Japanese Garden + Balboa Park

Tucked away behind a security fence and a guard presence is a peaceful Japanese garden occupying 6 1/2 acres. We were quizzed more thoroughly by the guard at the front gate, than we were by security at City Hall leaving us a little puzzled as to why all this security was needed just for a garden. Well it happens that this particular Japanese garden was designed by Dr. Koichi Kawana for the Tillman Water Reclamation Plant. Ah, perhaps that's why it's called the "Garden of Water and Fragrance." Though the fragrance was more noisome than odiferous. According to the excellent and free guide book given out at the gift shop the purpose of having a Japanese garden next to a reclamation plant "was to demonstrate a positive use of reclaimed water in what is generally agreed to be a delicate environment: a Japanese Garden."

After following the tour laid out in the guide book, you come to the reclamation plant's administration building. The guide book says of this building that "if one uses his imagination, the building resembles a waterfall." Quite so. You can climb to a viewing platform that overlooks the process of reclaiming sewage water. The water reclaimed from this plant not only keeps the garden flourishing it also keeps Lake Balboa in existence.

Some of the more striking features of the garden are the Dry Garden (the middle picture above), the ginkgo grove, the coots and cranes inhabiting the lake, the wisteria arbor, the tea house, and the waterfall (the far left photo above). Also quite lovely was the Zig Zag bridge through a marsh covered with hundreds of irises. The guide book said the Japanese believed at one time that "if chased by evil spirits, you will be protected since evil spirits can only go in a straight line and will be unable to follow you around the corners of the bridge." Good to know. My only complaint with the design was the overabundance of azaleas and an insipid bush with pink flowers that is ubiquitous in SoCal gardens. Despite that minor flaw, the garden is worth a stroll. The entrance fee is $3, but call ahead to make sure they're really open. They say you can come by between Noon and 3:15pm M-TH, but that may not always be so.



Across the street from the Japanese Garden is Lake Balboa Recreational Park. A beautiful park that has cherry trees (or what look like cherry trees when in bloom) planted around the perimeter of the lake. It's only 1.3 miles around the lake and makes for a lovely stroll through scenery that at times reminded me of Gainsborough paintings.

The garden and park together make for a delightful afternoon outdoors. And once again Thorne behaved beautifully. I think she enjoys these outings as much as I do.

City Hall + Bottega Louie's

The trip to Los Angeles City Hall was a rip roaring success! We drove into downtown planning to park at Union Station and then take the Metro Red Line to our various destinations. I'd read online that parking was $10 for all day, but when we got there is was actually $14. That was too steep for me, so it was fortunate that Karen had seen a sign for a $5/a day lot right next door at the United States Post Office. The parking attendant was a toothless old black man with a cheeky grin and helpful attitude. The perfect start to our adventure.

We walked to City Hall from the Civic Center metro stop. After passing through security we were left alone to do as we pleased. Kind of strange to be allowed to wander about unattended in this hyper secure mode we now live in.

We rode up in ancient elevators switching at the 22nd floor to get the express elevator to the 26th floor. From there we took the stairs (though an elevator is available) to the 27th floor. Not a soul was about except us. And you get all of this for FREE! I highly recommend adding this destination to any tour of Los Angeles. Below is a view of the city skyline. The above picture is from the third floor Rotunda.


From there we walked down Broadway, passing the Grand Market and the Bradbury building, to get to the newly opened Bottega Louie restaurant. It's located at the corner of 7th /Grand conveniently close to the 7th street Metro station. I'd heard about Bottega Louie a couple months ago before it opened and wanted to check it out from the way it was described. Dark wood and gilt, but with high ceilings and clean white walls. A mix between modern and European bistro in my mind. The restaurant seats around 185 people so that gives you an idea of the size. I was planning on just eating in their cafe since Thorne was with us. As we were standing in the entry way deciding what to do the hostess approached us and asked if we'd like to be seated in the restaurant. Since the place was enormous and there was quite a din from all the talking, I thought even if Thorne got fussy no one would hear her. So we dined in. No one batted an eye that I was bringing a baby into such a fine dining area. Everyone was so personable and helpful. Looking back I wonder if they thought I was a food blogger since I was taking so many photos.

The food was tasty and they serve complimentary sparkling water. That little detail alone made me happy. We had a yummy salad soused in a balsamic vinaigrette giving it a dirty appearance, thus no photo. We split that and a club sandwich. I thought the mustard spread on the sandwich to be a touch salty, but otherwise a good standard club. After that we splurged on dessert and got the oh so fabulous, swoon inducing, let me sing a song about it, Peanut Butter and Chocolate terrine. Layers of chocolate then peanut butter and then more chocolate with a drizzle of caramel and chocolate sauce. SO GOOD! Even Thorne was drooling over the concoction.


This Wednesday I'm heading to the opera to hear Wagner's Die Valkyrie and we'll be dining at Bottega Louie's beforehand. I'm sure their dinner service will be as accommodating as their lunch service. All in all a delightful day!

Easter Darling

From the 2009 Spring Collection, a lovely yellow vintage number that recalls happy Easter memories from our own childhoods. Originally made in the 1970's for Steve's sister Miriam, the dress passed to other girl cousins before arriving to adorn the sweet Thorne.

He is Risen!

"I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die." --Jesus the Christ (John 11:25,26)

I can say with Job (19:25) "I know that my Redeemer lives!"

Thank you Jesus!

That's My Girl!

Directly outside Thorne's window is a revving chainsaw and a tree munching machine eating Ficus branches yet she's sleeping soundly in her crib. Thorne is equally impervious to wailing sirens, Harley motorcycles, and quarreling lovers (and I don't mean me and Steve).

She does wake up when a pin drops.



That last sentence is a lie.

If it were true, I'd cry.

Nuts! or Why I Love Raymond Chandler

Ever since giving birth to Thorne, I've become a voracious reader of fiction. My latest literary conquests have been the Raymond Chandler oeuvre, the inimitable Philip Marlowe made famous by Humphrey Bogart in The Big Sleep (Chandler's first novel). Bogart has been one of my all time favorite old school Hollywood actors, but he is no Philip Marlowe. He was too old and too short to play the 6' 1/2"and 33 year old Marlowe of The Big Sleep. But, I digress. I can't believe I've waited this long to read a master of colorful description, crackling dialog, and and witty characterization. Nothing is more tedious to me than pages of description of the George Eliot variety, but in Chandler's hands description is tight and full of tasty bits. For example, here's Philip Marlowe describing a "bleach job" in the novel The Long Goodbye:

"She opened a mouth like a firebucket and laughed. That terminated my interest in her. I couldn't hear the laugh but the hole in her face when she unzippered her teeth was all I needed."

Here's another,

"She looked as if it would take a couple of weeks to get her dressed."

And another,

"There are blondes and blondes and it is almost a joke word nowadays....There is the blonde who gives you the up-from-under look and smells lovely and shimmers and hangs on your arm and is always very very tired when you take her home. She makes that helpless gesture and has that goddamned headache and you would like to slug her except that you are glad you found out about the headache before you invested too much time and money and hope in her. Because the headache will always be there, a weapon that never wears out and is as deadly as the bravo's rapier or Lucrezia's poison vial."

Addictive stuff is Chandler's writing. All his works are littered with these descriptive jems making it an absulute pleasure to read.

