3rd & Fairfax since '34

Tourist Central, LA Landmark
Lunch at Farmers Market. Nice to place to hang. Ethnic restaurants. Fresh produce. Specialty stores for Hot Sauce, Teas, and tourist junk. They even have a Bakery for pets, Bagels for Beagels. Nice.

Ringing of the bell. Reminds one of a mission bell. Twelve rings shouting mid day. Tourists figuring out what to have for lunch. Small mom and pop shops owners sitting all day in a little cubicle surrounded by food and ovens. People gawking at their wares. Signs of “Cash Only” strewn all over the place. Tax under filing reasons I assume.

International Going Local

Moishe’s Village has middle eastern food. Run by a Filipino lady, I think. Guess it is like Hispanic people at Panda Express and Armenian people selling Greek food. 

Gone to the exotic tea shop before sitting for lunch. One would figure it would be run by one of Asian descent. No, Hispanic. Most Asian restaurants are manned by non-Asians.  Hutington Meat market have painted-on rates that have been the same for years. "$3.98 for Suckling Pig, Wild Boar, Venison, Rabbit, Squab, Pheasant, Ostrich."

Memories: Seasons Change

My favorite section is the ice cream, donut, and pizza corner. It used to be next to the magazine store of my youth. Now it is a bathroom area. It connect the past with the future of the Grove. They don’t validate for parking for the Grove at Farmers Market. Why? They're connected. One can ride a mini tram from the Grove to the Market. It is a true market of the future and past. 

LA Experience, Faux Authentic-ism

At the Grove, they have Cheesecake Factory, Barnes & Noble and the Apple Store. Commercialized-mall-ified stores. Like Boylston Street and Downtown Boston. One gets the touristy feel of Farmers Market with all the memorabilia junk like fake academy awards, overpriced postcards, and yet it feels like home. Guess, I like the feel of faux authentic-ism. 

Turning on the my internet card, there are many wi-fi sites available. Hidden Modernism revealed. Where would we be without our internet? So much underneath. Not like NYC. If people don't like you, they have no problem saying so. LA is well, laid back, passive aggressive. Its like the difference between Jerry Buss and George Steinbrenner.

Tourist's Dress

Moishe's café is a busy place now. Not really a big Falafel fan, but it seems the most popular this afternoon. Tourists in shorts. Camoflage shorts and wife beaters. Australian, I think. One older lady clutches her purse. Must have traveled around. She might have been a victim of gypsies in the past. Heard many a stories of Italians having their stuff taken.

Cameras at their side. Ready to take that obligatory shot of a foreign food place. Bet that they have a Farmers Market close to home. Most cities do. A taste of exoticism locally. That is one reason why to venture here. Its to try something different. With the explosion of Panda Express, fast food sushi, and Taco whatever—the exotic has become common. Crepes made fresh. Guiness with the Soccer match going on the flat screen. Jambalya with real cornbread. Korean Barbecue next to the real ziti Italian place.

Invisible Hand

Perhaps this a good thing? This convergence of internationalism. It has been said that the best way to combat wars is through trade. If all these countries rely on each other, then we are less apt to war with each other. That was the logic behind NAFTA. Why mess with the paycheck? Moreover, stuff gets cheaper. More choices creates competition. When restaurants battle with each other for food choices, then we are apt to get better value, more bang for our buck.

Been Made

A lady is staring at me. She must have seen me taking pictures of the background. Hispanic or Middle Eastern. Don’t really want to stare. She is giving me a look I can't decipher yet. Mad-dogging or gazing? Not really my type. She plays with her blackberry. Don’t know if she has taken picture of me, like I have taken pictures of others. I heard a flash. C’est la vie. Maybe I will be background for her photo on Facebook.

Unguarded Moments

People don’t really smile too much when they take stilted pictures. Not of action. Just a standing there. A portrait picture with Farmers Market background. A portrait picture with a Niagra Falls background. A portrait picture with stuffed ancient pachyderms. Its nice and all, but the photos I prefer are those unguarded moments where they are aux naturale. No, not commando. Its where they are caught in the moment. Not in some artificial pose. Its feels more honest.

New Zealander, British, Allemand?

Many types are here in the Farmers Market. Beach shorts and sandals. Try not to look touristy, but they stand out. Cowboy hats with an English (maybe Australian) accent ordering Crab Louie and clam chowder. Wonder if they think its an authentic LA experience. Soup was probably out of a can.  Oops, not English at all. German. Gutentaag. Guten morgen. Guten something. The glass cased refrigerator shows the freshly made Bay Shrimp Tostado Salad. Poached Salmon Salad. Jumbo Shrimp cocktail. They stare for minutes.

