Awesome Day Twenty Nine: Coming Home

I travel a lot.  Not as much as a business person, I suppose, but definitely more than the average person.  I'm on a plane at least once a month--sometimes way more--and as much as I love that feeling of taking off into a new adventure, I really, really love the feeling of landing and coming home.

On Awesome Day Twenty Nine, I did just that.  I came home.

Now, maybe this doesn't sound so Awesome to some of you out there--but if you leave a lot, like I do, then you probably get it.  I love traveling.  I love adventure.  I love exploring new places and cultures and meeting new people.  For me, that is one of my favorite parts about life.

But travel is a funny thing.  While you're busy appreciating a new place, with all its differences and foreign wonders and new approaches, you also find yourself appreciating where you came from in ways you never have before.  At times, you find yourself longing for the mundane that you were excited to leave.  It's a great gift; if I never left, I would never truly appreciate all that I have in my life at home.

(And then when you get home, you miss all the Awesome you saw on your last adventure, and long to leave again--this is the endless cycle known as the "Travel Bug."  Once you have it, you can't get rid of it.)

On Awesome Day Twenty Nine, I wasn't returning from some mind-blowing trip abroad or any kind of backcountry camping adventure that left me longing for hot showers and soft beds.  I was just journeying down the coastline from a trip to San Francisco.  With my family, no less.  And it was a great trip.

Still, I had that familiar flutter in my stomach when I looked out the window and saw the Downtown LA skyline.  I soaked in the warmth of the overly hot late summer LA sunshine.  I immediately had an appetite for tacos served out of a truck.  I was even happy to go straight to work from the airport, smiling my way through a (pretty terrible) $40 shift at the bar after a five day break from it all.  (It's amazing what going away can do.)

I can't even explain the Awesomeness of returning home to my mini-family.  The warm hug from a boyfriend I haven't seen in days and the excitement of furry puppy-blurs zooming around the apartment was a highlight to the whole month of Awesome.

There really is no place like home.






In Other Awesome News:  My new passport came today!!  Kudos to the State Department for getting that back to me in less than the estimated time (it's only been nine days).  I guess I'm ready to leave again...

Awesome Day Twenty Eight: A Brief Trip to Prison

For me, Alcatraz has always been one of those places shrouded in mystery (I'm guessing this is probably true for most people).  Back when I was a kid, my grandparents got me a shirt as a souvenir from their trip to San Francisco that said "Alcatraz Swimming Team" on it.  When I found out what Alcatraz was, and why that shirt was supposed to be funny, I couldn't stop picturing what such a place would look like.  And why they would send people there.

Fast forward about 20 years.  I have been living in California for nearly a decade (dear god), but trips to  San Francisco have not been numerous.  It's a six hour drive; I don't like six hour drives.  So, despite living on the west coast--and in the same state--as the famed prison for years, it was not until Awesome Day Twenty Eight that I finally made the trip.

You guys, it is worth it.

Technically part of the National Park Service (news to me), Alcatraz has quite the history.  It was the prison of all prisons, the place a person was sent when regular prison just wasn't enough.  But before that, it was a military fortress, armed with canons to protect the newly developing west coast of the United States, and home to the first functional light house on this side of the country.  Later on, it became a military prison, and those military prisoners built the Alcatraz prison that still (mostly) stands today.

(It should also be noted that after Alcatraz was abandoned in 1963, a group of Native American Indians took over the island from 1969-71, hoping to create an Indian cultural center and a place for "Indians of All Tribes."  While this movement didn't last long, it's still pretty cool--and a lot of the graffiti and signage from the time is still preserved on the site.  Didn't learn that in history class.)

Alcatraz is creepy.  It's damp and dimly lit.  The footsteps of the hoards of tourists echo in the silence as everyone listens to his or her individual audio tour.  Take off your headphones and all you hear is an eerie percussive orchestra of the shuffling of feet and the laughing of the seagulls as they slowly reclaim the island.  Fog, of course, clouds the island for much of the morning; standing outside, it's hard to tell there is a world out there, even though San Francisco is only a little over a mile away.  (Later on though, when the fog clears, you can see a pretty stunning view.  The presence of the modern city must have been a rude reminder to the prisoners of how they were missing out.)

It's crumbling and clammy and cold.  It feels haunted, and it probably is.  A lot of people died there, or at least wasted a lot of life there.

That's why you go to Alcatraz, though--to get creeped out.  To see how people who do the worst deeds may have lived out years and years.  To understand just how bad it must have been.  

But beyond the prison life, another lifestyle existed on the island:  Kids grew up there.  Of course this makes sense if you really think about it, but the guards had wives and families--and they all had to live on the island.  A whole community was established on one side of the island, with a small grocery store and an area for the kids to play and everything, and that was how a handful of children grew up, right outside one of the most notorious prisons in history.  Nuts.

I will say it was a little weird to pay money to see how and where people suffered, to marvel at a jail cell that potentially consumed someone's youth, and then to visit a gift shop afterward.  Still, I had to keep reminding myself that a lot of those guys did some really bad stuff.  And the money goes to the National Park Service.  So maybe it's okay...

I can now also say that I'm thoroughly obsessed with the Great Escape of 1962.  I think those guys are still alive, living somewhere in South America.  I hope they are.  That's some badass, smart, crazy stuff they did--and they didn't hurt anyone in the process, like most escape attempts.

If my vote means anything, I think that's pretty Awesome.




In Other Awesome News:  We went to Chez Panisse Cafe in Berkeley.  The food was Awesome.  Our server was Awesome.  Alice Waters is Awesome.  The Slow Food Movement is Awesome.  Yum, yum, Awesome yum.

Awesome Day Twenty Seven: The One Where My Parents Took a Tequila Shot

I am wayyyy late to the game on Awesome Day Twenty Seven.  I blame it on the combination of a booze-filled night followed by an early morning family call time to get ourselves on a bouncy boat ride in the bay (ouch).

BUT STILL.  Here we go.

Awesome Day Twenty Seven was kinda all around Awesome.  Sightseeing in San Francisco, good food, good company, good weather.  Not. Too. Shabby.

But what really made the day Awesome came at the end, in the form of Trivia Night at a packed (and pretty Awesome) gay bar in the Castro--and then culminated with family tequila shots.

Yes.  Family tequila shots.

Now, some of you out there may have families that take shots together; my family is definitely not one of those.  In all my years on this planet, I don't think I've ever seen either of my parents shoot any kind of alcohol.  (Occasionally my dad has been known to drink the extra soy sauce after sushi like a shot, tilting his head back, all in one gulp.  That's the closest image my memory can match.)  And although my mom claims this was not her first, I've never seen any solid proof, so until then...