A note of warning: do not read his short stories first. Chandler recycled plots from his short stories into his novels and nothing is more disappointing than to settle in to devour a novel only to have already read 1/3 of it or more.

Explorations

Thorne is my intrepid traveler sidekick in our explorations of Los Angeles and environs. We've been having grand adventures together since she will now take a bottle delivering me from the hassle of trying to breastfeed her in public. She didn't like it and neither did I. So, once she was willing to feed from a bottle, our options for outings multiplied. We went to Reagan's Library a week ago Friday and she was treated like a celebrity by all the gray haired docents. After taking a tour of Air Force One, the docent saw Thorne and exclaimed, "So this is the cutest baby in the building I've been hearing so much about!" Apparently the docents were using their walkie talkies to alert their friends in other areas to be on the lookout for Thorne. And were they ever! We couldn't sit down before some volunteer strolled up to take a peek at my wee babe. Thorne was a peach the whole day until we got stuck in horrific traffic after dropping my friend off and it took us an hour and a half to go apprx. ten miles. She started her hyperventilating screaming about ten minutes from home because she'd had ENOUGH. I didn't blame her.

Last week we spent five hours at The Getty taking in a wonderful photo exhibit that included Paul Outerbridge, Jo Ann Callis, and Richard Miller. Both Karen and I found many of the photos menacing or at least tension filled. There was a dark undercurrent to many of the nude photos and to such commonplace items as a yellow bed in the work of Jo Ann Callis. I'd say there was a synergistic effect from showing these three artists together. You might say they were dialoging. The show is well worth a visit.

This week we'll be visiting City Hall in downtown LA as part of my Tailing Philip Marlowe series. I found out that City Hall has an observation deck on the 27th floor that is free to the public between the hours of 9am and 1pm. That rather limits the folks who can enjoy it to the 5% of the population who don't work. Thankfully that includes me!

If anyone has suggestions for places to visit in Los Angeles that are not widely known, please leave them in the comments.

For Karen

I am an aboriginal spear aimed at the heart of the enemy.

Have any of you bloggers using Blogger received an email from them in arabic? I just received the following message - strangee no?
سلام،

وبلاگ شما، http://heliotrope.blogspot.com/ ، به نام کاربری اشتراک Google مربوط شده است. لطفاً برای ورود به سیستم Blogger و دسترسی به وبلاگ خود از این نام کاربری اشتراک Google استفاده کنید.

اگر رمز ورود خود را فراموش کرده ايد می توانيد با کليک کردن بر روی پيوند مقابل آنرا بازيابی کنيد:

این اشتراک عضوی از وبلاگهای زیر است:

• http://heliotrope.blogspot.com/

در صورت بروز هرگونه مشکل یا سؤالات دیگر، لطفاً به سایت راهنمای ما در http://help.blogger.com/ مراجعه کنید.

با احترام،
تيم Blogger

Crime Fiction Update

For those who enjoy watching crime dramas, PBS's Masterpiece Mystery will be airing a new series based on the Henning Mankell books featuring detective Kurt Wallender. Kenneth Branaugh plays Wallender and is co-producing the series. His involvement will hopefully ensure a good adaptation and production. Apparently he's quite the fan of Mankell, which has me rethinking my original opinion of the books. I only read one and didn't think it great especially compared to may favorites Martin Cruz Smith and James Church. But, if Branaugh loves them perhaps they get better or there's more to them than I'm giving Hankell credit for. Or Branaugh isn't as discriminating in his detective fiction reading as I am. Even if I hated the books, I'd still tune in to watch the series as it may be better than the books. Shooting will be on location in southern Sweden.

A New Audience for Morrissey

Who knew Morrissey would be a hit with the barely born set? When Thorne gets fussy Morrissey's crooning of Moon River calms her right down. Once she reaches the wolverine hour (as her doctor calls it ), those hours between 10pm and 1am when she becomes inconsolable, we're desperate for any technique that will soothe her. Another soporific influence is Cat Power. Steve will sway with her in his arms to the somnolent sounds of CP and invariably Thorne will nod off. I could drink ten cups of coffee and still fall asleep to Cat Power - makes me think she might be anemic.

I Can't Resist

lil' b is Born!

Thorne Frevisse was born 12/12/08 at 6 lbs 8 oz and 19 3/4" long. At 7:30pm while still in labor, I told the doctor I wanted her out by 8pm and she arrived at 8pm straight up!

Many of you have asked the significance of her name, which is:
Thorn (without the e) is a family name on Steve's side that I fell in love with as soon as I heard it. As an anglophile I love that it also sounds so very English like a character from Wuthering Heights or Jane Eyre. In the old name book I have, Thorn was a diminutive of the rosy Hawthorne and was listed under girl names. She looks like a rosy apple dumpling to me!

Frevisse (pronounced FrayVEESE) is the French name for the 7th Century English saint Frideswide who is also the patron saint of Oxford. I first visited Oxford in 1994 while on a semester abroad and heard the story of Frideswide while touring Christ Church where her shrine is located. I knew I wanted to name a daughter after her, but didn't think I could convince her father that Frideswide was a perfectly acceptable name. Fortunately, the french version is very pretty and works well with Thorne.

All is well with me. I'm better than I expected to be so soon after her birth. But we're still in shock and awe mode. I finally understand what it means to be so full of love for your child it makes you want to weep. We've been doing a lot of that as well.

Lil' b and Me

I found out today that my amniotic fluid was borderline. Meaning that if I wasn't already scheduled to be induced as the gawdawful hour of 6am Friday morning, I would've been admitted immediately this morning. Thankfully, I got a few hours reprieve to finish up all the nagging details of my life before everything changes tomorrow. I'm going to try all the natural ways to induce labor prior to our arrival to see if we can kick start this event without drugs. I hear there are acupressure points on the ankle that can trigger contractions almost instantly. I'll let you know how it goes. In the meanwhile, the butterflies in the stomach have arrived.

Torture

Torture is sitting in a packed waiting room with Jerry Springer on the TV. A midget proposed to his dream woman of questionable morals saying of her that she "made him climb the walls with her whiskey struck voice." Apparently all episodes end with violence, with the main guests fighting each other or the Springer staff. This one was no different except the midget, was well a midget and you can guess how effective he would be against a gorilla.

Feed Me

During the last month or so of this pregnancy I've developed an insatiable appetite. The books I've read say you'll have less ability to eat large meals because as the baby gets bigger she's squeezing your stomach (and your bladder and your lungs and kicking you in the ribs). Nope, that's not my problem. I can pack away full meals and still want more. When eating out, there were some entrees that I would NEVER have been able to finish pre-pregnancy that I now have no problem consuming in one sitting. Along with the desire to eat (and eat and eat), I have the desire to cook and bake.