This a nice place to sit.  Cool breeze. The waft of the open furnace say, “Choose me.” 

Orders Up

A redheaded young lady waits in front of Moishes. Laced black top and a short, short nude skirt. Red bag at hand. I wonder where she is from. Don’t think she is from Southern Cal. Doesn’t have that air confidence about her. This seems awkward. Ordering Food,  Reminds me when I go with my niece and ask her to order. She seems unassured with herself. It seems like the redhead doesn’t want to be judged. She waits for a falafel. Yeah. Bell rings again. 12:30. She give her dad a bump of indecisiveness.She reminds me of Shell.

Oooh, Donuts. Oh Oh, Pigeons. Don’t feed the pigeons. Saw one almost fly in the face of a man. His sisters and brothers laughed at this near mid-air collision. Fresh fish and chips (Drool). A mother asks her daughter what she wants to eat. Louis Vitton bags. Books of junk. Something that will clutter her already filled closet. A man with name tag. Must be working at CBS studio next door.

David, Your Food Is Ready

Anna is her name. Red-head, blue eyes. Moishes calls out your name when your food is done. Hillary, John, Kiko, Israel—those were the names so far. Robert is yelled out. A lady with an oxygen tank walks by. Her tube is interlaced into her clothes. Baseball capped kids. Shouts in smile. Man with a suit and sleeve tattoos. Tie still needs to be made.  Well, these are just the sights to see in the Farmers Market. Wait. Here’s another sight. A couple is holding hands. Both are missing a front tooth. They match. Now that’s devotion.

Parking?!*)@

Well, its time to go. My validation is almost up. Been here almost two hours. Sometimes parking is ridiculous in LA. Some places downtown, its $2 every 15 minutes, maximum $20 a day. Thing is "Every 15 minutes" is in small print. 

LACMA is calling. People are asking each for an empty seat. When I leave, there will be a mad dash for this table I am sitting at. Its happened twice already. People are waiting and its time to run. Its been a nice couple of hours at the Farmers Market.

Learn For Yourself

"You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, not look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books."

Be Skeptical
What does this quote mean? To me, it means that I need to experience life. I need to look at the raw data myself. It means not just taking one's word for it. Be skeptical. It means to not just live life vicariously. It means Carpe Diem. It means go out there and get it. Life happens and its our choice to take other peoples word for it (which is fine) or you can out that and learn for oneself.

It doesn't mean simply to accept what so-called experts says. It means get second opinions. It means trust your judgment and be a bit skeptical. It means that reading books and other people's experiences is okay, but it means taking the adventure yourself.

Take Everything In
Day began on with bad directions. Cloudy day, with light drizzle. Found our journey taking the back route of Griffith Park from Burbank. Wouldn't want it any other way. Discovered travel town. Learned of Leif Erickson statue.

Stopped at the Crossroads of the World. Once a landmark site to the Stars. A mall of the future turned to an office complex. No longer holding its lustre and fading into the background of oddities and has been. Stopped by Kanters, near Melrose to get bagels and breakfast. Jalapeno Cheddar and Chocolate chop something. 

Time to Learn. Time to Teach
Traveled in time, remembering my past. Toured the tar pits and told of yesteryear events. Explained the going ons of history. Tried futilely the greatness of rolling down the hill at the Page Museum. Learned of extinct camels and explained Dinosaurs could not survive the Tar Pits. This includes Tyrannosaurs Rex, too, Laurence.

Trojan town
Left the civic and got a ride to USC. Hurriedly visited the Annenberg, California Science Center, and the Natural History. Lifted a 5200 lb truck with relatives. Spoke with my old Sales Manager's father because of a butt call. Touched a capsule that orbited the earth. Sat in a Helicopter again. Photographed prisms, dinosaurs and polar bears. Saw the headless figures of the Coliseum.

Like the Clippers, I left the Sports Arena. Traveled on the highway, saw Billboards on buildings and ate a closed store. Shared my tartar sauce with family. Returned to my car, left her again. Parked at the site of the laser pointer incident.

Going Back to Getty
Drove in the Wilshire traffic for an hour to discover that the Getty is open until nine--On Saturdays. Parking is $5 after 5pm (Normally, its $15). Unfortunately, it only on Saturday that is open 9 and the Museum has been closed for a half hour.

Left the Getty again, and found me driving traffic-packed Wilshire again. Drove by the sushi restaurant with the stripper pole. Stopped by a 711 because my cousin had to pee. Unfortunately for him, Bathroom was broken.