We didn't win trivia night.  We weren't even close.  There was a round where you had to name pictures of celebrity children, and none of us have kept up on People magazine nearly enough lately.  Our team name--"How do you cure a raging rim fire?"--didn't even win Best Name.   (But in all fairness, there were some creative names out there.)

By the end, though, we were all a little too hammered to even care.  Or at least I was.

Isn't it nice to watch new family traditions blossom?

Awesome Day Twenty Six: A Tour of Two Campuses

I kinda feel like I'm cheating on 30 Days of Awesome by traveling to a San Francisco in the middle of it.  Travel is just Awesome because it's travel.  It's new, it's something different, it's exciting.  The most mundane things are Awesome, and the Awesome things are Super Awesome.  For the next three days of Awesome, Awesome will practically fall into my lap.

So, yeah, I'm cheating.

That being recognized, let's discuss Awesome Day Twenty Six.

It involved two tours of two campuses: One in Menlo Park, and one in Palo Alto, both with my parents and my older bro.

First stop: Facebook.  Facebook was a kind of pilgrimage of sorts.  I love me some social media.  Judge if you will, but at least I admit it.  And even if you aren't as big of a fan of the social network, I'm sure you've wondered what it looks like from the inside.  I have.  Personally, I always pictured a bunch of people working inside a giant version of a desktop computer, hitting buttons and connecting cords like old telephone operators back in the day.

That's not really how it works though.

The thing with Facebook, though, is that they make you sign an NDA (a non-disclosure agreement) saying that you won't share or replicate or talk about or think about any potentially "ground-breaking" technological wonders you witness while on their campus.  So.  There's that.  It's a little hard to write a descriptive blog post after signing something like that with a major entity.  (As such, I could only take pictures of the outside of the campus--which is not exactly exciting.  Enjoy!)

What I will tell you is that the campus is pretty Awesome.  Basically a really nice college campus, the Facebook campus has the same laid back, do-work-but-still-enjoy-your-life feel.  It's got big open spaces and about a dozen different places to eat (most free, if not subsidized).  There's a barber shop and a dentist office and a gym and a clothing boutique.  You don't need to leave (why would you?) for anything (well, maybe to see your family, I suppose).

There are a lot of companies with this approach to working, and as someone who basically faces the opposite every day (working in the restaurant industry under employers who can't even offer us 50% off employee meals anymore, much less health care or full-time employment), it was really interesting to see the other side of it all.  Wouldn't that be nice, I kept thinking.

(On the flip side, I love that I can take weeks off work, have my days free, and am available to pursue a different career path on the side--all while still making a relatively decent living.  Who's to say what's really better in the long run, I suppose.  Ask me in ten years.  I'll probably know then.)

But man, that campus is pretty damn cool.  I would love to have a free salad bar at my disposal every day.  And a juice bar.  And free frozen yogurt.  And health care (did I mention health care?).  And to know that, in general, my creativity and ideas and intelligence were encouraged, fostered, and expected.  That would be pretty cool.  (Maybe I just miss college, now that I think about it...)

Anyway, I reveled in the meta idea that I was on Facebook while in Facebook (and, subsequently, Instagraming from inside Instagram too), ate some good food, and saw a lot of top secret things that I can never tell you about.  (Not really, but maybe kinda, but no, I didn't, don't worry.  I think.)  Pretty Awesome.

Stop two was to Stanford University (a place that rejected me eight years ago, and because of that, I was somewhat bitter while stomping around the grounds).  Not nearly as exciting as Facebook, Stanford was still really pretty.  I'll give it that.  Not a bad place to attain an education, I'm guessing.

We ended the day with tequila drinks and Sprinkles cupcakes (there was dinner in there somewhere too), and a rousing family game of Farkle (I rolled two Farkles in a row, which was kinda my Awesome highlight of the day).

Actually, being with my family was the real Awesome highlight of the day.  Family is really Awesome.  Really, really Awesome.

Awesome Day Twenty Five: The Awesomeness of Flea Markets

If you've been keeping up with 30 Days of Awesome, you know that I love markets.  And festivals.  And generally anything that brings people together outside.  So when Downtown LA (one of my fav hoods in this fine city) announced that it was putting together a flea market--well, you can only imagine my excitement.

To understand the Awesomeness of this in full, I feel like we need to delve into a brief history lesson. Downtown Los Angeles (otherwise known as DTLA) did not used to be so Awesome.  Technically the oldest neighborhood in Los Angeles (it was settled in 1744 as a small pueblo over a century before California was even a state), downtown boomed in the 1920s, 30s, and 40s before the population began to sprawl out in search of other hot spots (in true LA form).  In an attempt to keep business (and people) in downtown LA, a building restriction that had formerly kept buildings in downtown under thirteen stories was lifted in the late 1950s.  This changed the skyline, but didn't necessarily bring back the nightlife or the economy.

Into the later part of the 1900s, Downtown LA was a financial hub of the city, busy with suits from 9-5, but otherwise void of a real population.  Deserted buildings and streets mean that Skid Row, or "Tent City," developed along the streets that had once been the city's finest, making Downtown a center for homeless and deviants and crack heads.  It wasn't exactly friendly.

When I moved to LA eight years ago, DTLA was not touted as a hot spot.  Occasionally, I'd venture into the fashion district for some cheap designer duds, but I'd quickly make my way back to the safe bubble of my college campus.  In the last five years, though, DTLA has been undergoing a kind of (very noticeable) revival.  There are things to do.  New restaurants and bars (some of the best ones in the city, no less) are popping up faster than I can keep track.  Sporting events and major concerts are happening almost daily.  People actually live in the apartment buildings and city lofts (the rent has skyrocketed as a result).  There is innovation and art and development.

Suddenly, everyone has realized the Awesomeness of DTLA, myself included.  Between the art deco buildings, the multi-cultural pockets (Chinatown, Little Tokyo), the various districts (there's even a piñata district, I kid you not), it is a great place to be a tourist.  If you ever have a free day in this city, it would be well spent wandering the streets of downtown (much more than the almost guaranteed wasted time you'll spend in Hollywood or Beverly Hills).

This flea market was just one more sign that DTLA is continuing on its path of unique Awesomeness.

The flea market had its first run last month (it runs the last sunday of every month), but I missed it.  This month, I was going to make it (big shout out to Cesar Flores for remembering it was happening!).  I even powered through a pretty potent hangover (thank you, Awesome Day Twenty Four) and 90 degree weather.   30 Days of Awesome is really keeping me moving.