In the last two weeks or so I've made:
1. 2 Spinach /goat cheese quiches - I combined and tweaked three different recipes to get it just right.
2. Potato and Leek soup - I've also tweaked this recipe over the years until it's to my liking.
3. 2 Roast Chickens both made the day after Thanksgiving. They sat in my freezer for two years so I thought they'd only be good for making Chicken stock. I never made the stock but did make some of the best gravy ever! And the meat was surprisingly moist.
4. 3 Apple Crisps - One for my sister, one for me, one for Thanksgiving.
5. 2 Chocolate birthday cakes - One was Martha Stewart's recipe for one bowl chocolate cupcakes, but with the adaptation for cake that I then covered in vanilla butter cream frosting. Super Easy! The other was a chocolate fudge pudding cake from a book called Birthday Cakes. Steve requested chocolate cake for his birthday and this recipe delivered on the chocolate. It's a hybrid of a brownie, pudding, and chocolate crisps. All three textures make an appearance in almost every bite. Steve thinks it's the best chocolate thingy he's ever eaten. BUT it has got to be the ugliest and messiest looking cake ever. If you were going to serve to guests, remove from the bowl and top with homemade whipped cream. Though not a presentable cake, it's oh so edible.
6. 1 very large Ham - I only bought the ham because I wanted the ham hock to make soup. Now I have about three pounds of ham leftover.
7. Navy Bean Soup - Thus the need for a ham hock. My mom and the chain restaurant Bob Evans make the best version of this soup. Although my first try ain't bad.
8. Banana/Oatmeal/Coconut/Chocolate health bars - They really are quite hearty and I thought tasty. You can find the recipe at Chocolate & Zucchini.
9. Herbed Ham and cheese Frittata - Still trying to use up that ham. Not so good, but only because I overcooked it.
10. Chocolate Coconut Cheesecake Squares - When I mentioned to Steve I wanted to make these, he groaned. He's worried he's losing his girlish figure, but I think he's taking this baking and cooking for granted.

....and I'm not done. Tomorrow I'll be making ham /cheese /broccoli quiches to use up the remaining ham and then...well, we'll see what gets my chops drooling.

lil' b Update

Thanks to all of you who commented or emailed me directly your encouragement and support about my upcoming delivery. My anxiety and fear have greatly diminished in the last few days and I know it's the result of all your prayers - so THANK YOU!

I had a fetal stress test yesterday and all is well with lil' b. If she chooses to remain as is, I'll have another stress test on Monday, and then another on Thursday. If all is still well at that point, I will be induced next Friday. So sometime in this next week our little babe will be born.

Oh, Crap!

How do I know I'm anxious about the labor and delivery of this baby? I'm having dreams that involve doctors using hacksaws as a "new way" of delivering sweet babes. Yikes! I do NOT want to be induced because I don't want an appointment for when I need to go to the hospital. I don't want to have that countdown of only 24 more hours, only twelve, only four now. I want a "holy crap she's coming" moment. My doctor was ready to accommodate me if I wanted this baby out at Thanksgiving. Uh no. I want this baby to stay in as long as possible, ideally until Steve is done with all his teaching responsibilities, but that's asking too much since my doctor won't let me go past the 12th. Besides my anxiety dreams of delivery, I've got this nagging fear that she wants to come out this week on Thursday. Please pray that ain't so! I can't make up my mind to laugh or cry these days as I anticipate her arrival. I'm back to thinking ignorance is bliss. If I hadn't heard any birth stories or anything about what to expect after delivery, I would be more emotionally stable right now. Too late.

History Repeats Itself Again

Those scrappy Somali pirates are at it again! Now they're taking on supertankers from their little dingys! Who are these pirates and why do their escapades sound familiar? I found a NYT story from September 30th that quotes a spokesman for the Somali pirates, Sugule Ali. He sounds quite the character with a good sense of humor. I don't think of Somalis as having a sense of humor, but if you're able to extract millions of dollars in ransom in cash from countries all over the world for simply boarding a ship and holding it hostage, you'd be looking on the bright side of life too. As Sugule Ali says in his interview, "You only die once." Well, that's reason enough to keep laughing all right.

Back in Thomas Jefferson's day the cool, hip pirates patrolled the Barbary coast of North Africa looking for prey. Though they have a cooler name, The Barbary Pirates, they've got nothing on the Somalis. The Somalis have the entrepeneurial spirit. Where they once just patrolled their waters looking for illegal fisherman to harass and tax, they saw an opportunity to make more money and seized the day. They appear to work only for themselves since there is still no formal government in Somalia. The money they earn is the money they keep. No government taxes redistributing their wealth! The Barbary pirates, however, worked for the rulers of their countries who received most if not all of the ransom money ponied up by the European Countries (and then America after we gained our independence.)

Lem & Jack

Why the above photo of an old man and his dog? Today is Veteran's Day and this darling man, Lem, is a World War II veteran. How many of them do you come across on a perambulation across a cow pasture? We ran into him in Oxford as he was taking his daily constitutional with Jack, his stubborn and feisty Scottish Terrier. For being near ninety, he still had a twinkle in his eye, a spryness to his step, and a great sense of humor seen in his cheeky grin. He made a joke about moving to Oxford twenty some years ago on Independence Day, "That's July 4th to you folks." After chatting with us, he was on his way to the pub for a morning pint. A delightful man from a generation of gents we'll probably never see the likes of again.

The Joys of Pregnancy

I refer to these as my Babushka legs. What's a Babushka? Go here or here to get an idea. I feel like someone encased my feet and ankles in a fat suit, but left the rest of me normal. Or as normal as a walking whale can be. I really can't complain since I have had no other problems of any kind this entire pregnancy. No morning sickness, no gestational diabetes, no preeclampsia, no placenta previa, nothing. Just fat ankles.

Hug a Marine

Today is the 233rd anniversary of the U.S. Marine Corp and I say God Bless Them! During this election many folks have said they're finally proud to be an American because Obama got elected. You may also have heard people say dissent is patriotic. What IS patriotic is being willing to die for your country to protect its freedom and liberty. That is the sort of patriotism that makes great story and inspires future generations. In my opinion, dissent for the sake of dissent does not inspire. Frankly, it makes me yawn. I'm proud to be an American every time I hear Marine Corp tales of heroism, courage, self-sacrifice and compassion. All of which are in play right now in the work the MC are doing in Iraq. Check out their website to learn about the people, the events, and the technology that make the Marine Corp one of the greatest fighting forces in our world. Now go hug a marine...if they'll let you.

Odd Encounter

As I was retrieving my library books from the reserved shelf an extremely tall man wearing a wool sherpa hat (it was 80 degrees or hotter that day), scarf (did I mention it was hot), tight black jeans, and large round glasses interrupted my progress. Now the guy didn't look weird (despite my description) but rather artsy - definitely a character. He asked for my help in directing him to the correct shelf. His glasses were old and the prescription wasn't strong enough for him to determine where the letter s was on the reserves shelf (he was currently looking through books under the letter f). As soon as he spoke, the name Ted Bundy flashed across my mind. His voice was deep and mellifluous a delight to the ears. It took me off guard and I thought, "this is how Bundy lured women to their demise." The desire to help someone in need who probably had a winsome personality turned off their normal defenses. In my case, it was just by the timbre of a voice. I could've been a victim that easily.

While chatting with the pudgy Hispanic librarian about my pregnancy, poor prescription guy comes up behind me. To no one in particular (since neither I nor the librarian are looking at him) he says, "my girlfriend is pregnant." I turn to him, smile, and say congratulations. To which he replies in a flat voice, "she's getting rid of it." Oh. I'm so sorry. He shrugs, "it's her decision." Then, "I guess that was too much information." I wanted to scream, "if YOU want to keep the baby tell her, it's not just her decision. FIGHT FOR THAT BABY. DON'T GIVE IN TO THE TYRANNY OF CHOICE!"

But I didn't. I just walked away.

If this is global warming...

Today was perfect - rain, thunder, and even a wee bit of lightning. Normally we don't even get rain in November let alone those other treats. I can count on two hands with fingers left over the number of times I've heard thunder in the fourteen years I've lived in SoCal. If this is what we get with global warming, then I say bring it on!

