I miss this place. Coach MJ is the one who used to give me extra reps, so I would cuss him out. They didn’t have a T-shirt in my size, so Coach Paul sent me one in the mail for free! I was a paying member there for two and a half months, and they’re still being nice to me. I loved that there was Sunday morning yoga, that I could catch a class on the hour AND on the half hour. I loved that they were effortless at being a diverse community; diverse in terms of culture and ethnicity, age, fitness level. I’m not sure I ever told them how comforting it was to work out with some brown people; it is Totally. Comforting. to not have to feel like a pioneer; blazing a trail for Filipino Americans every waking second.
India Sweets and Spices. All vegetarian Indian cafeteria. On a day when I was hungry, I’d get Combo #7: two curries, a scoop of rice, salad, yogurt, a pickle and a soda and it would set me back $7.00. On a regular day I’d get a Combo #3: two curries and a scoop of rice (I had to specify one scoop, because they default give you two), and they would charge me less than $5.o0. I would eat there every day, and I lost a lot of weight. They were super nice to me, too; they got to know my tastes… except the weekday afternoon lady, the daughter of the owners, never guessed correctly what I wanted. The curries were different every day. Usually there were homeless people eating there, or hanging out; they are welcome there and I think the family offers meals to hungry people. They are Hindus, there’s an altar in the dining room and they celebrate Hindu festivals. When some Indian Muslim customers came in for the first time, EVERYONE WAS SO HAPPY; the Hindus, the Muslims, the homeless lady, the chubby Filipino. It’s not the most elegant place to see in LA but when my sister came to visit, she understood quickly why I ate there every day; the food was good and it felt good to be there.
Little Tokyo Marketplace. They have free parking, and it’s easy. The banchan deli is good, the fruits and veggies are good, the fish is good. I get to drive through Chinatown and past Homeboy Industries to get there. There’s a Daiso next door. I stop here on my monthly supply pilgrimages nowadays; I miss going here every week.
Jason Meyers Music. Jason gives private guitar lessons and runs the Atwater Village Ukulele Club. He’s an honest-to-God musician, so it’s one ukulele club that’s a lot of playing instead of a lot of yapping and mediocre singing.
Pescadores de Ensenada. These guys are the first fish tacos I discovered in LA, and also the best; I’m saying this after exhaustive research. They only appear at the Sunday morning Atwater Village Farmer’s Market. They are just the best, a delicious light tempura fry. They also make grilled fish, which is rather fish-forward; also a tempura fried shrimp. They’ll also give you a tostada and spread frijolito on it if you ask. Yes, I ate my share of Ricky’s and Best Fish Taco; Pescadores is better.
Mariscos Mi Lindo Sinaloa. This place wasn’t spectacular but it was across the street from my apartment, and I keep going back, even though I don’t live there anymore.
Itocco Hair Salon. Kelly makes me look like a movie star, best haircuts I’ve ever had. I found the place just by driving into Koreatown on Western, finding a place with free parking, and then wandering inside to ask for a haircut. Every time Kelly cuts my hair, I look into the mirror astonished by what she has accomplished, and then think it was all because of parking; a true Los Ángeles miracle. I drive to LA every month now to get my hair cut from her, still. Some people ask me why I don’t get my hair cut in the Coachella Valley, and the answer is a definitive NO. There is a reason Asian Americans all had the same bad haircut in the 80s, and it’s because we hadn’t found Asian people who could cut our black Asian hair to suit our fat American faces.
Mediterranean Delight. This might have been the one the few lunch spots near the office that I actually liked (besides Lola’s and El Morfi Grill). Good hummus, good falafel, good mahi mahi, salad without a sugary dressing.
El Ruby Café. This spot is a hole in the wall but the chile rojo is dark and smokey, slowly burning a hole in the back of your throat the way chile rojo should. I’ve tasted nothing like that in Seattle.