If you've been to a flea market before, then there's probably not a whole that was different about this one--except the fact that is was sponsored by Red Bull, had a VIP tent, a live DJ, and a wide variety of food trucks (oh, LA...).  But all in all, it was your average assembly of vintage goods, salvaged materials, antique furniture, and handmade trinkets.  Like an interactive museum, flea markets are full of the kind of stuff you just want to touch and fiddle with and examine.

Flea markets are rad, too, because they are different all the time and really have no rules.  A treasure hunt through piles of otherwise useless junk, flea markets are one of the only places left in this country where haggling is widely accepted.  A skill that I developed while living in the Middle East, I was upset when I returned home and couldn't talk down the prices of t-shirts at the local mall or barter for a two for one deal that wasn't advertised (I got a lot of weird stares during that culture re-adjustment).

Flea markets are a safe haven for the die hard haggler.  And I can do it in English.  Awesome.

We left with two old tiki glasses, a set of vintage champagne glasses, some antique keys, a hand etched bamboo iphone case, and some homemade lip balm.

I'll also take this moment to mention that the last Sunday Sessions at Grand Park in Downtown was on Awesome Day Twenty Five as well.  Talk about another super Awesome event to make DTLA uniquely cool.  Free music all day with a great community vibe set against the backdrop of high rises and palm trees.  (My phone was dead, or I would have taken a picture; you'll just have to believe me on this one, or go see it for yourself next summer.)

Those of you on the west side are missing out on some serious Awesome on the east side these days.

Awesome Day Twenty-Four: Costume Parties

I don't dress up enough.  I kinda forgot how fun it is to be someone else for a night, or just to wear something crazy and unusual.  I used to be in plays and musicals and wear costumes and heavy make-up pretty often.  Now it's only at halloween--and even then, I've been out of the country for the last two years when halloween rolled around.  Super sad.

On Awesome Day Twenty-Four, however, our friend was having his thirtieth birthday party:  A thrift store costume party, meant to celebrate his insistence that turning 30 didn't mean you have to "get married and get fat."  Basically, it was an excuse to drink and celebrate while wearing Awesome clothing.  Can't hate that.

The party description pretty much tells it all.  We were supposed to dress up in clothing we bought at a thrift store, which is a pretty easy task here on the east side of the city.  Thrift stores are on every block; people generally dress in thrift store clothing daily.  I guess the asterisk was that we should get clothes that we wouldn't normally rock.  (And even then, on this side of the city, anything goes, so who's to say  it's a purchase made in vain?)

I found myself a nice marching band hat and a 1950s style tropical dress (they may not have matched, but they sure were fun to wear together).  Cesar got himself a janitor (Or was it pilot? Or maybe an astronaut?) jumpsuit.

We finished off the night at the Short Stop (of course) where photobooth ensued (of course).  And then we got tacos from my favorite taco truck (Ariza's in Echo Park, they are hands down the best.)

You guys, it was saturday night--and I didn't have to bartend for the first saturday in weeks.   

What else was I supposed to do?  

Awesome Day Twenty-Three: A Day Date in DTLA

This week in LA has been summer in full swing.  Sunny, hot, with cloudless skies, these are the kinds of days where you want to wear as little as possible, and preferably be either poolside with a margarita or at the beach sneaking ice cold beers out of a cooler when beach patrol isn't looking.

Would if I could.

But Awesome Day Twenty-Three was scheduled to be cut un-Awesomely short by work.  So Cesar and I improvised with a quick (but Awesome) jaunt around Downtown Los Angeles--not exactly a place to cool off, but a cool place to go nonetheless.

First stop was the flower district, home to the LA Flower Mart.  The largest flower market in the country, this place is practically heaven to me.  It smells ah-MAZE-ing, and the flowers are all wholesale prices (aka super cheap).  This is where all the flower shops around LA buy their flowers earrrrrly in the morning; when the public is allowed in later in the day (we were there at 1 p.m.), the pickings are a little more limited, but you wouldn't even notice if no one told you.  I like it because I can buy a whole bunch of flowers, and accompanying vases, for practically nothing.  That kinda stuff makes my day.

Next stop was kinda the real reason we went to downtown: Ice cream.  It's not quite the same as a pool or the beach, but real, homemade ice cream is the next best thing on a hot summer day--especially when it's bicycle churned and organic.  Yep, bicycle churned.  A new place in DTLA just opened serving up small batch homemade ice cream, powered by bicycles.  They even make their own waffle cones.  This place is totally Awesome, and their ice cream is reaaaallllly good.

You can even sign up to be a peddler for them, to help make the ice cream and get free ice cream in return.  (Of course we both signed up--I'm going to pretend it counts as a workout.)

Flowers and ice cream: The way to my heart.

Awesome Day Twenty-Two: An Introduction to Hair

Sometimes when I go to Hollywood, I can't even fit myself into the same category as the other women I see.  Manicure-wearing, whitened-teeth-flashing, implant-flaunting, perfectly-styled-hair-tossing, designer-clothing-donning, stiletto-marching Los Angeles women really freak me out.

It's just not me.

I never learned any of that--never learned how to grin through the pain of heels every moment of the day, never learned how to hate my small breasts enough to validate a multi-thousand dollar purchase of new ones, never learned that what I wore was a definition of my self-worth, never learned that buying a new body was a legitimate way wander through life, never learned the importance of a weekly manicure.

I grew up on a prairie in Wisconsin, you guys.

That's not to say I'm totally removed from it.  Of course not.  Those of you that know me, know that.  I have nice clothes.  I wear make-up.  I care about how I look.  I love me some heels when I feel up to it.  But I also wear jean shorts, t-shirts, and flip flops on a regular basis.  I get my face ready for work in about one minute flat.  I think I've had three manicures in my whole life.  And I have no idea what to do with my hair. 

I had a minor freak out the other day when I realized that, if I'm going to dive into this whole television world, I am going to be judged on how I look all the time.  And while my headshots look perfectly polished, I might severely surprise some casting agents if I walked into an audition looking as I do in real life some days.  

Fight it as I might, as a woman in the TV world, I am expected to look picture perfect if I want a job.  

And I could really use a job.

So thankfully on Awesome Day Twenty-Two, my friend Vanessa (after hearing me express my concerns about my lack of hair knowledge), invited me to come over.  She's an actress.  She has audition-ready beauty secrets.  I desperately needed in.

Vanessa introduced me to the magic of hot rollers.  I remember them from my days in high school theater, but honestly had forgotten such a thing existed in the world.  Over girl talk and superfood salads, Vanessa walked me through the (super quick) process.  

Ta-Da!