Who should vote?

Shouldn't voting require a bit more for eligibility than just a pulse? Although even the dead are being resurrected long enough to vote. So maybe a pulse isn't even necessary.

ACORN has outdone themselves in voter fraud this election. With all our advances in technology why can't we create a better system for protecting against voter fraud? It shouldn't be this easy, right?

I understand now why the Founding Fathers said only those who own property should be allowed to vote - though by that criteria I would be ineligible. If you owned property, chances are you had a healthy interest in politics and kept yourself informed since politicians and the government were the ones who think it's in your best interest for them to relieve you of your property (or your wages). If you don't own anything or pay taxes, there's a greater probability that you'll vote for the government to take from your neighbor to give to yourself. The Founding Fathers wisely understood this quirk of human nature and were trying to protect against it with their voting restrictions. Unfortunately today, many politicians understand this same human failing, but instead of trying to protect against it, they choose to exploit it.

Speaking of...

As I mentioned below, I love crime and detective fiction. I read more from that fiction genre than any other (I generally read more nonfiction than fiction). For those who may be interested in this genre but don't know where to begin here's a list of British mystery writers I've enjoyed. The first four set their mysteries in the first half of the 20th Century (because that was when they were writing). The last four are all modern writers.

1. Dorothy L. Sayers and her dashing detective Lord Peter Whimsey
2. Josephine Tey and her inscrutable Inspector Alan Grant
3. Ngaio Marsh and her unflappable Inspector Roderick Alleyn
4. Margery Allingham and her puckish detective Albert Campion
5. P.D. James and her sensitive poet Inspector Dalgliesh
6. Elizabeth George and her Lord of the realm Inspector Thomas Lynley
7. Martha Grimes and her urbane Inspector Richard Jury
7. Ian Rankin and his incorrigible Detective John Rebus.

Of these my favorites are Sayers, Tey, and James. I have read almost all of George and Grimes (so obviously I like them) but think their earlier works are their better works. My problem with them is that their plots start to run together and I can never remember what I've read or haven't read. But any of their books are still great airplane reading.

The beauty of these authors is that most of their books, with the exception of Josephine Tey and possibly Martha Grimes, have been made into BBC mysteries. Some are better than others of course, but if you love this genre than there is much television viewing pleasure waiting for you on Netflix.

Having had my fill of British authors and the landscape and setting of Great Britain, I wanted to read about detectives going about their work in other countries. The more exotic the better. To that end, I googled and found a splendid article in The Independent, "Crime Fiction: Around the world in 80 sleuths." Using that as my springboard, I have dived into a few of these books. Here's my take on what I've read so far in the order of preference:

1. Martin Cruz Smith: His Inspector Arkady Renko is one of my favorite. The setting is Russia and acts as an additional character in his novels. Renko isn't blind to the harsh realities of his homeland, and yet he can't leave it because of his own identification with the landscape of Russia (both the physical and personal). That tension is another reason I love these books. Smith's novels start during the era of the Soviet Union and progress to present day Russia. Besides his use of setting, I think he has some of the best dialogue I've read in modern detective fiction. He's written other novels (Rose and December 6) that aren't considered detective fiction though a mystery is at the heart of those plots as well. Whenever I get his books, I blitz through them in one day. His first Renko book was Gorky Park. I suggest starting with this one and working your way through to his last (so far) Stalin's Ghost. Don't do what I did and read them in reverse order otherwise you'll get spoilers to the previous books.

2. James Church: This author wasn't listed in the above article, however, he's an up and coming detective novelist that has come out with two books. Church was an intelligence officer in Asia for the CIA and upon retiring started writing. His character Inspector O attempts to solve crimes in North Korea. As with Martin Cruz Smith, setting plays a huge supporting character role. Like Renko, Inspector O loves his country despite the oppressiveness and irrationality of its totalitarian bureaucracy. He isn't complicit with the government nonsense, but instead works around it to get to the truth despite any adverse consequences to himself. A Corpse in the Koryo is Church's first book, but his second, Hidden Moon, is even better.

Smith and Church are now the standard by which I judge non-British detective fiction. They weave together sympathetically flawed characters with intricate plots and malignant settings to create unforgettable reading. The following authors did not meet the standard because they didn't deliver a complete package of character, plot, and setting. Some had great characters, but were less than stellar in the other two areas or vice versa. However, I would read them again if nothing better was available. Some of them would make better movies than novels simply because of their exotic setting and their plot could be worked out in two hours or less.

Pavel Kohout: Kohout is a much better writer than those that follow below. His novel The Widow Killer takes place during Nazi occupied Prague. I found his writing to be more literary than the rest with many beautifully phrased sentences. And yet, I didn't finish the book. I became impatient with the progress of the plot. About half way through, I knew where he was going and decided I didn't want to join him any longer on this journey. Still a worthy read if you have the patience.

Henning Mankell: Detective Kurt Wallender solves crime in Sweden. Mankell doesn't invoke setting like Smith and Church do, but he did include commentary on social issues facing modern day Sweden (like open borders). I could read more from him, but I wasn't enamored with his detective. Wallender wasn't thoughtful, didn't seem particularly intelligent, and didn't have any sympathetic character flaws. More often than not, I wanted to boot him rather than root for him.

Karin Fossum: Her Inspector Sejer is more likable than Wallender, but not as fleshed out as a Renko or O. Though set in Norway you wouldn't know it except by the names. She does less with her setting than Mankell.

Qui Xiaolong: Inspector Chen's beat is Shanghai. I thought the exotic location would be enough for me to love these books but alas, no. I really wanted to like this series since it would keep my addiction going for awhile. One reviewer called his work preachy or pedantic. I agree. He puts so much social commentary into the characters' dialogue that their conversations don't sound genuine. He needs a better editor.

Colin Cotterill: His main character is Dr. Siri Paiboun the chief coroner for Laos. Paiboun is helped by spirits and other supernatural visitations during the course of his sleuthing. Good use of setting to make you feel as hot and sweaty as the characters. However, compared to the writers above this is detective fiction lite. Easily digestible with little nutritional value.

If anyone reads other authors from this article, please comment on what you like or didn't like.

I Want to Know!

Leonard Chang and I share a passion. A passion for crime and detective fiction. The difference between us is that he carried his passion beyond just reading this great body of literature and wrote his own noir trilogy. His mysteries aren't great and some of the loose ends get tied up rather too neatly, but his detective is compelling and sympathetic. His reluctant sleuth is a Korean-American named Allen Choice who excavates his own heart while getting to the truth behind the mysteries he's pulled into solving. Incidentally, one of the best tidbits in Chang's first novel is how Allen got the last name Choice (it's based on a true story). In his essay "Why I Love Crime Fiction", Chang traces how his love of philosophy led him to write crime fiction:

You remember more of your childhood reading, connect them to your interest in philosophy, and conclude that both are premised on the impulse to figure out the world, to analyze in a methodical way the elements that have created chaos and disorder. The analyst, whether a private investigator or a rationalist philosopher, seeks within his or her own moral and personal code to discover and articulate what has gone wrong, to right these perceived wrongs, to find a view of the world that is worth living in, to reorder and contain the chaos. What is a private detective but a philosopher in a trench coat?