Pacific Fish Center. I go here to eat a crab with my friends. Tell the ajuma, “Large crab” and she calls back to the kitchen “¡Una jaiba, grande!” and the dude calls back with the price of the crab. Then you go sit, and when the hot crab comes to your table, you can tie on a bib and go at it with both hands. Koreans like that place because it was featured on a TV show in South Korea. Filipinos like that place because you can bring your own suka and make your own sawsawan. By the way, the steamed crab comes to you in sections, and they hand you a mallet if you’re one of those people that doesn’t know how to crack a crab with your teeth. Last time I was there, someone sitting behind me was hammering at the crab way too hard, I flinched at the sound because I could hear that juicy crab meat getting crushed and ruined. I asked my friends, “Is it… some white people behind me?” That’s probably unfair of me but that crab will crack open with a tap-tap-tap; the lady behind me was doing Hulk smash! Maybe she was working through some issues.
Quality Seafood. My sister and I are some oyster snobs so we only look at the oyster counter to sneer and make up condescending hashtags. Go to Seattle for oysters. In LA, get a medium sized sea urchin and split it between the two of you. They’ll steam you some clams, they’ll fry things in butter, it’s all there. But the story of LA seafood is the sea urchin.
La Tostadería. This counter in Grand Central Market is really a cevichería. There were a few places at the GCM that I wanted to try, even after I stopped eating land animals, but if there was an open stool, this is the only place I’d go.
There were other places I discovered, fancy bars that positive K took me too before ukulele club; fun dim sum places, and Taiwanese pubs in the San Gabriel Valley. There was a bowl of chili at that place in Burbank, the izakaya way way out in Little Osaka. Pupusas at the Watt’s farmer’s market. Boulevard Music where I bought my ukulele.
LA has good food, but the places are secret, and I left before I could develop a really precise food radar, like I had in Seattle. One thing I can tell you: burritos are good here, and I don’t even like burritos, and you can get a good one almost anywhere in LA. When in doubt, the King Taco carnitas burrito, ask for the chile rojo.
I’ve been doing Crossfit at Crossfit Merge now for about two and a half months, since mid April. It’s two short blocks from my apartment, and every time I walk to a class I feel a low-grade dread as I wonder how I’m going to fail or be humiliated.
Yesterday I was introduced to the GHD, the Glute-Hamstring Developer. Imagine feeding yourself feet-first into a giant pasta roller, your face toward the floor. Go into the pasta roller until it’s halfway up your quads, and from there, SUPPORTED BY YOUR QUADS, hip extensions: you straighten your back and then raise and lower your chest. It was terrifying, and I told the coach I was going to tip the apparatus forward, where I would fall on my face and break both my legs at the upper thigh. Coach said if that happened he’d let me go home early.
In between sets of hip extensions on the GHD, we were supposed to do “banded good-mornings” where you stand on a rubber band, squat down and hook it around your shoulders, and then use your glutes to stand up straight. I was pretty sure that the band was going to snap and fly sideways and flay my coach alive. Coach said if that happened he’d let me go home early.
So when I started doing crossfit, people that hadn’t done it themselves exhorted me not to do it; they said it’s a cult that forces you to injure yourself. One friend said it’s just a fad, our generation’s jazzercize. Two other friends have done crossfit; one who left because he kept injuring himself, and another who left because of injury but misses it terribly.
One of my friends, K, said that she went to the crossfit by my house, and she liked it a lot, that it was a different workout every day, and she wasn’t sure why she didn’t do it anymore. She said the atmosphere was very positive, and that it’s appropriate for all levels, and that it was right by my house.
So that’s when I signed up for Crossfit Merge; almost everybody warned me against end it, but K likes it and it was by my house. I signed up because it was by my house.
After the first intro class I was dizzy for over an hour, and all that first week I had to throw myself into chairs like Betty Davis, since I was too sore to lower myself with control. Sitting down on to the toilet was the worst, and I wished my bathroom had the big handrails like in the wheelchair-access bathroom stalls. I messaged positive K and asked her if she was this sore after her first week of Crossfit Merge, and she said Crossfit Merge? No, the place I went to was All About You Fitness, right by your house.
Once I realized I had failed to join the place K was so positive about, I thought about switching over, but by then I was already liking Crossfit Merge. They are teaching me new exercises, looking out for my safety, and are encouraging and motivating without being drill sergeants. If someone has an injury or is too inexperienced to do an exercise safely, they are quick to offer a scaled-down version of the exercise, an appropriate alternative.