I had hair with volume.  I was one step closer to life as an LA presentable woman.

I don't think I'll be getting implants or botox any time soon.  And those butt-hugging mini skirts just aren't really my thing either.  I can only T&A so much before my sense of self is completely gone.

But at least now I know how to do my hair.  And this is a huge, Awesome step forward.

In other Awesome News for the day:  We checked out a rad set of music at downtown's La Cita last night.  The Cypress Junkies, comprised of Eric Bobo on percussion (from Cypress Hill back in the day) and DJ Rhettmatic (from the Beat Junkies), are a super rad, super Awesome DJ-drummer combo that mixes electronic beats with real ones.  These two men know their craft, and they have passion.  It was really cool to see.  You can check out their soundcloud here, but I don't think it even begins to describe the Awesome of seeing them live.  Keep an eye out for them.

Awesome Day Twenty-One: Wine School(ed)

I worked at a winery for all of three months when I lived in Oregon when I was 22.  I pretty much hated the job, but it was a job when I really needed one, and I did learn at least a little something about wine.  I also learned that you could kinda make up anything to describe the bouquet or the flavor profile of a wine, and 90% of the customers would agree wholeheartedly.  Wine is one of those things everyone wants to pretend they understand, but only a few people really do.

I've been working in bars for the last four years, so my wine knowledge has gotten somewhat better.  I know the basics--what's sweet, what's dry, which one is more buttery, which one has more of a berry flavor, what will taste good with the steak and what is better with the salmon.  It's kind of a requirement of the job.

But to say that I know wine would be a lie.  That statement is reserved for sommeliers, in my opinion--you know, the ones that study for years and years to actually acquire the knowledge.  The ones that have special tastebuds and have passed all those tests.  You guys, that master sommelier test has a lower pass rate than the Bar exam.  In fact, it's one of the hardest tests in the world.  Respect.

Anyway, wine is still something I love to know more about.  And I really love to drink it.  So when this (super Awesome) wine bar in downtown LA started hosting Wine School once a month, I was intrigued.  When I found out that "wine school" really meant drink-ten-samples-of-wine-til-you're-tipsy-and-maybe-learn-some-stuff, I was in.

When you arrive at wine school, you are handed a packet of questions and a pencil.  There are three questions for each of the ten wines featured.  A panel of three wine experts (and personalities) answer each question; you pick who answered it correctly.  After each set of questions, a trained (and Awesome) sommelier gets up to thoroughly explain each wine and gives the correct answers.

I really did learn things.

I learned that Rieslings are characterized by apricot and peach aromas.  I learned that noble rot is a fungus on the grape that actually enhances the flavor of the wine (unless it turns into grey rot, and then you're screwed).  I learned that Petite Syrah and Syrah grapes are not in any way related.  I learned that if you have to rinse your wine glass in between wines to not use water, as water is a polar molecule and wine is a non-polar molecule, and the water will create a barrier between the wine and the glass (you should instead swirl your glass with whatever wine you will be drinking next).  I learned that Moscato is the perfect wine to sip while listening to a rap song and eating wedding cake.

As the owner, Lorena, stated at the end of the night, "We hope you had fun tonight.  If you didn't have fun, we hope you learned something.  And if you didn't learn something, we hope you're hammered."

Yep.  Wine School is Awesome.

Awesome Day Twenty: Blank Pages

August has been full of grown-up moments for me.  I finally became a California resident.  I made my first payment on my own individual health care plan (whew!).  I started paying way too much for car insurance.  I mentally committed myself to a career.

And on Awesome Day Twenty, I parted with one of the most prized possessions of my adult life:  My passport.

To be clear, I didn't part with it for good; it's about to expire and I am getting a new one.  But that passport tells the story of my life in the last ten years, right down to the photograph my dad took in the living room when digital cameras first became a common thing ("Why pay someone to do it when you can do it yourself now?").  Parting with that passport was like parting with a dear friend, one that traveled with me through some really good times, and some really not so good times.  Trading it in for a blank one seems kinda like putting down a sick pet or breaking up with someone you still really love.  I don't want to, but I know it's what needs to be done.

Maybe this is dramatic for some, but I know my fellow travel junkies out there get where I'm coming from.  The stamps in that passport define moments in my life.  Big moments.

The time I went to Costa Rica as a sixteen year old and saw my first sloth.  The 90 day visa when I moved to Japan for a summer on my seventeenth birthday.  The stamp upon entering Germany with my family when I was 19, only to realize my dad's wallet had been stolen on the plane (that is a fantastic family tale).  The resident visa when I moved to Jordan for a year when I was 20, and my life changed forever.  The postage-stamp-like visas from multiple trips to Syria, and the memories of waiting hours at the border.  The time I went to Turkey with five complete strangers (who became five incredible friends) when I was 23, to film a travel show for two weeks--and change my career path completely.  The stamps from Belize, Costa Rica, Mauritius, Azerbaijan, Zambia, South Africa, and London that outline the story of my time filming with ProjectExplorer.org for the three years following.  And somewhere in the midst of all that, a shiny visa from Indonesia when I landed in Bali in 2012--a trip I had dreamt about for years and a place that got under my skin and calmed my soul.

And then, of course, there are the entry stamps upon returning home, the ones that remind me of how each journey changed me, how coming home always meant finding new things to appreciate and new things to miss.

My passport, to me, is like a story book of my journey into adulthood.  My milestones are not when I got my first car or when I graduated high school or when I went off to college; my milestones are every time I learned a little more about this huge, beautiful, interesting, Awesome, and sometimes overwhelming world we call home.  My milestones are connected by airplanes and in-flight movies.  My milestones are full of foreign languages and culture shock and misunderstandings and souvenirs.  And my passport was there for all of them.

I really love my passport.

Still, I suppose a blank passport means a whole lot of new journeys, a whole lot of new milestones and realizations and adventures and heartbreaks.

I can only hope the next ten years are as Awesome as the last.

Awesome Day Nineteen: Stairways and Street Art

Awesome Day Nineteen started out a little rough.

First off, my quads were pathetically sore from the dancing we did in that music video the day before.  (Really.)  But Awesome Day Nineteen was also one of those days where all the little things started to pile up--and not the good little things, but the not-so-good ones.  The kind of little things that just slowly start to nag at the back of your brain until you're so paralyzed by the overwhelming amount of Little Things that you simply shutdown for an entire afternoon.  Or at least I do anyway.

Awesome Day Nineteen was precariously close to a shutdown.

During 30 Days of Awesome, however, afternoon shutdowns are not an option.  So instead, I decided to take a walk around my neighborhood, which--as I'm sure you've already read--I love.