Chang articulates for me why I love the genre but he also hits on why I want to study philosophy and have since started pursuing a graduate degree in Philosophy of Religion and Ethics. In both crime fiction and philosophy, there is an acknowledgement that truth can be known even if known imperfectly. As he says in his essay, there is an attempt to bring order out of chaos to understand reality as it really is not how we wish it were. I have this desire to know. Studying philosophy or theology or science or literature are refined ways of feeding the urge to know.

As a child I had less refined urges to know (and truth be told I still do) that explain why I had to read my sister's journals or steam open her love letters. My intent wasn't malicious, I just wanted to know what she was thinking or what boyfriends say to girlfriends and I wanted to know if steaming open letters really worked. It explains why I opened both my and my sister's Christmas presents and then taped them back up again. It explains why I snooped through houses I was babysitting in. I would look through cupboards and drawers in almost every room in the house. I wanted to know how people lived through what they owned and what they tried to hide. I would fake being sick just so I would have our house to myself to poke around undisturbed in everyone's closets to find out what they were hiding.

The urge to know explains why even today I want to know the backstory on the quirky characters I meet. Like Judy, the Asian grocery store check-out clerk with buckteeth and a sweet smile. Does she work the weekend night shifts because she doesn't have a boyfriend and doesn't want to be home alone? Does she live with her parents and do they give her grief for working at a grocery store instead of something more glamourous? Is she the life of the party with her friends or still as shy as she seems to be at Albertsons? What are her dreams and aspirations? What makes her laugh until she can't breath? I WANT TO KNOW.

The down side to this urge is dilettantism. I found it very difficult to pick one area of study in college and then later to figure out what I wanted to pursue as a career since almost any field and almost any kind of job was interesting (at least for a little bit) to me. I think the ideal outlet for a dilettante or for one who wants to know how the world works and how all the different areas of study are interconnected is writing. A writer can explore and research any topic for a period of time, create a finished product, and then move on to the next subject. The research /exploration phase can include reading, interviewing, and traveling all things I love to do. All in all sounds like the perfect career to me! Why am I not pursuing it? Oh yeah, I'm a dilettante and therefore have other interests that bring satisfaction as well when pursued. Perhaps one day all my interests will coalesce. And that's when I know I'm dead.

The Wisdom of Tocqueville

Every day we hear from politicians about how the government can and will solve our every problem. The more people hear this message, the more they begin to believe that the government really does have the responsibility to provide a solution. Alexis De Tocqueville gives us good reason to resist this type of thinking as he defines "what sort of despotism democratic nations have to fear". Here's an excerpt from Democracy in America:

I think then that the species of oppression by which democratic nations are menaced is unlike anything which ever before existed in the world: our contemporaries will find no prototype of it in their memories. I am trying myself to choose an expression which will accurately convey the whole of the idea I have formed of it, but in vain; the old words "despotism" and "tyranny" are inappropriate: the thing itself is new; and since I cannot name it, I must attempt to define it.

...Above this race of men stands an immense and tutelary power, which takes upon itself alone to secure their gratifications, and to watch over their fate. That power is absolute, minute, regular, provident, and mild. It would be like the authority of a parent, if, like that authority, its object was to prepare men for manhood; but it seeks on the contrary to keep them in perpetual childhood: it is well content that the people should rejoice, provided they think of nothing but rejoicing. For their happiness such a government willingly labors, but it chooses to be the sole agent and the only arbiter of that happiness: it provides for their security, foresees and supplies their necessities, facilitates their pleasures, manages their principal concerns, directs their industry, regulates the descent of property, and subdivides their inheritances—what remains, but to spare them all the care of thinking and all the trouble of living? Thus it every day renders the exercise of the free agency of man less useful and less frequent; it circumscribes the will within a narrower range, and gradually robs a man of all the uses of himself....

After having thus successively taken each member of the community in its powerful grasp, and fashioned them at will, the supreme power then extends its arm over the whole community. It covers the surface of society with a net-work of small complicated rules, minute and uniform, through which the most original minds and the most energetic characters cannot penetrate, to rise above the crowd. The will of man is not shattered, but softened, bent, and guided: men are seldom forced by it to act, but they are constantly restrained from acting: such a power does not destroy, but it prevents existence; it does not tyrannize, but it compresses, enervates, extinguishes, and stupefies a people, till each nation is reduced to be nothing better than a flock of timid and industrious animals, of which the government is the shepherd....

A great many persons at the present day are quite contented with this sort of compromise between administrative despotism and the sovereignty of the people; and they think they have done enough for the protection of individual freedom when they have surrendered it to the power of the nation at large....

It must not be forgotten that it is especially dangerous to enslave men in the minor details of life. For my own part, I should be inclined to think freedom less necessary in great things than in little ones, if it were possible to be secure of the one without possessing the other. Subjection in minor affairs breaks out every day, and is felt by the whole community indiscriminately. It does not drive men to resistance, but it crosses them at every turn, till they are led to surrender the exercise of their will. Thus their spirit is gradually broken and their character enervated; whereas that obedience, which is exacted on a few important but rare occasions, only exhibits servitude at certain intervals, and throws the burden of it upon a small number of men. It is in vain to summon a people, which has been rendered so dependent on the central power, to choose from time to time the representatives of that power; this rare and brief exercise of their free choice, however important it may be, will not prevent them from gradually losing the faculties of thinking, feeling, and acting for themselves, and thus gradually falling below the level of humanity....

It is, indeed, difficult to conceive how men who have entirely given up the habit of self-government should succeed in making a proper choice of those by whom they are to be governed; and no one will ever believe that a liberal, wise, and energetic government can spring from the suffrages of a subservient people....

Tocqueville certainly was prescient!

The Joy of Fiber

At a party Saturday night, a friend said to me "I only get serious about two topics of conversation: politics and nutrition." I'd say that's true in his case, but I can't say nutrition gets me too hot under the collar. Until now. I am getting quite passionate about fiber, but for good reason.

One thing I'm learning as a pregnant woman who is about to become a post-pregnant woman is that your bowel movements are serious business. You want to maintain regularity while pregnant to avoid hemorrhoids and post-pregnant to avoid any additional pain "down there". I've heard enough horror stories (especially from the post-pregnant perspective) to ensure my diet has enough fiber. But one thing I found out is that not all fiber is equal. You can read Nutrition Action's report on the types of fiber found in all sorts of foods here. Inulin is a cheap substitute often found in high fiber foods, yet is doesn't do the body much good. There are a couple others that add heft to the fiber grams on the nutrition label, but have few healthy benefits.

I love eating cereal in the morning 'cause it's so darn simple (it's also the best food to eat while reading since I'm less likely to make a mess while doing both). But few cereals pack a high fiber punch. I can't stand the traditional Fiber One of those twiggy looking things with no taste. I don't care if there's a weeks worth of fiber in one bowl, they're disgusting. So I got Fiber One Flakes instead. They're not bad, but they leave a weird after taste in the mouth. The culprit is sucralose. At least it's not aspartame or sacchrine, but it still has that fake sweet taste. The other strike against FOF is that the fourth ingredient is inulin - the fake filler of the fiber world. FOF is off my list of approved high fiber cereals. But with 13 grams per bowl what could replace it? Trader Joes came to my rescue. They sell Kashi brand "Good Friends". Each bowl has 12 grams of fiber. 11 grams of that are insoluble fiber, the kind that reduces your chances of getting hemorrhoids and constipation. One gram is soluble fiber good for regulating blood glucose levels and lowering cholesterol. Fortunately the cereal tastes better than the unattractive packaging would suggest. Best of all, it retains its crunchiness to the end. No soggy flakes or twigs in your last bites (unless you're a really slow eater).