It’s impressive, actually, how fast they offer you a scaled-down alternative when you ask for one, and that’s one of the key reasons why this is a good program for me. I need a good coach in the room because there’s just too much technical knowledge involved in exercise for me to carry around in my head; it is a lot to remember. Just yesterday it dawned on me that a power clean = a deadlift + a hang clean. Is that right? I DON’T KNOW. My brain is full of French relative pronouns and Italian irregular past participles. I don’t know the weightlifting moves; the coach knows. Ask coach.
By the way, I noticed on my first day that the coaches all look like they’re wearing that fake superhero armor; the men and the women. Except it’s not armor, it’s their muscles, with no help from the fabric. I don’t want to be overly creepy about that, but I do feel like I made it in life when these kids with movie star physiques are paid to be kind to me.
Just a quick note about squatting: there’s a lot of squatting involved in crossfit, and it turns out that I have a substantial cultural advantage in my ability to squat. We work on squat position occasionally, and I’m able to go heels flat, full planting-rice right away, it’s a relaxed position for me, you might as well give me laundry to sort while I’m down there. My coach said once, “That’s a deep squat, JP,” and I was like, “guh, this is how Filipinos wait for the bus.” I’ll smoke a cigarette in that position. The only thing is, squatting is a tense position in weight lifting; my Ilocana massage therapist warned me not to go all they way to “picking sweet potatoes” because then I’d be working harder to lift those weights.
I have a lot of silly stories and brilliant thoughts about crossfit now, but I know it can be off-putting to prosthelatize for the injury cult. Suffice it to say, that I like Crossfit, for all the same reasons that I hate going to a regular gym–I didn’t get into that here but if you want to know, ask me in the comments.
If you want to join a crossfit box, read the Yelp reviews and look for comments that talk about how safety-oriented, and how kind the coaches are. Coaches that make you feel bad or let you get injured don’t get your money. Expect to be debilitatingly sore the first week, and if you’re as out of shape as I was, dizzy for an hour after the first workout. If you want to know more, just ask me in the comments, because oh, I’ll talk about it…
Here’s that heartbreaking article that says that eating fewer calories than you expend is really the only way to to lose weight; that exercise is good for health but doesn’t directly make you thinner.
Here’s what I’ve been doing to create a calorie deficit lately:
Ok, here’s specifically what I’m eating.
6:45 am — Breakfast before crossfit. It’s usually a Glucerna meal replacement shake that the dietitian told me to start doing to get ready for bariatric surgery, and weeks of all-liquid diet. There’s also coffee: fresh roast, ground on the spot, french press. No cream or sugar.
11:00 am — “Haimaiketako.” An entire stalk of celery, sliced into sticks. Or a few celery sticks and some hummus. Or a green salad with some tuna on it. It’s always vegetables.
1:00 pm — Bento lunch. I try to make a lunch that I don’t have to refrigerate or microwave, so that I don’t have to talk to coworkers in the break room. Usually I just grab a bunch of banchan from the Korean supermarket deli and cram it into the bento and call it lunch. Here are some examples.
Sometimes I don’t get the chance to go shopping or pack a bento in the morning. On those days I usually go to the Middle Eastern place and get either a Veggie Plate or a Grilled Mahi plate. It’s too much food for me, I don’t eat all the rice or salad.
Anytime — Rescue snack. It’s usually a handful of roasted almonds.
7:00 pm — Dinner. When I first started I ate a lot of ratatouille and salad. Then I stared going to the all-vegetarian Indian cafeteria down the street, and just eating curries and dosas.
If I’m hungry before bedtime: some kind of soup, like miso, or a vegan soup from the Italian lady at the Sunday farmer’s market.
I don’t know how long the breakfast shake thing is going to last. It’s a convenient thing to do in the morning but I’d honestly rather fry an egg. We’ll see.
Next time: the crossfit post.
