Gentle People with Flowers in Their Hair
The week after my Days of Our Lives freakout, Jenna Morgan swung through LA for a brief stay during her multi-city soul-searching tour. I'll have pictures as soon as I develop the film; to my credit did you see all the scanned pictures I added to old posts below? Jenna split her time between my place in Thai Town and Zoe's Beverly Hills pad. Needless to say, with all the back and forth Jenna got her share of horrendous Los Angeles traffic. We were discussing exactly what we did while she was in town and really, all that stood out was eating a delicious slab of bbq ribs the Monday of her arrival. Perhaps I've sung the praises of Food 4 Less before, but for those of you unawares, let it be known that at Food 4 Less, you bag the savings. That's right friends. I bought 2 whole chickens for $5! I also bought a huge pack of beef ribs for $5! We ate our oranges then set down at the table for a spread of green beans, corn on the cob, corn bread, and a slab of beef ribs. Yum! Let it be known, that if you come and visit me, I'll make you a slab of ribs.
Well, to our credit Jenna and I were productive. We drove up to San Francisco to hang with Christine last weekend. It was a wonderful experience. As we pulled out of my garage, I shared with Jenna a childhood story regarding road trips. My father, my sister Alison, and I used to
drive from Mundelein to St. Louis to visit my dad's side of the family. Al and I usually hated these trips, but my dad got a kick out of them. As we pulled out of the garage he'd pop in the soundtrack for the Blues Brothers, turn to whoever was sitting shotgun and announce that we had a "full tank of gas, and ____ amount of miles to St. Louis" then he'd flip his clip-on Blue Blockers over his glasses and finish with the movie quip, "let's roll." In a similar fashion Jenna and I donned our giant sunglasses (I had an extra pair for her. By giant I mean that they cover half your face, tres chic) and when we got to the end of the block I poppped in the CD I'd burned for our trip, the first track being "San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair)." I am a product of my upbringing.
The drive from L.A. to Frisco is the same distance as Chicago to St. Louis, roughly 5-6 hours. The drive was smooth and very sceneic: mountains, grassy hills, and sections of California farmland that called to mind southern Illinois. Deirdre had warned us about the "cow holocaust." This was, as we would see and smell, an area of farmland covered with cows. There were at least 500 cows, just milling around, waiting to be milked or slaughtered. It was a moment for vegetarianism as Jenna and I recalled the ribs we'd stripped to the bone a few nights earlier.
We stopped for gas 20 miles outside of San Francisco and I was grossed out to see how many bugs had fallen victim to the fantastic speed of my cruise control. At one point I'd thought it was sprinkling, no friends, it was merely the sound of several hundred insect bodies splattering to their death on my windshield. Seriously, my vision out the windshield was compromised. Jenna did the windows at the gas station and we continued on to Christine's.
Christine had just moved into her place 2 days before our arrival. She lived (appropriately) in a big purple house with 3 or 4 other roommates; all in their 20s and pretty laid back. We covered her floor with 2 futon mattresses and snuggled into bed for the start of a refreshing weekend.
My first trip to San Francisco was at the age of 15. Al and I accompanied our dad on a business trip. We'd gone to Palo Alto and Stanford and done the touristy stuff around San Francisco. I'd really fallen in love with the city as a young girl. Given the appeal then was in seeing the Real World San Francisco House on Lombard Street, wanting to go to Stanford, and gawking at the Titanic exhibit at Paramount's Great America. (Al and I, being young entrepaneurs, used paper to wipe down the props on display and sold them to the young girls in our neighborhood who were DiCaprio crazed).
This time, I would be fully able to appreciate the free-spirited liberal side of the city. The great thing about California is the diversity, and it exists on many levels. San Francisco is a completely different vibe from Los Angeles (duh). Much more laid back, not as phoney, much more environmentally conscious, and you get the public-transportation-narrow-streets-city that is nonexistant in Hell-A. Saturday was our touristy day; we took the bus downtown and rode the trolley to Fisherman's Wharf. We watched the seals bark, sleep, and play. After we had grown tired of their stink we walked to Chinatown where I stocked up on supplies: fish paste, crab paste, guava leaf tea, yan-yan, pocki, and tempura batter mix. We ate lunch in Chinatown then walked downtown where I saw an H&M. From previous posts you know full well that there isn't any H&M in Los Angeles. In fact the H&M in Frisco is the only one on the west coast! (Well, until they build the one at Highlands) Needless to say, I stood in line for 45 minutes to try on 5 items. It was worth it, I bought the cutest green dress with pink flamingos on it. The skirt fluffs out because there is tulle beneath it. So Donna Reed is this dress, that when I wear it with pearls I suddenly have the urge to vacume. After H&M we rode the bus to Golden Gate park in the hopes of obtaining some setas from one of the local hippies. This was relatively easy, and we camped out on the hill near the drum circle to lay in the sun before heading back to Christines. That night I made Ghanaian bean cakes in the hopes that the delicious albeit gassy dish would make Jenna regular. We sat around and listened to amazing soul and R&B on Jenna's ipod in a grassy haze.