Two Awesome things (among many) are notable about this corner of the city by foot: Stairways and street art.  Echo Park and Silver Lake (as well as other neighborhoods) have winding, somewhat hidden networks of stairways that connect the high up hilltops to the more popular walking streets down below.  Unassuming and usually in some form of disrepair, these stairways remain unknown to the average Angelino; you kinda have to live nearby them to even notice them, much less use them.  They are off the beaten path in sections of the city known for gang activity--not exactly a great endorsement of their safety or practicality--and they are steep.  These things will provide a workout no Stair Master ever could.

They are also starting to get a lot more attention.  (Odd that the BBC and I had the same stairways in mind on the same day, but kinda Awesome, if you ask me.)

All in all, Echo Park has about two dozen stairways scattered throughout the hilly terrain.  They harken back to a time when cars didn't rule the landscape of LA, when a sophisticated trolly system took residents from point A to point B.  These staircases were the most convenient way to get from one's home to the trolly tracks below, to run errands or go to work or socialize.

People must have been really fit back in the day.

Echo Park has big hills, meaning that some of these staircases are hundreds of steps tall.  I decided to take a walk (a power walk, to be fair) to (probably) the tallest stairway in Los Angeles.  With more than 230 steps, the stairs over by Baxter Street and Echo Park Avenue lead all the way up to a stunning view of the surrounding city: Downtown stands proud to one side, while the Hollywood sign and the Griffith Park Observatory shine on the other.  Not a bad reward after panting my way to the top.

It was about a two mile walk each way to the staircase from my apartment, but walks in Echo Park are always enjoyable thanks to the rad amount of street art that inevitably lines the way.  Multi-colored, positive, and done with an amount of artistry that deserves appreciation, these murals are not synonymous with the negative connotation of graffiti.  They are something to be respected.  There are even murals about the stairways; Echo Park residents are proud of Echo Park.  I think that's pretty Awesome.

I returned home after my walk, sweaty and tired (it was hot out yesterday and those hills are no joke), but reinvigorated in a way no afternoon shutdown could have provided.   Little Things are a way better problem to have than Big Things.  Perspective is a wonderful thing.

Sometimes it's good to get a big, sweaty breath of fresh air.

Awesome Day Eighteen: My First Music Video (with Jesus)

Continuing on the musical theme for the weekend, I set off on the morning of Awesome Day Eighteen into Hollywood to help shoot a music video for a friend of a friend (who is now a friend of mine, I suppose).  This was a first for me; dancing isn't really my "thing".  But when an opportunity to be a "sinner in the Den of Sin" in a "parody Christian rock song" comes along...well, you just don't pass that up.

My friend Samara had posted a Facebook shout-out a few days back to anyone interested in the shoot.  This is relatively normal in LA; I see posts to participate in something entertainment-related a few times a month through friends.  Despite all the actors in this city, I guess it's always hard to find people.

Normally, I don't do these things.  I don't consider myself an actress (despite all those chorus roles I kept landing in high school and community theater), and I definitely don't consider myself fit for a music video.  But because it is 30 Days of Awesome (and because I've been meaning to hang out with Samara for a while), I decided to give it a go.

And boy am I glad I did.

I came armed with a variety of sequin-filled outfits, ripped stockings, and heels not made for dancing (my best interpretation of "sparkly nightclub attire"), not knowing what to expect.  In my mind, the day would most likely include some kind of clumsy whirl at synchronized movement by yours truly, and an awkward attempt to look sexy on camera, while everyone around me was polished and comfortable with their on-camera presence.  It was a good prediction--but instead of being mortifying and scarring, it was FUN.  Like super fun.  Like why-don't-I-roll-out-of-bed-once-a-week-to-do-this-kinda-thing fun.

To say that the day was a blast would be a shameful understatement.  It was hilarious.  It was spontaneous.  It was highly entertaining and over-the-top ridiculous.  Anytime you assemble a group of twelve strangers and a man dressed as Jesus to learn and record choreographed dance moves in a matter of minutes (all the while being told we were aiming for "a rejected episode of Glee" kinda feel), you can be sure there is something truly Awesome happening.

We filmed in the basement an old apartment building.  It was hotter than hot inside, with sweat dripping off faces and the sweet smell of body odor clinging to the thick, stale air.  But it didn't matter.  As far as I was concerned, it was a pretty accurate portrayal of a Den of Sin (or Hades, I suppose), and the moisture on my face would just add a kind of glow on camera (this is the same thing I tell myself while filming in tropical countries, too).

With all the hilarity, it was still an organized and professional chaos--kudos to the team assembled for that.  In between off-color religious jokes and even a brief (yet contained) fire incident, we were done, choreography and all, in a matter of hours.  Paid in Two Buck Chuck and chocolate (not bad for a day off), I left with a new appreciation for grabbing odd opportunities by the horns and dancing til you can't dance no more.

Oh, the life lessons of Awesome.

The song, called "Holy Roller," is performed by Christian rock recording artist Phil Little and his band the Little Sins, produced by Zach Villa.  The song, and the music video, should be released sometime in the next two months.  It's going to be Awesome.

Stay tuned...

Awesome Day Seventeen: Street Festivals and a Fish Platter

Street festivals are always cool.  Music festivals are equally rad.  Music and street festivals in my neighborhood, however, are just downright Awesome.  (Especially when they are free--and you all know how I feel about free things.)

We're talking walking distance, guys, walking distance to numerous live bands, vendors, and a beer garden.   Awesome Day Seventeen was looking good.

The festival was Echo Park Rising, a festival in its third year, meant to keep music and fun affordable for all.  It highlights my favorite neighborhood in LA.  Echo Park is Awesome.  Yes, it's full of hipsters, but it's also full of culture, music, street art, staircases, dive bars, and really good tacos.  Plus, I've decided that hipsters aren't really all that bad.  I practically am one, except that I have a job to pay my rent (and not my parents) and usually don't spend hours making my full-of-effort, ultra-expensive outfit look thirft-store and effortless.

But still.

I like festivals for a couple reasons.  First, obviously, is the community vibe.  I like anything that brings together otherwise strangers in a common pursuit of music or art or farmed goods or culture.  Second, festivals transform spaces from desolate, ordinary places into something extraordinary.  Driving streets become pedestrian-dominated, desert fills up with state-of-the-art sound equipment, parks turn into outdoor art galleries and food courts.  You can drink booze in places you would otherwise get arrested.  You can romp and wear fun clothes and eat street food--and in LA street food means food trucks, and I really love food trucks.