Last year at this time (May 2015) my doctor in Seattle said that my hemoglobin A1c was 9.4%, and that it was time for me to start insulin therapy; I would have to inject myself with insulin twice a day, through a syringe. Wait, I said, I’m going to quit my unhealthy job, move to LA, and go back to a carless lifestyle, like when I lived in Manhattan and Shanghai, where my diabetes was under control. The doctor agreed to hold off on insulin therapy, telling me that moving cities is a bad time to start insulin anyway.
In November I met with my new doctor in LA for the first time; he said nice to meet you, your A1C has dropped to 8.4% which is a nice drop but still dangerous, have you thought about gastric bypass. And I said, oh, doctor, nice to meet you, I’m JP.
Two months later, I told the doctor I was ready to think about getting my stomach cut out, and he sent me to a bariatric surgeon, who sent me to a dietitian. Because of my diabetes I qualified as a candidate for gastric bypass, but they don’t just hand it out. They want to make sure you’re not going to be one of the people that gets the surgery and then gains all the weight back anyway, which is a mess. This was in January, and they also did an A1C test and didn’t tell me the results.
At my first meeting with the dietitian, she asked me what I had eaten the day before, and when I told her, she said, ” I notice you didn’t have ANY FRUIT!” and then meta-morphed into a werewolf. The werewolf went into a well-rehearsed monologue about whole grains and protein-centric eating.
For my part, my eyes glowed orange and flames shot around me as I shook the earth with the words, “WHITE PEOPLE HAVE THE MOST DEMORALIZING HEALTH FOOD ON THE PLANET.” As I said the word “planet, ” I hovered about a meter above the Living Simply sofa. We didn’t speak for the next twenty minutes, listening to a windstorm outside the shuttered window, sitting quietly.
That was the first meeting. Weeks later at the second meeting, I told her, “I’ve stopped eating land animals, and I’m starting crossfit in the next cycle.” For her part, she said she thought a lot about how ethnocentric a lot of her information was, and thanked me for bringing it up. She hadn’t realized how most of the industry’s recommendations were by and for white Americans, and that for people like me, changing cultures to eat healthy was an added stress.
Last week (May 2016) I had another appointment with my doctor. He told me I had lost 15 pounds since my last visit and that my A1C way back in January was 7.4%, just above my target of 7.0% where it’s considered “well-controlled.” The following day I went for another blood draw.
The results from that blood draw came back this week: 6.7% “well-controlled.” I am no longer a candidate for insulin therapy. To celebrate, I ate a whole pecan pie.*
In future posts: the land animals, the crossfit.
*I did not actually eat any pecan pie.
It’s 11pm and I didn’t do laundry this weekend, and my kitchen is a mess, and I don’t have any lunches ready for this coming week. In other words, it was a great weekend.
Saturday morning I went to a crossfit workout, and I learned about the insanities of “Turkish Get Ups.” I have a hard time getting up from the kneel. We also did snatches, and coach J made me take the weights off my bar, which is FINE WITH ME. My quads are starting to rebel against their new job in my life, which is to constantly get up from a squat while my back is straight. These workouts are hard but I enjoy the endorphins afterwards, that feeling of well being. It’s the same feeling I get after an ugly cry, the kind with uncontrollable sobbing.
After that, I made bought some ono fish and baked them up for tacos, brought the whole kit to M&F’s house for JB’s big birthday party. It was supposed to have been a beach party but the cloudy weather made it a backyard firepit party. I learned that when LA people start a fire, they buy a cardboard box filled with firewood, which has some kindling in it. At first none us knew about the kindling because we all failed to read the box, and I offered to bust up some kindling if I could use a hatchet, which is a chore I kind of like to do. They all looked at me like I was an alien from an other planet and brought out a box of “fire starter” which is how they do it here, it’s a package from the convenience store that you light on fire, and that starts the kindling which starts the wood. I felt I had stepped into the future. I couldn’t believe there was an actual product that saved us from using wadded up news paper like some cave people, and that firewood and kindling came from a box. The package of firewood was marked as from Madera, California, by the way, and all the Spanish speakers winked at each other. Haha, Madera.
By the way, I think my fish tacos were a hit. The fish market was a little reluctant to sell me ono fish for tacos, which further confirmed my suspicion that they don’t know much about fish. Good product though.