Sunday we woke up early and ate our setas, which unfortunately didn't do much. We headed down to Haight street to peruse the cute little shops. Here you could really see the clash of newer, more expensive stores with the older smoke and used clothing shops. At the latter I found Jenna some killer red Easy Spirit pumps and the most amazing psycadellic moo-moo for myself. This moo-moo gathers at the neck, and hangs to my ankles. It's covered in vibrant patterns. My weekend-hippie transformation was complete. We walked back to Golden Gate Park and laid in the grass with all the kids, flew a kite, and watched the drum circle. Then we got some ice cream and walked back to Christines.
Later that day I drove home in my moo-moo, and played a little "L.A. Woman" to get myself back in the right state of mind. I made it home on 1 tank of gas! 400 miles, friends, which made me feel so very good even though I get horrible mileage during my weekday commute. When I walked into my apartment clad in my moo-moo and Ghanaian sandals Robert asked me cautiously if I'd "had a good time." Hell yes!
However, the week after my trip I was mildly depressed (probably because of raging PMS), but the more I thought about it, and all the things I'd thought about in San Francisco, the clearer it became for me. My job, L.A., materialistic superficial people, the republican douche I work with, I put in one category. That was the category I didn't want to become, it was a category of strangers, phonies and talentless hacks. The other category was San Francisco, artists, free-spirits, raging liberals, my friends. That was what I wanted to be a part of. I mean, I enjoy L.A., and it isn't all bad, no city is perfect, I don't want to move to Frisco, etc. However, I haven't been writing. I haven't been plotting out my "career", I don't want to get comfortable working for "the man." For me San Francisco was a reminder of why I moved out west. It was also a much needed vacation that said to me, unless you write and create and continue to grow you will become what you loathe. It's not easy to motivate oneself outside of college where one lacks deadlines and grades and classroom competition, but I'm going to damn well try to get off my ass and do something. I want to feel alive, and connect with the people around me, smell-touch-taste life. I refuse to just go through the motions. I've come too far to take the easy path now.
I'm going to wear my psycadellic moo-moo with pride.
Well, to our credit Jenna and I were productive. We drove up to San Francisco to hang with Christine last weekend. It was a wonderful experience. As we pulled out of my garage, I shared with Jenna a childhood story regarding road trips. My father, my sister Alison, and I used to
drive from Mundelein to St. Louis to visit my dad's side of the family. Al and I usually hated these trips, but my dad got a kick out of them. As we pulled out of the garage he'd pop in the soundtrack for the Blues Brothers, turn to whoever was sitting shotgun and announce that we had a "full tank of gas, and ____ amount of miles to St. Louis" then he'd flip his clip-on Blue Blockers over his glasses and finish with the movie quip, "let's roll." In a similar fashion Jenna and I donned our giant sunglasses (I had an extra pair for her. By giant I mean that they cover half your face, tres chic) and when we got to the end of the block I poppped in the CD I'd burned for our trip, the first track being "San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair)." I am a product of my upbringing.The drive from L.A. to Frisco is the same distance as Chicago to St. Louis, roughly 5-6 hours. The drive was smooth and very sceneic: mountains, grassy hills, and sections of California farmland that called to mind southern Illinois. Deirdre had warned us about the "cow holocaust." This was, as we would see and smell, an area of farmland covered with cows. There were at least 500 cows, just milling around, waiting to be milked or slaughtered. It was a moment for vegetarianism as Jenna and I recalled the ribs we'd stripped to the bone a few nights earlier.
We stopped for gas 20 miles outside of San Francisco and I was grossed out to see how many bugs had fallen victim to the fantastic speed of my cruise control. At one point I'd thought it was sprinkling, no friends, it was merely the sound of several hundred insect bodies splattering to their death on my windshield. Seriously, my vision out the windshield was compromised. Jenna did the windows at the gas station and we continued on to Christine's.