This is the end of my public service announcement.

Of Love & Hate

Oh, how I love me a hearty breakfast anytime after nine (a.m. that is). My favorite combo is fried eggs over easy, bacon, french toast, and coffee. And my favorite place to consume it is at the Blue Star Diner. I finally planned a date with Steve to get my fix at the BSD located in the industrial wasteland of downtown LA. The next door neighbors are scrap metal yards and textile companies. Getting there may leave your car begging for new alignment, but it's well worth it. It's not a traditional greasy spoon with avocado and gold color scheme and waitresses over sixty who've made taking orders their career. The big difference is that the BSD has great food and a low key atmosphere. You'll never find the waitresses rushing you despite the line at the door. Instead, they're pleasant and attentive without being obtrusive. Even my mother (who is notorious for being on the receiving end of restaurant food or service gone wrong) loves this place.

The Blue Star has traditional breakfast options, but they use fresh, local ingredients and have homemade touches (like their jam) that make their fare better than the rest. Besides their breakfasts, they make great fish /chips (only served on Fridays) and a heart attack yummy mac-n-cheese. The clientele is a mix of blue and white collar workers from the surrounding industrial sites. They're open M-Sat, 8a -3p and serve breakfast all day on Saturday. A perfect breakfast spot after an early morning at the flower market.

My second favorite breakfast combo is eggs, bacon, toast, and hashbrowns. Runny eggs mixed with hashbrowns is heaven! The best deal in town at $7 for this combo that also includes fresh squeezed orange juice and coffee is Du-par's. But it's only offered Saturday mornings.

Most diners, even mediocre ones, can serve up a decent breakfast that will satisfy. But one, despite its longevity and famous clientele, cannot even manage to meet those low expectations. That distinction goes to The Pantry Cafe. Last time I was there, the food was so greasy and unattractive I couldn't finish it. The place smelled like a band-aid. The smell co-mingled with my food such that vomiting would've been a pleasure. I didn't think it possible to get eggs and bacon wrong, but I was, uh, wrong. A Soviet-era cafeteria could've made better. Gross barely describes my experience.

So Yum!

A friend invited us over for dinner last week and made us this super yummy risotto. The combination of sausage, tomatoes, and spinach make it a tasty complete meal - simple enough for every day, but fancy enough for company.

I did make a change to the recipe to make it even easier. I did steps one through three just like the recipe suggested, but instead of doing step four, I threw everything into the crockpot for about an hour and fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes before it was done, I removed about a cup of liquid. At the end I added the cheese and spinach according to the recipe.

Despite my changes, it still came out creamy and delicious. The texture wasn't exactly like my friend's version who did it the traditional way, but close enough that I'd do it again.

This woman made a crockpot risotto and just threw all the ingredients in together. I may try that next time with this recipe, but still cook the sausage ahead of time.

Bon Appetite!

The Fannie Mae & Freddie Mac SNAFU

Are you as confused about the FM & FM business as I am? Thanks to this interview on C-Span with Peter Wallison of AIE I'm a lot less confused, but a whole lot angrier. He does a great job explaining in layman terms how the companies were managed, how the markets viewed them, and why congress (both parties) had an interest in keeping the status quo. In 2001, Peter Wallison wrote a book about these two companies predicting the meltdown we've all just witnessed.

(HT: Jonah Goldberg on NRO)

UPDATE: Read this great City Journal article from 2000 that gives background and context to the mess.

Barbarian!

Q: What do The Power of Now, Ulysses, The Elements of Style Illustrated, and Interpreter of Maladies all have in common?

A: They were all discovered in the recycling trash bin outside our apartment complex. Tossed in like a used cereal box or grocery advertising as if trash and literature (using that term loosely) were equally bits of garbage. Is this the act of a civilized person? I think not! Rather, it suggests the act of a barbarian, one so uncivilized he (or she) cannot make proper distinctions between what should be destroyed and what should be preserved.

Really, why not give the books away or donate to charity? We have several thrift stores within two miles of us. The copy of Ulysses is an Everyman's Library edition bound in red cloth, which doesn't seem to be available anymore. I'm shocked! shocked! someone would throw away such a lovely edition. Although I will never read Ulysses, perhaps one of you would. Thus, I'd be happy to pass on this beautiful book to the first person who requests it in comments.

And the Moral Is...

On our "babymoon" (pardon me while I hurl on that word) mentioned in the post below, Steve picked up a little friend we call poison oak and then passed it on to me via some inanimate object. You would intuitively think that the greater the exposure over time the greater the immunity. Not so with poison oak. In fact the exact opposite is true - so that the more you are exposed the worse the rash will be each time. We were quite fortunate that our friend was rather mild. The itch lasted about a week or so, but the spots are still visible after a month.

What is the moral of this story?
a. Don't take a leak by the side of the road unless it's covered with cement. (Yep, Steve's bladder was the cause of this calamity. Less than five minutes from a legit latrine too.)

b. Don't try to save money on accommodations by camping instead. If romance is wanted get a hotel.

c. Take the vacation to Hawaii as requested despite the extra cash. At least they don't have poison oak.

d. All the above.

Here's what could've been and my personal favorite.

UPDATES

Yes, yes, it's been far too long since I last posted especially since I no longer work a 9-5 job. Or any job for that matter. Is it the procrastinator in me? Is it the latent lethargy in me? Is is the lack of direction in this blog? All of the above is the correct answer.

ANYWAY - now that you know my lame excuses for ignoring this blog for five months, let me proceed with the updates.

1. After quitting my well paying yet undesirable job, I found out I was pregnant - yeah!. Thank you GOD that I didn't know prior to quitting otherwise I just may have stayed for the insurance. And that would have been a mistake of monstrous proportions and no, I don't think that is hyperbole. I LOVED that I could sleep as long as I wanted in the morning and still have the option of taking three hour naps in the afternoon or after breakfast - since pouring out a bowl of cereal with milk, showering, and dressing would drain all the morning energy from me especially in the first trimester. If I was working, I probably would have napped in the handicap stall of the bathroom every chance I got. Why didn't I quit sooner? Oh, yeah. I thought we needed the money more. Stupid me.

2. Before learning I was pregnant I applied for the MA in Philosophy at Talbot Seminary. After getting pregnant I found out I was accepted for this fall. I decided to start this semester despite my baby being due at the beginning of December before the semester is over. I'm only taking one class so it shouldn't be a problem. I'm sure those will be my famous last words.

3. I thought I would be all over the pregnancy books reading everything I could about what to expect and how to take care of the baby post delivery - but no. I find that I don't want to read those books or know too much ahead of time. I'm on a need to know basis right now with everything that is happing to my body and could potentially happen. If I know too much, I get overwhelmed and start thinking of what is happening as an alien invasion rather than something perfectly natural. However, I have informed myself of warning signs for various conditions so I'm not totally in the dark.

4. We're having a baby GIRL! Prior to getting pregnant, I thought I wanted a boy. But sometime in the first trimester I believed I was having a girl and that made me very happy. The hardest part now is thinking of an appropriate name. We had many boys names picked out already, but very few girl names. We're keeping mum on whatever we do decide. We may not know till we see her face to face. My parents almost named me Tricia until they saw me and changed their decision to Danica. Who would I be if named Tricia?

