Feeding My Passion

It’s difficult to hate LA, at least it has been for me lately. It was not always so.

I grew up coming here with some frequency for a couple reasons, mainly because I had family in Van Nuys and La Habra. The other reason was, of course, Disneyland. All good Christian families would travel through the most depraved place on earth to reach the Magic Kingdom[TM]. Which, of course, is what LA is, or at least represents for much of the world and even the US. Even northern Californians. Maybe especially us, or them, whatever. I don’t think the Mason-Dixon line is in any danger of losing its status for top geographical rivalry in the US, but northern Cali definitely isn’t a big fan of southern Cali. I think the funniest thing about this is that the south is generally oblivious to this rivalry, which means it’s not much of a rivalry, kind of like shadow-boxing really.

Anyway, it’s tough for me to hate LA. First, Kamila is here, so I can’t possibly be grumpy about spending time here with her, wherever we may be, even here. And then I’ve just come from Korea, which just barely made it above freezing the entire month before I flew here. By contrast, the weather in LA is quite fantastic: warm (in the 70s), sunny, and light breezes. Hard to hate that.

The food, for me, is another reason to soak up as much LA as possible. The diversity of cuisine and its general tastiness are all positives. Little Ethiopia has 8 Ethiopian restaurants in a single block! (It’s a micro-neighborhood though, not much more than a block long.) The diversity of the people, in all their creative wildness, is fun and energetic to be around. Hand-in-hand with the diversity and wacky energy of the Los Angelenos, plus the food, is the number of distinct neighborhoods: K(orea)-Town, Little Tokyo, West Hollywood’s Eastern European/Jewish community, Little Saigon, Chinatown, Thai Town (the only one in the world), multiple Mexican areas (including one with a Mariachi Plaza where  you can pick up a band for a party, just bring a van to carry them and the guitars!), and so on and so on. I could grow old trying to list all the distinct ethnic neighborhoods in LA, so I’ll just have others do the heavy lifting. I haven’t spent time exploring NY City, but I’m sure it’s the same way, but without LA’s really nice weather. That goes double for Chicago. Maybe triple.

Venice Beach is a the flagship for crazy and diverse (and medical marijuana), its houses, especially along the canals (from whence it got its name), are gems of residential architecture. In fact, many area in LA have really interesting and beautiful homes. I’ve been gawking at the many, many beautiful and interesting houses in Hollywood Hills and West Hollywood where I’ve been hanging out the last couple weeks.

With all this talk about interesting food from around the world and beautiful homes (which doesn’t mean huge homes, but this is a very expensive real estate market), this isn’t exactly a post about social justice or income equality. The post is a counter-balance to the northern California prejudice that its southern brethren are without culture. I won’t say that LA is a bastion of culture like New York, Paris, Rome, London, wherever. Actually I will say it, it really is.

There, now I’ve gone and completely betrayed my heritage. Happy now? Of course I am, I’m in sunny LA!

I’m back in California’s arms for a few weeks, in Los Angeles, and in her arms again, literally. I’ve been in her arms figuratively since we first kissed (on February 18th, 2010 outside the Yosemite Bug cafe), but being physically apart for 9 months has been difficult for both of us.

So I grabbed the opportunity between contracts to see Kamila. Like the song goes, it’s so nice, it’s paradise, to come home, especially when you have someone to come home to.

Kamila, on the beach near the Santa Cruz Boardwalk.

Day 2 on Shumei’s Santa Cruz Farm, where they use natural methods to grow produce that is beyond organic, at least organic as it is known and certified now. The friend I visited Santa Cruz with, Kamila, is a part of the Shumei organization, and I was fortunate enough to gain access and make pictures there for one of the four sections of my photo essay that is a kind of visual companion to The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan.

What can I say about UC Santa Cruz? Hmmmm…how about WOW! Definitely not a traditional-looking campus, it’s more like a nature preserve set on a hill above Santa Cruz where someone has sprinkled buildings here and there. I might go back to school someday just so I can go to school here.

The Shumei organization’s natural agriculture farm in Santa Cruz, Calif., part of my photo essay on food.

I left California in 1990 after graduating from Elk Grove High School to attend the University of Missouri-Columbia (aka MU). After going to school (and not finishing…yet, hence my current status as a student in my very last class), living in Boston, back in Columbia (without finishing school, of course), getting married, working in Oregon and Indiana, getting divorced, working in Michigan, I’m now living with my family in Merced, California (again!).

One of the requirements to become an English teacher in S. Korea is a criminal background check, and I need to get one from whatever state I’m a resident of. Since I’m not required to get a California driver’s license until my Michigan one expires, I haven’t gotten one and therefore I’ve been a Michigan resident. Getting a background check in Michigan while living here would be more of a hassle, and I want to get started on my paperwork to get to Korea, so it was time to do it.

On Thursday, I spent about 3 hours at the Department of Motor Vehicles (it’s BMV in Michigan and Indiana, as in “Bureau”) getting my license (only missing 2 on the written test – boo-yah! – although calling it written is a huge stretch since it only involves reading rather poorly worded questions and checking the corresponding  boxes) and registering to vote, both of which help officially establish my residency.

So I’ve got my little temporary paper license with my even littler plastic one coming in 2-4 weeks (“Usually 2,” said the nice lady at the counter who works in easily the busiest job I’ve ever seen in my life.)

It feels like in many ways I never left, or more accurately, like I never gave up my California mental and spiritual citizenship. I’ll always carry it wherever I go, and I suspect most people carry (lightly I hope, and not drag) their past with them in one way or another.

Nice to be back.