Christine had just moved into her place 2 days before our arrival. She lived (appropriately) in a big purple house with 3 or 4 other roommates; all in their 20s and pretty laid back. We covered her floor with 2 futon mattresses and snuggled into bed for the start of a refreshing weekend.
My first trip to San Francisco was at the age of 15. Al and I accompanied our dad on a business trip. We'd gone to Palo Alto and Stanford and done the touristy stuff around San Francisco. I'd really fallen in love with the city as a young girl. Given the appeal then was in seeing the Real World San Francisco House on Lombard Street, wanting to go to Stanford, and gawking at the Titanic exhibit at Paramount's Great America. (Al and I, being young entrepaneurs, used paper to wipe down the props on display and sold them to the young girls in our neighborhood who were DiCaprio crazed).
This time, I would be fully able to appreciate the free-spirited liberal side of the city. The great thing about California is the diversity, and it exists on many levels. San Francisco is a completely different vibe from Los Angeles (duh). Much more laid back, not as phoney, much more environmentally conscious, and you get the public-transportation-narrow-streets-city that is nonexistant in Hell-A. Saturday was our touristy day; we took the bus downtown and rode the trolley to Fisherman's Wharf. We watched the seals bark, sleep, and play. After we had grown tired of their stink we walked to Chinatown where I stocked up on supplies: fish paste, crab paste, guava leaf tea, yan-yan, pocki, and tempura batter mix. We ate lunch in Chinatown then walked downtown where I saw an H&M. From previous posts you know full well that there isn't any H&M in Los Angeles. In fact the H&M in Frisco is the only one on the west coast! (Well, until they build the one at Highlands) Needless to say, I stood in line for 45 minutes to try on 5 items. It was worth it, I bought the cutest green dress with pink flamingos on it. The skirt fluffs out because there is tulle beneath it. So Donna Reed is this dress, that when I wear it with pearls I suddenly have the urge to vacume. After H&M we rode the bus to Golden Gate park in the hopes of obtaining some setas from one of the local hippies. This was relatively easy, and we camped out on the hill near the drum circle to lay in the sun before heading back to Christines. That night I made Ghanaian bean cakes in the hopes that the delicious albeit gassy dish would make Jenna regular. We sat around and listened to amazing soul and R&B on Jenna's ipod in a grassy haze.
Sunday we woke up early and ate our setas, which unfortunately didn't do much. We headed down to Haight street to peruse the cute little shops. Here you could really see the clash of newer, more expensive stores with the older smoke and used clothing shops. At the latter I found Jenna some killer red Easy Spirit pumps and the most amazing psycadellic moo-moo for myself. This moo-moo gathers at the neck, and hangs to my ankles. It's covered in vibrant patterns. My weekend-hippie transformation was complete. We walked back to Golden Gate Park and laid in the grass with all the kids, flew a kite, and watched the drum circle. Then we got some ice cream and walked back to Christines.
Later that day I drove home in my moo-moo, and played a little "L.A. Woman" to get myself back in the right state of mind. I made it home on 1 tank of gas! 400 miles, friends, which made me feel so very good even though I get horrible mileage during my weekday commute. When I walked into my apartment clad in my moo-moo and Ghanaian sandals Robert asked me cautiously if I'd "had a good time." Hell yes!
However, the week after my trip I was mildly depressed (probably because of raging PMS), but the more I thought about it, and all the things I'd thought about in San Francisco, the clearer it became for me. My job, L.A., materialistic superficial people, the republican douche I work with, I put in one category. That was the category I didn't want to become, it was a category of strangers, phonies and talentless hacks. The other category was San Francisco, artists, free-spirits, raging liberals, my friends. That was what I wanted to be a part of. I mean, I enjoy L.A., and it isn't all bad, no city is perfect, I don't want to move to Frisco, etc. However, I haven't been writing. I haven't been plotting out my "career", I don't want to get comfortable working for "the man." For me San Francisco was a reminder of why I moved out west. It was also a much needed vacation that said to me, unless you write and create and continue to grow you will become what you loathe. It's not easy to motivate oneself outside of college where one lacks deadlines and grades and classroom competition, but I'm going to damn well try to get off my ass and do something. I want to feel alive, and connect with the people around me, smell-touch-taste life. I refuse to just go through the motions. I've come too far to take the easy path now.
I'm going to wear my psycadellic moo-moo with pride.
posted by Eileen at 6:34 PM
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