Sunsets, Soccer, and Singers at Santa Monica
Found us at the Pier and Promenade. Got my beach water and saw the sunset. Discovered a great singer named Cydney Robinson and lost my tour guide book. Passed an art gallery and saw a soccer fan running in the night with flag wrapped around shoulder as he shouted, "Netherlands won! Netherlands won! Netherlands won!" (They lost in the World Cup Final yesterday)

Parted ways with family. Drove up Fairfax passed the places I was night before--Egyptian, El Capitan, the Roosevelt. Got extremely tired and learned an angel guided this weary, heavy-eyed traveler home.

What a Difference a Day Makes
Moral of the Story: Any day can be an adventure. Make every hour, every minute, every second count. One does not need money or a guide. Good attitude, an adventurous spirit, and little prayer is all you really need. Money, car, food, good walking shoes, GPS, and laptop helps. Again, attitude makes a world of difference

Made with Love. . .

Three Little Words
“Made with Love” that was what she said. A simple thing that made my Chicken Habanera Panini taste better. After staring at the menu of Camille for several minutes, I’ve tried everything before and found it a little bland and uninspiring. 

These simple three words—with a smile, of course--made my lunch memorable. Locked in on the task,  lost in the mechanism of the day, I found myself jolted. When the server brought me my food and when she said that, it got me tongue tied. How a dash of love can make the world better place. How we forget that this simple mantra can make the difference. “Made with love” A tag. This stamp. Words to live by. “Made with Love.”

What do you everyday that isn’t made with love? Lots, huh? Yesterday, I found myself at the foot at Angel’s Flight. Out the entrance of Grand Central Market, I saw what looked like a trolley. Nothing special, but it was calling me. 

Heaven On Earth
Angel’s Flight was closed down for a few years because of an accidental death, I saw somewhere that it was recently reopened. Not an incredibly long ride. Thirty seconds or so. Just a short jaunt up Bunker Hill in Downtown LA. It seemed appropriate. It was uplifting. A ride that would cost a mere quarter, it made me realize that we have a Heaven on Earth if we only put that stamp, “Made with Love” I am sure it would be even better.

Like Most Cities
You see Downtown LA, is like many metropolitan areas. It has their share of Homeless people. Saw a man, a broken man sitting on a bench across the street staring at the front of Grand Central Market. Thinking of food and shelter, I assume. He was unwashed, unshaven, un-a lot of stuff. An older man who at one time was a healthy young man. 

Fallen Heroes
Read somewhere a third of homeless people were veterans. Sad, how we let our young sons and daughters fall in disrepair? Not knowing the situation and not usually being a bleeding heart, we better all be bleeding-hearts because a too many of us could be paycheck or two away and we could find ourselves in the same predicament.

Buddha Basics
Went to Saturday morning mass at Saint Marys today.  Thought to myself, this message can’t be new. You see, I find myself exploring many religions, thinking of Faith and the Big Smile. It is our lives we make and live.

It says in the basic tenets of Buddhism, that the life we live goes through 8 stages. First two are of our past life. The last two are of our next one. The middle four is of our own doing. Makes sense to me. 

It is said we chose our parents based on the life we built before depending on the Karma we accumulated. Last two stages prepares us for the next one. Depending on how we did in the middle, we shall see what Karmic points we banked on. What choices have we made to make our stay on Gaea better?

Inside
What have we done to make this world a better place? For what is a Man that Does not make the world a better place. “You are not what you were born, but what you have it in yourself to be.”—Another quote from Kingdom of Heaven. YOU ARE NOT WHAT YOU WERE BORN, BUT WHAT YOU HAVE IT IN YOURSELF TO BE. Again, YOU ARE NOT WHAT YOU WERE BORN, BUT WHAT YOU HAVE IT YOURSELF TO BE. Guess, I write this thrice because something deep inside tells me so. I say write this down, commit it to memory, burn the paper that you wrote it down, and then burn the words to memory. Let it not to be forgotten.

What Frightens Us. . .
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. It's not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. “(Another quotes from a movie, I let you guess)

Downtown Dancer
As I rode up and down Angel’s Flight I saw a lady dancing. (She is on the corner of the picture) Didn’t notice her at first. She was hidden by the overhang of blooming red flowers. She was at the base of the Bunker Hill. Off in her world. Homeless, I assume by the unwashed, stained clothes she wore. Form fitting, she went through a dance warm up. She danced a refrained flirtatious dance. Not pole-dancing, but it would not surprise me if she had been a exotic dancer. There’s no doubt that she had some ballet and jazz training. A friend of mine was a dancer and the way she moved reminded me of her.