There also usually a lot of fun things to buy.  This particular festival was full of vintage clothes and artwork.  I like both those things.  We bought this (Awesome) fish platter--or as it was described on the tag, "A Fishy Fishy Fishy Fish Platter":

I can't claim that I knew most of the bands playing (again, I'm a sad excuse for a hipster), but we did catch Chicano Batman, a local LA band that totally rocks.  I've seen them a few times; they are always solid.  Everyone else was pretty great too.  That's the great thing about LA: free music is almost always Awesome.  There is a lot of talent in this city.

Awesome Day Seventeen got cut off a little early by work.  On a Saturday.  Unfortunately, this is life, but just because it's a work day doesn't mean it can't be Awesome.

In Other Awesome News:  Let's note the Awesomeness that is happening to protest the anti-gay laws in Russia, especially with the Olympics looming around the corner.  Personally, I think we should boycott the whole deal.  I'm over this anti-gay bullshit, and people acting like it's even remotely okay.  But I love this story about the Russian athletes proving a point.

Awesome Day Sixteen: The Little Things

Awesome Day Sixteen was one of those days where Awesome was not the central theme.  I woke up late after a late night of post-bartending card-making and letter-writing the night before.  By the time I got moving, work was looming right around the corner.

So what do you do when there isn't a whole lot of time for a big kind of Awesome during your day?

You focus on the little things, and how Awesome they are--because I guarantee any day has at least one Awesome attribute, one moment where you stop and smile, one small silver lining.  Even days like Awesome Day Sixteen, which came precariously close to being un-Awesome by a challenging (and dare I say it: bitchy) over-demanding, de-humanizing, down-right-not-nice customer at the bar.  Sometimes service jobs just kinda suck.  (Clearly this woman had become lost on her search of Awesome in life.  Bummer.)

But I digress.

Awesome Day Sixteen didn't have any huge crafting projects or nature hikes or life changes.  But there were a few great Little Awesome moments that happened, and I decided to spend my day celebrating those.

1) It was my brother's birthday.  He is Awesome.  That is reason enough for an Awesome day.  Here's how cute we were when we were little:

2) I've been attempting to regain my control of literacy lately--namely, by reading again.  I used to devour books, and then college hit and reading became kind of a chore.  I didn't have time for fun reading anymore; it was all textbooks and political jargon and academic papers.  I got out of the habit of searching for (and hoarding) good books; without good books sitting around, I filled my free time with other pursuits, like television, until that just became the norm.

But I recently finished an Awesome book--my first novel read for fun in probably (sadly) a year.  It was the kind of book where I read the last chapter reaaaaallly slowly; it was so good, I didn't want it to end. So I committed myself to finding a new book on Awesome Day Sixteen, and while I did download one option on my Ipad that looks promising, I decided instead to take a stab at one of the (many) books that have been collecting dust on my bookshelf, forgotten:  Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential.

I have mad respect for Anthony Bourdain.  In my mind, he's in a tie with Mariana van Zeller for Most Awesome Career award--although, honestly, I think Bourdain might be slightly ahead in the category.  I respect his writing. I respect his presence on television, the way he owns the camera and keeps his audience engaged and talks like he has a brain and an opinion.  I respect his Awesomeness as a traveler, as someone who clearly takes the time to understand where he is and what it's about.  He is Awesome.

But I've never read his book, the one that kinda jump started the whole famous-tv-star path he's currently on.  So, on Awesome Day Sixteen, I sat down with a pint of beer and a good book, ready to be enlightened about the restaurant world I already know too much about.

3) That online commercial I made after getting my headshots done last week is live, and it's not as totally embarrassing as I thought it was going to be.  I'll be signing autographs later today, if you stop by the brewery (I always look that happy while pouring beers, in case you're wondering).  You can watch it here.

4) I found this pretty Awesome speech by Ashton Kutcher at the Teen Choice Awards that happened a few days ago. Unlikely source for super inspirational, REAL talk for teens (and adults, for that matter).  Watch it; he has some good stuff to say.


Sometimes, it's all about the little things.

Awesome Day Fifteen: Snail Mail

First:

Ok, now on to Awesome Day Fifteen.  Two words:  Snail Mail.

I get really excited when I get something in the mail that isn't an advertisement, a bill, or Netflix.  It rarely happens, but on the off chance that I get some kind of handwritten letter or a card, it makes my day.  It reminds me of summer camp, when going away for two weeks sounded like forever, and getting mail from friends and family assured me that home still existed after ten days of bunk beds and cafeteria meals and group showers.

Snail mail, to me, is reassuring.  The world is good, everything is going to be ok, someone is thinking of you.

I even had a pen-pal growing up (remember those?), which makes me wonder: Do kids these days still have pen-pals?  Or are they e-mail pals?  Or do we just call those Facebook friends now?  Damn, I feel old.

Anyway, my point is that snail mail is Awesome.  It's nostalgic.  It's meaningful.  It's tangible, easy to save; you don't delete it, you can't lose it in your inbox.  It takes just a bit more thought and preparation than its electronic relative--buying stamps, putting it in the mailbox, physically writing the message as opposed to typing.  It shows a level of caring that no email could ever replicate.

Snail mail is just plain cooler, too.  It's unique.  It's got postmarks and stamps and the wear and tear of traveling a great distance to get to its recipient.  We can all pretend that e-cards are in someway Awesome--but they're not, and they never will be.  Anything that doesn't actually have a flap of paper to open with a message underneath should not be called a card.

But even with all that appreciation, I can tell you that it's been a while since I sent any snail mail.  I occasionally will send postcards if I'm traveling--but even then, it's rare.  I do have a stack of unsent postcards in my apartment, a collection of all the places I have been in the last few years that never made it to the people with whom I wanted to share it all.  Seriously, snail mail is just not something we factor into our schedules anymore.

(It's also seriously in debt.  I'm worried that snail mail will cease to exist someday soon, that I will talk to my children about snail mail the same way I've been told about carrier pigeons.  And they will look at envelopes and stamps in awe, wondering how it all worked.  You guys, it might happen.)

On Awesome Day Fifteen, however, I decided to take snail mail to a whole new (handmade) level.  I was going to make my own cards--and then, when I realized that I didn't have any envelopes, I committed to making my own envelopes as well.  My day was full of glue sticks and tiny scissors and construction paper.  It was pretty Awesome.

I wrote to relatives and friends, people I either hadn't talked to in a while, or maybe just missed.  It took a while--a long while--but it was fun, and I like the idea of sending messages in the mail that will take days to get to their destination, as opposed to milliseconds.  I like the idea that the letters, when they are received, will be from Awesome Day Fifteen Kat, and not from Current Day Kat, like a little mini-time capsule.  I like the idea that someone I love will stop for a second and know they are missed.  The world is good, everything is going to be ok, someone is thinking of you.