Today I went to a yoga class at the box, my first yoga class ever. I liked it mostly, it was strenuous and relaxing at the same time. For the most part I was limber enough and strong enough for the class, but my knees didn’t like being in table position or, even worse, being in a tripod position. These yoga sessions are once a week, I would consider going more. After yoga I got a mysoor dosa and then hit the road for San Diego.
I met JG in Del Mar at a highly rated taqueria which I deemed mediocre. After fish tacos we walked around La Jolla, got a beer in Pacific Beach, and then a sushi restaurant in downtown San Diego. JG is in town for a surfing vacation, it was good to see him as always.
My knees feel a little bruised but we’ll see if I’m up for more crossfit tomorrow. I have a feeling it’s going to be a big week.
Look here’s a bunch of common nouns. I’m listing them with definite article say, which means “the“ for singular objects.
The list is short because this post isn’t really about nouns, it’s about making the linky-link with other nouns and adjectives.
Some Common Nouns
So if you want to link any of these nouns together in a noun phrase relationship, you have to use a linky-link. Here are the noun linky-links in Pangasinan:
Linky-links for Pangasinan:
Now you can link a bunch of those nouns above together.
You may have noticed that my English equivalents all came up as possessive apostrophe-“s,” which is one way we link nouns together in English. It’s not the only way we do it in English, so don’t get too hung up it. What you need to know is that you need a suffix or a particle to link nouns in a noun phrase relationship.
If you’re from Santo Tomás, La Unión, you can use a slightly different set of linkers:
Here’s what you get:
There, easy. If you want Santo Tomás flavored Pangasinan like I do, you’re going to end up having to know the standard way too, so you can understand your friends in Dagupan. It’s a minor difference.
Now that you know how to link nouns to each other, it’s time to link adjectives to nouns. The rules will look very familiar.
Some Common Adjectives
Ok, now you can link these handy adjectives to the noun above! You can say things like Say baleg ya abong, say pilipinon ugaw, say andeket ya pusit, say narasay ugaw, say dugyota pusa.
Try saying these things: The white house, the greedy squid, the naughty dog, the rude friend, the big belly. Make your own combinations!
At first, you’ll be looking back and forth between lists, and using analysis muscles to figure out which linky-link to use. Keep practicing until you’ve got linky-links in muscle memory.
There are a couple of more selfies to share from my time in Vegas. Mama and I went to Downtown Vegas on my last night there; played some video poker at a bar, and then walked along Fremont Street. Then we drove down Fremont street, which used to be dangerous, but it was several blocks before we saw any police activity!
The next morning I started my drive back to LA. I stopped in Baker to clean my windshield, and in Barstow for a double-double animal style.
Driving in the Mojave desert is a trip. There are parts of the drive where your windshield is a huge view of a desert planet, and you’re just skimming across a narrow ribbon of engineering. Sometimes your on a flat, and the mountians ring the horizon, and the road looks like it goes to the edge of the earth. Other times you’re in the mountain passes and you can see for sixty miles; so far that the distance starts to fade into the vapor mirage.
The high desert ends with Victorville, and then it’s the San Bernadino Forest. After that it’s Planet Freeway.
I have to end this blog post because the picture above is making me hungry.
My sister spoke at the now-famous social security rally where Bernie Sanders got pre-empted by #blacklivesmatter activists. As soon as that was over, my sister and I bolted; I said “goodbye, Seattle” and we hit the road.
We stopped for coffee in Olympia, which is our hometown, but I barely remember the place. My sister had to give me directions to a coffee shop.
Our next stop was Salem, Oregon. We found a Korean restaurant and ordered too much food. Soondubu, grilled mackeral, mool naeng myun. They were super nice there, and they gave us a sweet orange, peeled and shaded with cocktail umbrella.
Later, we got to our hotel in Eugene and crashed. The next morning I got up early, but my sister slept in, so I gassed up the car and did some laundry and some light exploring, got coffee, etc. There was a little bit of culture clash when I got out of my car and reached for my wallet to pump my own gas… and the attendant called from the other side of the lot, “I’ll be right with you!” and I remembered that regular people don’t pump their own gas in Oregon, it’s a thing. “Forgot I was in Oregon,” I said to the attendant. He wasn’t that impressed.