5. We went on our "Babymoon" get away to the Central Coast and were blessed with poison oak (more posts /pictures on that later). FYI: Poison oak and romance don't go together. Fun was still had in between Steve shouting "WHY?!" every few hours and me having to pee every other minute.

6. School started with a Philosophy Bootcamp coordinated and taught by current philosophy students. Spent three hours each of the two days working through symbolic logic. Fun! No really, it was fun - strangely so. I should be working through practice problems right now instead of typing this post. But I'll resist the lure of logic until I complete this task. Out of thirty new students, only two of us are women. Out of a total of 120 philosophy students maybe fifteen are women. Nice odds if you're not married! I'm also one of the oldest students by about ten years. It's weird to feel a teeny bit matronly in the face of all these youngins who are straight out of undergrad studies. They're the sprinters getting through the program in three years and I'm the distance runner most likely taking six or more to get through. I'm looking forward to the challenge!

7. Preached two sermons this summer and am in the line up for one more before lil' b pops. I'll be ENORMOUS by the time I speak again, which may be a bit odd for those unused to fecund female preachers. Our lead pastor thinks it's wonderful as do all the other male pastors. Their support of me to preach and to have babies is awesome (and rare I'm realizing)!

Pictures will be posted (eventually - I'm hopeful it won't take me another five months).

Define Procrastinator?

Definition pro·cras·ti·nat·or (n) : Someone who waits until their last day of work to complete staff reviews due a month prior.

Oh! Why that's me! I, of course, left the hardest reviews until the end. Nothing awkward about that: "You have piss poor communication, your team hates you, and you need to shape up or you'll be fired. By the way, did I happen to mention we're having drinks after work to celebrate my last day? Do come by."

It's true. Today is the last day of my job at this company, in this industry.

A Good Friday indeed.

I QUIT!

In 1998, I started as the receptionist and through the years worked my way up through client services until I became the Director of the department. I've hired, fired, and laid off more people than I can remember. I've encouraged, cajoled, cheered, and chastised people for the last nine years on the job. My days of managing people is over--hip, hip hooray! After living through the hell of three mergers/acquisitions in the last three years I just couldn't stomach going through a fourth one this year. I wanted to quit since six months into this business, but I'm a slow decision maker. But now, I'm free at last!

Timewaster

For the slightly nerdy, wish-I-took-physics folks. Enjoy!

I Love the Smell of Espionage in the Morning.

If you're an espionage fiend like me, you'll be licking your chops in anticipation of this man's memoirs getting published. Here's a snippet of his life to whet the appetite:

...he was the person who obtained the advance text of Khrushchev’s Secret
Speech, the one delivered in February, 1956, the one that laid out the crimes of
Stalin for the leaders of the Soviet Communist Party. That text was a turning
point in the Cold War. Grayevsky gave it to the Israeli Embassy, where it was
copied and sent to Israel. The Shin Bet intelligence service delivered it by
courier to James Jesus Angleton, the head of CIA counterintelligence (and the
CIA’s liaison with the Israelis), who gave it to CIA chief Allen Dulles, who
gave it to President Eisenhower.

In keeping with the general rule that the
most important information about the Soviet Union invariably came from
“walk-ins,” and not from “agents” recruited by CIA, Grayevsky performed his
world-changing act solely out of personal conviction.

It was only after his move to Israel shortly thereafter that Victor Grayevsky become involved in the world of espionage. The KGB recruited him, and for decades thereafter he pretended to be their man in Tel Aviv, while actually working as an Israeli double agent. He did his work so effectively that the Soviets awarded him the Lenin Medal.

What's the Proper Etiquette?

What do you do when you get a Thank You note for a gift you never sent? Do you send the gift to fulfill your social obligation and subsequently expose their insincerity? Or do you not give the gift and let them save face?

I'm opting for number two, mostly because I'm lazy, but also because they're happy with what they didn't get.

Those Santa Ana Winds

Southern California is burning with a lot of help from the Santa Ana winds. The first line in Raymond Chandler's story "Red Wind" gets the quality of them perfectly: Those hot dry winds that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands' necks. Anything can happen.

Two Gallants - Steady Rollin'

Just sharing the magic...

For Shaun - It was magic!

More Chinatown

After watching some monkish madness in Chinatown, this adorable man couldn't contain his excitement and since we were the only ones around shared his enthusiasm for this particular display of Shaulin martial arts with us. It was also my first attempt at videoing surreptitiously.

Chinatown Part Three

The above picture is my first attempt at using photoshop. When I asked Steve what he thought of my final result he said, “Are you happy with it?” Which means, “It looks like crap and I really hope you’re not done.” I know this because he's normally very encouraging of my creative endeavors. But I’m fine with crap in this instance because the photo highlights one of my favorite places: grocery stores-especially ethnic ones. I love wandering up and down grocery aisles looking for that perfect something I didn’t know I wanted. In ethnic grocery stores I love the foreign packaging and the exotic tastes and smells of unfamiliar food. It’s like going on a mini cross-cultural adventure. And yes, that is a whole fried pig hanging there.

Chinatown Part Two

Saturday, 9:00am
Overheard in Wonder Bakery between two 60’ish Chinese women:
“Size Matters! I don’t care what anyone else says, size does matter!”
That’s all I heard initially so you can guess what I thought they were talking about. After a little more eavesdropping, I found out they were talking about the size of kids. Which is equally strange.

Chinatown Part One

Last Saturday I went to Chinatown to check out the Super Home Mart. Aisles of cookware, rice cookers, bamboo steamers, pots and pans for exotic Chinese dishes that I don't know how to make. I kept checking the labels to see if something from Bangladesh or Turkey slipped by the goods inspector. But no, every item was made in China. At least they're consistent. After walking up and down every single aisle, I left without purchasing anything to the dismay of the middleaged Chinese man who trailed me through the store. Next time I do want to buy a plastic bento box. I've been wanting to buy one ever since I saw a Taiwanese girl eating a piece of cheese and a boiled egg from one on the steps of the British Museum.

My goal was to take photos of all the Chinese men sitting in front of Wonder Bakery. Being the little chicken I am, I didn't get any pictures of the jabbering, gap toothed, and gold crowned old men. But I did get a "You're a beautiful woman. God bless you." from a kind elderly black gentleman with a deep soulful voice.

Pairings

You know when two things link themselves in your head, but there's no discernible reason why? For me, there's a visceral connection between The Kills and Jean-Luc Goddard's movie My Life to Live. One of my favorite scenes is when Nana is dancing by herself to juke box tunes. She twirls and circles the room without self-consciousness creating a moment of nostalgic innocence and honesty. I highly recommend both the band and the movie. Tell me if you see the connection.

The Kills - Fried My Little Brains

I rarely get super excited about bands, but The Kills are the exception. Their guitar sound makes me want to dance all crazy like...