Snail mail is just seriously Awesome.

Awesome Day Fourteen: Puppies to the Park

I woke up so sore from Awesome Day Thirteen on the morning of Awesome Day Fourteen that I really couldn't imagine doing much.  Pathetic, yes, but true.  For all you Yoga Doubters out there--that shit is real.  It hurt to shake drinks at the bar on the night of Awesome Day Fourteen.  I'm a mess.

So, after Awesomely sprawling on the couch for a bit, I decided that Awesome had to happen, even if it was small.  It was a Puppies to the Park kinda day, one of the most Awesome kind of days possible.

Now, I'll be honest.  This post is kiiiiinda existing just to showcase MORE pictures of our dogs, because they are the loves of my life and, like the proud parent of an honor student, I believe that everyone wants to look at pictures of them just as much as I always do (RIGHT?).

There's not much to explain about Puppies to the Park days.  We take the puppies to the park.  They act like the Awesome puppies that they are, running and playing fetch and barking and rolling in the grass.  They make me smile with their floppy tongues and floppy ears.  I practically tear up, wondering how I got so lucky to have two amazing little creatures in my life (while simultaneously thanking the Heavens Above for the craziness of whomever decided to leave little Chloe--the grey one--in a shoe box on the sidewalk when she was 4 weeks old for a shelter to find, because then we found her, and life became that much more Awesome).

For that hour, there is no other part of the world that exists in my heart than that patch of park and those two puppies.  Time stops.

It's a sappy, wonderful, life-is-beautiful kind of activity.

I'm telling you: These dogs are that Awesome.

Here are some shameless pictures (and a video!) to more accurately describe the Awesomeness:

Life is good, my friends.  Real good.





In other Awesome animal-related news:  A new mammal was discovered that is "a mix between a teddy bear and a house cat."  Um, WHAT?  Yes, please.

Awesome Day Thirteen: Rediscovering Flexibility

Just so we're clear, this is the outline for the remainder of 30 Days Of Awesome:

Ok, so let's talk about Awesome Day Thirteen--otherwise known as The Day I Committed To Doing Yoga Again.

Otherwise known as Ouch.

You guys, I used to do yoga four times a week.  Sometimes five.  I used to flow like the best of them.  I could balance and handstand and stretch and flex.  I would do yoga when I woke up and before I went to bed.  I rarely had aches or pains or tight muscles (I was also five years younger, so that might have helped too).

This is all coming from someone who had never done a forward bend to touch her toes until I was a freshman in college. I was not flexible growing up.  I wasn't even athletic.  I had a brief stint in gymnastics until my mom withdrew me from the program without even telling me one year.  I can't blame her; there probably wasn't much hope.

So all this yoga stuff was really an accomplishment.  I was proud of it.

Then, somewhere along the way, I just kinda stopped.  It takes commitment and money and time and discipline to practice yoga, and I guess I just decided I didn't have all of those things so much anymore.  My muscles slowly got tighter and tighter and my back started to hurt in places it hadn't in years.  I found myself repeatedly uttering the words "I need to go to yoga..." without ever acting on them.

All in all, it had been roughly a year and a half since I had stepped foot in a yoga class; the last class I can remember participating in was in Ubud, Bali at the Yoga Barn (that place is rad, if you're ever in Bali) in February 2012.  Embarrassing.

And then, as I'm sure you can imagine, after not going to yoga in a year, it just sounds...hard.  After so long, I knew it was going to be frustrating, and honestly, I just didn't want to face it.  It was much less daunting to head over to the gym and mentally check out while grinding away on the elliptical and watching TMZ.  But my body was hurting for a challenge, my mind missed the opportunity to be present and calm, and I began to seriously miss those toned arms and hamstrings.

So on Awesome Day Thirteen, I committed to yoga.  (And lucky for me, I have a pretty Awesome boyfriend that was equally missing the yoga life.  Awesome is just so much more fun with a partner in crime.)

There's a yoga studio down the street from me in Silver Lake that offers $5 yoga classes a few times a day (ridiculously cheap for yoga in LA--dear God it can get expensive here).  It was a gorgeous, sunny day, so we took the opportunity to enjoy the 30 minute graffiti-filled walk to the studio.  Probably best to get the blood moving at least a little before throwing ourselves into the hour long reintroduction to flexibility and chaturanga, we thought.

(The walk took us right by my favorite sign in all of Los Angeles.  Advertising a foot clinic, it spins between a sad foot and a happy foot.  You know the one.  It was happy when we passed by it today; it was going to be a good day.)

We walked fast too, because I was set on getting there early.  No way was I going to get stuck in the front of the class today.  I know they say yoga is not competitive, but you know people are looking, especially in LA.  Everyone looks at everyone all the time in LA.  Plus my shorts were scandalously short for any kind of bending in front of an audience.  Best to have the wall behind me on all counts.

The hour was Awesome.  Awesome, Awesome, Awesome.  And painful.  It was like seeing an old boyfriend after a break-up long ago and realizing you're still madly in love.

Oh yoga, why did I ever leave you?  

Of course, there were poses my body essentially laughed at, times that I just looked around thinking "well, I used to be able to do that," and I was physically done after an hour.  Done.  I guess those days on the elliptical with TMZ were as fulfilling for my body as they were for my mind.

But I felt absolutely great.  I couldn't get over how great I felt.  I felt great all the way through a shift of work at the bar, which pretty much never happens.

I didn't feel great, however, when I woke up this morning.  Holy crap, I'm sore.  I'm sore in places I haven't been in years, but I guess that makes sense.  I suppose it's a good kind of sore though, the kind of sore that makes me feel like I am taking back my life.

Yoga, we are totally getting back together.

Awesome Day Twelve: When You WIsh Upon A Star...

I'm ashamed to admit that I totally forgot about the Perseid meteor shower.  If a co-worker at the restaurant hadn't (thankfully) reminded me a few days ago, it would have passed by without me even glancing at the sky.

It's an easy thing to forget about here in Los Angeles, as are stars in general (unless we're talking about the ones on the sidewalk on Hollywood Boulevard).  If you're lucky, you can see two, maybe three, stars in the sky here in LA.  Sad.  Very sad.

I grew up in the countryside in Wisconsin, where the sky is jam-packed with twinkling specks.  I grew up with a father that taught me all the constellations every night while we walked our dog.  I grew up with glimpses of the Northern Lights and a habit of spinning around and around while looking up until all the stars spun into one and I fell down dizzy.