Felt a little sad, for the homeless, “down-on-her-luck” dancer. Yet, not so much. She was doing her thing in this little spot of the world. Perhaps, she suffered the evils of a drug lifestyle? Perhaps, a troubled upbringing? Perhaps, I don’t know.

On this sun bright day, here at the steps of Heaven’s Flight, under the green Camino Real Bell, there she danced. Don’t know if she knew I was watching. Don’t think she much cared. She was smiling, I think. Never saw her face, but the way her hands raised to the sky, the way her torso popped in a circle, the way she graced this watcher made me think of the blooming flowers in the wild, away from civilization. Hidden away from man.

Miracles Everywhere, Pay Attention
The green Camino Real Bells were markers for the California Mission travelers. It gave followers a guide to various Spanish Missions up and down the California coastline. It showed people the way.

Thought "How Ironic? A down-and-out dancer at the base of Angel's Flight under the Bell that gave weary travelers hope. Reminded me of the story the Prostitute that washed Jesus Christ's feet with her hair. Having little means, this weary traveler dancers here. All these things at that moment seemed to be telling me something. Felt lucky to catch this moment in time. Been having these moments with the Big Smile. Guess, I'm lucky to catch them.

Doesn't Need Validation
Is it beautiful if no one is watching? It is beautiful because it is beautiful. Things existed before you and I were here. It does not need us to validate its existence. However, if there is an audience, the experience is shared. When we share, allowing others to know each other, it gives us the wherewithal to be better. It allows us to escape these sins of jealousy, lust, and ignorance. It allows us to be great because we are great.

Let Others Follow
By letting ourselves shine, we give permission to others to also shine. Letting our children, the one’s before us to be great. Letting the ones to be great we are reminded that we can be more than what the chains that binds us. Perhaps, it is these chains we put on ourselves—emotionally, physically, mentally. Perhaps it is the chain others try to put on us. If we allow them to be loosed, if we remember that feeling of freedom, if we are reminded of liberty and independence, then perhaps we will be reminded of our interdependence and duty to each other.

Back to the ABC's
Like one of the tenets espoused of so many religions, we are responsible for what we do. So British Petroleum (BP), so politicians, so the man in the man (or woman) in the mirror, we are responsible. We may not have caused it, but it is our job to fix it. What we make of this world is our responsibility? It’s our stuff. If we can’t conquer the ABC’s of Homelessness, Racism, Religious Intolerance, Starvation, Drug Abuse and the ilk, then how are we going to deal with the hard stuff?

Our Ability Is So Much More
Its Heavy stuff, but that is okay. We are powerful beyond measure. We have the capacity of many great things and our learning curve is fast. Kindergarten to PhD in seconds. Not a problem. If we can make it through two World Wars, if we can send a man to the Moon, if we can split the atom, if we can copy the Human genome, if we can make a Magical Kingdom in the OC (Disneyland, if you didn't know) then we can do just about anything. Our knowledge of everything is said to double every five years.

Still, if we can only we remember the basic. Stuff we do is better if its “Made with Love.” Guess, we got to work on that.

Summer Morning at the Massari

Watching people walk around the park. Sun is shining and people are doing their thing. Groundskeeper is making his rounds. Driving the green cart, trash can in back. A man in a striped dress shirt and gray sweats finishes his first lap. Soccer moms in tights and baseball cap is completing their third lap around the Domenic Massari. One has a ponytail in back, green hat. Dark glasses, she has a serious look. 

Another triad of Hispanic ladies are dressed much the same. Their colors are the rainbow. Very vibrant. Very understated. Hearing the Spanglish in the conversation. A lady with water weights in hand has a white tennis visor passes them. Think she is Jamaican.

Its quiet. So quiet, I can hear my own thoughts. Quiet, except for the winds blowing against the trees. It’s a rustling sound. Reminds me of Pebble Beach. The oceans crashing. A steady pace. Rhythmic song calming the souls. Its swaying, dancing slowly like an old lover remembering good times. Negative ions in the air whisked away, returning back to the see. Good energy is replaced, balance is restored.

When one needs to recharge, this one sits in the sand. Thinking of good times of the past. Imagining better ones ahead. Staying there smelling the salty sea, having the white ocean spray across the face. Cool Zuma breeze gets heated by the summer sun. One is reminded that time just moves on. It slows at times so as one can live a lifetime in a moment. It speeds up when time is scarce and we need ever so more from her. 