Jury Duty

This serendipitous moment brought to you by the Los Angeles Superior Court Jury Duty system. I'm a fan of jury duty. Here in LA the motto is One Day-One Trial. Either you're called in to wait to be picked for a jury pool (One Day of waiting max), or your picked for a pool and thus assigned to One Trial. I, unfortunately, never get picked for a jury pool. But I don't waste my time crying because I've just been given seven hours of free time that I'm required by law to take. The key is to come prepared. That means water, snacks, reading and writing material. I camp out in the hallway right outside the Jury Assembly Room. Inside the JAR is too crowded. I need to narrow my focus so I don't get overwhelmed by the people watching possibilities. Most people think they have to stay within the room, which makes the hallway the perfect funnel for trickling people out to take cell phone calls or to use the facilities. Once in the hallway I can observe them from every angle as they pace back and forth. So many characters and so little time to capture them all! Under intensive scrutiny even the most lacklustre individual becomes a person of interest.

• The generic young Asian guy: Classic asian guy hairstyle. Shaved sides, left long on top to slick back, but still poofs up. Wearing black t-shirt that says We Fly High!; light denim jeans of a generic brand; white nikes. blood shot eyes and minor acne. He came with a cell phone and pen and draws tiny patterns on the jury hand out. He sat across from me in the hallway. When lunch was called he didn't move. When I came back from our hour and a half lunch, he was laying in the exact same spot. He's the kind of guy you'd expect to come alive among his own ethnic group guy friends especially on the basketball court or playing video games. You're surprised he would remember to call in each day let alone actually show up for jury duty. If he's still in college, he would attend UCLA or some other UC school for business. If he's not in college, he helps attend the family business, but he's not happy about it.
• The guy wearing a Vietnam Vet baseball cap; Lee blue jeans, white tennis shoes, and a blue sweat shirt. He's reading a Louis L'Amour novel and appears to be half way through it. Asks me when I think we'll be getting out of there. He's agitated waiting for his name to be called and then agitated when it doesn't get called. Tells me he's too biased to serve on a jury 'cause he could never send anyone to jail or to prison. He has too many friends and family in the prison system. He doesn't believe in it. He keeps talking to me like I'm the one who can give him a jury duty reprieve. I keep telling him only the judge can let him off if he doesn't have any other excuse not to serve. He has bad breath-the sickly sweet kind. I stop talking to him so he'll stop breathing on me.
• The young Italian /Spanish guy with a pageboy of glossy black curls. wearing black jeans, black Italian leather loafers, and a black silk polo shirt he nervously plucks away from his stomach like he's self-conscious of his soft body. He carries a beetle green cell phone as if his whole clothing ensemble is merely a backdrop for his irridescent phone.

I was tempted to cut out without answering to my name so I'd be put back into the system before another year was up. I really, really like jury duty.

Women did not linger in the hallway leaving me little time to observe them. Only two women (me and a middleaged professional) hung out in the hallway and the rest were men. I wonder why men disproportionately favored the hallway to the JAR.

Serendipity

ser·en·dip·i·ty /ˌsɛrənˈdɪpɪti/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[ser-uhn-dip-i-tee] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –noun

1.	an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident.

I'm sitting in the front seat on the top half of a double decker Oxford Tube coach on my way to London. Across from me is a young woman who appears to be an Oxford Student. One foot in black /white converse low tops is scratching the heel on her other foot. As she scratches, the black chinese characters embroidered on her sock slide up and down. She's engrossed in her book. Her engrossion (a danica neologism) piques my interest as to what she's reading. But she's a coy reader keeping her head down and her book lowered. I'm very annoyed. Then I see the head loll. And yep, she's nodded off. Now's my chance to FIND OUT.

Extremes along the Silk Road. Oooooooo sounds exotic! The phrase Silk Road conjures up visions of opium dens, intrigue, gunslingers oriental style, grand vistas and grand adventures. I note the title in my moleskin, skipping ahead to a date when I'll be stateside to remind myself to check LAPL for a copy.

Two weeks later the book is in my possession. And it's good.

A stranger on a bus changed my life. Granted it's in a very small way, but the fact remains. I would not be reading this book if it hadn't been for the woman who just couldn't put it down and made me so curious I had to read it for myself.

Threads

Coming from Virginia I never met a Korean. My University in SoCal was probably 40% Korean, yet I don't remember ever thinking of them as being culturally distinct. Then I spent a semester abroad in Sheffield, England. One of the first people I met was another exchange student from U.C. Berkeley-Hyok Cho Chong. Hyok was the first Korean I experienced as different, but not because he was particularly Korean or because he held particularly Korean ideas. He wasn't and he didn't. But he had the foreign sounding name that sounded like I was hocking up a loogie when I tried to pronounce it. According to him, he understood Korean but could only speak with an elementary vocabulary. His parents on the other hand couldn't speak English with proficiency. Their mutual lack of language fluency created a barrier to the development of their relationship. In high school, Hyok had gone to a church in the Bay area with a friend of mine from college. Hyok hadn't like him.

Three years later, I'm teaching English with the YBM Language Institute in Taegu, Korea. I arrived on a Wednesday, having missed the week long orientation due to visa trouble, and started teaching at 6:30am that next Monday. All my students learned quite quickly to raise their hands to ask me to s-l-o-w d-o-w-n and to "repeat please". I learned to slow down and to repeat. Somehow I made it through my time there, but I never got comfortable teaching. I was too disorganized, yet too perfectionistic to make it work for me. But I left with a love for Korean food and a love for the Korean people.

Back in LA I find the best hair stylist I've ever had and she's Korean. I'm talking to her in a Beverly Hills adjacent salon and find out that she went to a high school church youth group with a friend of mine from college who grew up in Hacienda Heights. I'm looking for the restaurant that cooks cabbage/chicken/rice logs in a huge round pan at your table. It's the one craving I've yet to satiate since my return from Korea.

I mention to a Korean woman at church that I watch Korean shows on Channel LA18 even when they don't have subtitles. She introduces me to a delightful drama/comedy called My Lovely Sam Soon. I watch the show in a weekend and thanks to websites like www.mysoju.com I'm hooked on Korean dramas (and Japanese and Chinese).

It's now fourteen years after my first introduction to Koreans and I'm hooked on Korean dramas and Korean food and Korean culture. I'll be taking Korean language classes at the LA Korean Cultural Center so I can order food and understand the dramas and because I love the intonation and inflection of the language that is so different than English.

For the last few days I've been reading through my journals starting with the year 1992. I noticed that certain ideas and experiences keep recurring like the Korean one. The Korea thread surprised me that it went back as far as it did. But most disheartening is the thread that tells me I'm still wrestling the same demons that appeared in childhood. However, that's for a different post.

What threads run through your life?

On Being Loved

These words of Touchstone Magazine's Anthony Esolen are worth pondering as is the rest of his blog post "Fear of Death".

It may be that the knowledge that you are loved sets the heart radically at ease: you can breathe freely, you can see the blessings of age, you can relieve your fear of death with a hope for the abundant life not only beyond death but also here in seed, maybe a mustard seed. You can be free not to be important. You can play -- without turning play into the military "exercise". You can form a community of persons, not bricks. You can laugh at what you do poorly, and do it anyway. You can bid the jihad farewell. You can look at the stars.

Can I have a do over?

Today is a mess and it’s only 11:02 in the morning.

I reprimanded one of my employees for leaving early on Friday when her teammate was swamped with work. The employee became a blubbering wreck, sobbed for over an hour, started to feel dizzy and to see stars, had her blood pressure checked and found it was sky high. I spent 30 minutes calming her down, tryingto make the tears stop. Her crying ceased, but her blood pressure didn’t return to normal so she left early to go to the emergency room.

And now her teammate has to pick up the slack.

Can I have a do over?