We had a long drive ahead of us, so we got a big American breakfast at an Elmer’s Diner. Doesn’t look like much!
We hit a rest stop somewhere along the way, and took this selfie at a pitstop. By the way, my sister’s guns are straight fire and not at all being pushed up by the car door.
We stopped for lunch in Ashland, Oregon, and had lunch on the Calle Guanajuato, which is a fancyish pedestrian lane. I had a burger at some restaurant where the servers were attractive and not very sharp. I think by this time I was starting to feel a tickle in my throat.
Before leaving Ashland, we took a drink at the Lithia Spring, which is naturally fizzy and high in sulfur. I’ve had it before, and I warned my sister that at first it is gross, but then you keep trying it to remember how gross it is, which is enjoyable.
My sister said that it tasted like pennies in a pickle jar, like blood, like a bloody nose… Eventually the little bottle that we took lost its fizz and turned green, so I threw it out at a rest stop in Dunnigan, California.
We had dinner there, and breakfast the next morning, and then we hit the road. By then, I had a full-blown cold. We stopped in Atascadero, CA for an hour or so too see my sister’s friend and her new baby. They had a beautiful house and a beautiful mellow new son, and I felt bad for being sick. We did take pictures but I didn’t take any with my phone, so nothing for the blog.
Not long after that, we stopped in Los Olivos and bought some wine and olives for pasalubong. As we got to Pismo Beach I asked my sister, “how long until we get to the coast?” She answered that we were about to see the money shot, and then bam, the mountains parted and the Pacific Ocean view filled the windshield, as we came down the mountain.
We made it to J’s house in Pacific Palisades that night, and I was too sick to be coherent, so I crashed while my sister stayed up and chatted with J and her sister L and the three dogs and the two boys. It was so so so nice of J to let us crash there! How do I not have any photos on my phone of our stay there?
The next morning I got gas (big mistake in Pacific Palisades) and then took my sister with me to go apartment hunting. We saw some gross places in Glendale. It was discouraging. After we saw the last apartment, I asked my sister to take me to Griffith Park Observatory.
Below is a photo with the Hollywood sign (top left corner, white smudge in the hillside), plus a selfie on the rooftop and one from inside the Planetarium. We saw a show about Viking astronomy which was narrated by a live actor and over-animated.
Later we met up with my sister’s friends for dinner, and took these selfies.
The next day was the day my sister flew out of Burbank, so rather than resume the apartment hunt, I declared a goof-off day. So my sister took me to her favorite seafood market on Redondo Pier and we ate uni.
My sister saved room for a corndog at Craig’s Hot Dog. As he was hand-dipping it, he told us that the whole Pier was going to get fancied up and redone, and that he probably wouldn’t be there by next year. He said that people wanted to upscale it, like Pike Place Market in Seattle. Obviously, these people don’t know shit about Pike Place Market in Seattle, which is textbook case for NOT upscaling.
After Redondo we had time to kill, so we played a game called “Drive Through Neignborhoods We’ve Heard of.” We drove through Manhattan Beach (didn’t find parking), Compton, South Central, Watts, and wound our way up to Koreatown, and by then it was time for lunch, so we stopped at a ramen place and got rice and takoyaki… everything but ramen!
I went back to J’s place to crash, and had a lovely dinner al fresco near the pool with J and the charming dogs.
The next morning I dragged myself out of bed and drove another hour back to Glendale to resume the apartment hunt. I parked at a cafe and started calling places on Zillow.
The first place to call me back was my first choice; 30 minutes walk to work, all luxury amenities, a little far from the trendy bars so no dorm-like shennanigans. I went to see the place, and it was awesome in every way! Except for electric stove, which I will adapt to, ugh. Anyway, I applied for the place and got accepted, so mission accomplished; I have an apartment in Glendale now.
I drove the hour back to J’s house and packed my things, said goodbye and headed to Vegas. Here’s a selfie I took at the bluff over the Pacific at Pacific Palisades before heading off.
Next: Quality Time in Vegas.