Right now all I do is soak my feet in Epsom salt in one of those foot bath basin. A sad alternative, but it will do in the desert of the Antelope Valley. Joshua trees and tumbleweeds canvas the land across the street. Its a temporary fix until one can get back beach side and properly re-tune.This park is safe haven, an oasis of ocean sounds and people walking. Negative ions dissipate in the rustling of the wind against the trees. Like rocks crashing against each other at Pebble.

Try to go to the beach at least once a month to get right. At the beach there is ample amount of  energy stirring; the desert is more stingy with its droplets of life. 

Closest semblance to the beach is the home pool. Its an underwater heaven where one can skim the top as one races from end to end. My own personal theater of the dancing underwater lights. Sun heated, no murky beach sand water. No kelp or no seaweed. Just a pristine clean Blue Heaven. 

Been swimming more at home. Something about the bubbles. It just hovers like hot air balloons. Suspended in the liquid medium being pushed by current. All the hopes and good dreams float skyward to get the Big Smile's attention. 

Sometimes a leaf is found floating in the pool. It just hangs there waiting for a force to move it this way and that. Like the leaves from the trees of the Massari. Watching the leaves dance in the pool suspended. In a moment she moves left then right. Kick ball and chain. Pas de Bouray. Salsa. Tango. Waltz.  A pose here. Hitting its mark. So free flowing.

A family of five goes by. Father, mother, daughter, grand mom, and baby. Another senior couple goes by. One carries a water bottle. Both are wearing sun hats. Spanish is the language here. No Thai, no Tagolog, no Manchurian. Spanish here a the Massari. One of the romance languages Spanish is one of the romance languages. Fast and staccato. Other times sing-songy and fluid.

A soccer ball flies by my view. It’s a man practicing. An older man, maybe in his late thirties. Guess he trying to reclaim his youth. Maybe he’s readying for his upcoming parks and rec match. 

FIFA world 2010 is upon us at the Massari. Headphones on, he charges the field. Perhaps re-living the past. Perhaps practicing for the future. There is a joy to his playing. No one around, just him and the ball. He’s not chasing as I would do. He’s guiding her here and there. He jabs left. He goes right. He dances around the ball as he wipes the sweat of his face.  He visualizes an imagined foe. He jukes confidently as he wonders how to play this game scenario out. His smile is contagious.

Grounds keeper is mowing the lawn now. Driving the yellow vehicle up and down the field. He wears a sun hat on this warming day. Its only eight in the morning now. Most of the morning walks are going home. One was parked near a SUV and Honda. Had good shade. However, the sun is rising higher. Three hours up already. No more shade on this midweek day. Morning walkers left and my SUV shade has gone.

Soccer man gathers his bag and slows his pace. No running and jumping as before, but readying to go. No, my mistake. He wants to play more. Just catching a blow and downing a Gatorade. Its getting hotter as the seconds pass. Joys of living in arid lands. The yellow mower is on the other side of the park now. Parking lot is emptier. The lady with water weights in her hand passes me by for the second time. Triad is almost back again, gossiping about this that and the other.

Car alarm sounds off as two high school girls in black shorts exit their Aerostar. One has a soccer ball in hand, the other a blackberry. As they hurry off to the other side of the field, Doyer fans go by. One has a makeshift walking stick. These sunhats, thinking about wearing one makes me feel cooler. I should get one. The sun shines brightly on my face as I realize its almost time to go.

An older man gives me a nod of acknowledgment as he finishes up his workout. He was stretching at the lamp post. Pushing with dear might, as his arms pressed firmly against the pole. One leg back, the other bent forward. Calf stretch. He needs to keep his knees soft. Both knees wrapped in black sleeves to keep his patella in place. Wore one when my meniscus tore. 

Age and wear and tear of an active lifestyle must have taken its toll. Got to keep those knees. An martial artist instructor said, “Can’t walk. Can’t run. They’ll have no fun.“ Did that once. Will never do it again. Not something for children to know at an immature age.

Parks is getting busier again. Dog walkers are here. It’s a parade of Chihuahuas and Yorkies go by. Another lady has two golden haired shepherds. These ones aren't trained like the others. These one bark and struggle against their owner's will. They fight and jump and down in excitement as people walk by. 

Scenes of the dog whisperer come to mind. “Shhhh and Shhhh and Shhhh," I think to my head. Get control. Let the dogs know you are the leader of the pack. Good owners need to be trained too.

Time for me to go. Sun is getting higher in the sky and find myself wanting to enter the Blue Nirvana, my water world. Got to train myself. Fifty laps here. Diet log and meal plan there. People at the park have inspired me. Time to recharge, time to see the lights dance of the swimming pool floor.