I love me some stars.

The Perseid meteor shower always meant the end of summer to me when I was a kid.  My family used to watch it every year--but that was a pretty easy thing to do, since it lasts about a week, and all we had to do was walk outside and look up.  Still, I remember a specific time, when we were moving into our new house when I was six.  We weren't completely moved in yet, so we brought sleeping bags on lawn chairs out to the driveway and had a kind of family slumber party, pointing out the shooting stars as they streaked across the sky.  I think there were even M&Ms involved.  Not a bad way to fall asleep.

I hadn't seen the shower in years, probably.  I can't remember the last time.  But this year, I was committed.  I was going to see shooting stars.  I have a lot of wishes to make these days.

So, naturally, I googled the best places to watch the Perseid shower in Los Angeles.  Disturbingly, the first thing to show up was an LA Times article inviting one to "watch the meteor shower live, online!"  Seriously??  Was this the only option in LA--to watch a meteor shower on a computer screen??  What do you do, turn off the lights, lie down on the ground, and hold your laptop above your head?  No way.

Thankfully, a few other ideas popped up.  The closest suggestion was Vasquez Rocks Park, about 45 minutes north of Los Angeles.  When I called, the ranger assured me that people often viewed the meteor shower from there and it was "supposed to be pretty good."  That was all the endorsement I needed.

Cesar, myself, and our neighbor Remy (seriously, friends, come join in on the Awesome!) headed up at about 11 p.m., with blankets, lawn chairs, a bottle of wine, a couple bags of chips, and some night vision goggles (not necessary, but fun).  When we pulled up, about a dozen cars were already parked outside the park gates--way more people than I was expecting.  From just over the park fence, we could hear the distant sound of laughter and people ooh-ing and aahh-ing at the night sky.  I looked up; sure enough, there were a blanket of stars above us, even just an hour or so outside the city.  Not bad.

Just as we stepped into the park, following the sound of the voices, a HUGE shooting star whizzed across the sky.  The assembled crowd cheered.

I knew this was going to be a good night.

I've never watched a meteor shower with a group of strangers before, but after Awesome Day Twelve, I don't know that I'd do it any other way.  It was, for lack of a better word, Awesome.  We all talked about life, or books, or traveling in-between star shows; it was entertaining, although I have no idea what anyone else there even looked like.  I never will.  It was a random, brief interaction with a bunch of probably very different people, brought together by a dazzling show from nature.  You don't get that often here in LA.

(Side note:  One of my favorite quotes from the night was when one of the women there was describing the moon earlier that night to us.  "It was amazing," she said, "Bright orange--like a giant flaming cheeto."  Poetic.)

All in all, we probably saw about 30 or 40 shooting stars.  I made exactly that amount of wishes.  If it all works out, 30 Days of Awesome may be getting just a little more Awesome before the end.  ;)

I tried to take a picture of the sky, but without any kind of proper equipment, this is all I got:

I guess you all will have to go find your own meteor shower.  It's still going on tonight, if you have time to take a drive (or you can watch it online, I suppose).  Sometimes it's just best to see it for yourself.

Awesome Day Eleven: Veggies, Poems, and Stars

The other day I found myself at Target--one of those big, city Targets with a grocery and produce section.  I don't normally do my grocery shopping at Target, but I was hungry, and wanted to buy just a few simple things--an avocado, some eggs, a tomato.

It's summer, ripe-tomatoes-falling-off-the-vine summer.  But at this particular Target the tomatoes could not have looked less tomato-y, or more disgusting.  Barely red, hard, crunchy tomatoes.  I sat there for a second, holding one of the sad excuses for a tomato in my hand, seriously questioning why such tomatoes even exist at this time of year, in California no less, the land of endless bounty.  Disappointed, I gave up any tomato plans I had for the day.  I had lost my appetite.

Fast forward to Awesome Day Eleven.  The last two days were spent craving fresh, farmer's market tomatoes, like the kind we used to grow in the garden at home in Wisconsin.  Or maybe even better...because I suddenly realized it was heirloom tomato season, one of the most delicious times of the whole year.

If you've never had an heirloom tomato, these tomatoes are unlike any you've ever had before.  People who (sadly) utter the words, "I don't like tomatoes," have clearly never had an heirloom.  Heirlooms are a lesson in seeing inner beauty--often bulging and brown and stripped and green, these tomatoes don't look like your average ripe-red plum tomato.  But my God, they taste like heaven.  Sweet, earthy, buttery, complex, juicy heaven.

On Awesome Day Eleven, I was on an heirloom hunt.

Cesar and I headed off to the Hollywood Farmers' Market, one of the many (Awesome) farmers' markets in Los Angeles.  The Hollywood one is my personal fav for a few reasons--it's huge, it's a great change in the normal (dirty, little-hope-in-humanity) scenery of Hollywood, there are occasional brushes with fame (stay tuned), and it's set against the backdrop of the giant (creepy) Church of Scientology building.

Now, let's take a quick moment to rewind.  If you've spent any time with me in the last seven years, you've probably heard my story about meeting Jake Gyllenhaal at the Hollywood Farmers' Market in 2006.  I've never really been the type to crush on a celebrity; there were no JTT posters on my wall as a tween, no boy bands or movie stars or athletes ever caught my eye.  I was always realistic in my pursuits (for the most part).  But Jake Gyllenhaal--he's been the exception.  Kinda ever since October Sky.  He just seems...like a real human being.  And he's supercute.  Needless to say, ever since 2006, I have scanned the farmers' market crowd, thinking just maybe I'd see him again.

And my boyfriend knows this.

Back to Day Eleven:  As I perused the various stands for the best heirlooms, picking up a couple ripe avocados along the way, Cesar taps me on the shoulder, "Your man Jake is behind you."

"Ha," I said, "Real funny."

"Ok," he replied, "But he's seriously right behind you.  He's talking to that girl that was on that show Freaks and Geeks."

I turned around.  I think I squealed (embarrassing).  It had happened.  Seven years later.

Now, I'd love to tell you that I had the courage to approach him again, that I asked him if we could take a quick selfie together for my Instagram feed and he said yes, and that we exchanged numbers so I could text it to him later--but, nope.  Apparently my 19-year-old self had way more cahones than I do now.  Instead, I just stalked him from the depths of a stand selling herbs for a creepily inappropriate amount of time, pretending to contemplate the rosemary and sage, while Cesar rolled his eyes and bought ceviche.

He is just so cute.

Maybe befriending Jake Gyllenhaal was a total failure, but I did leave with a couple of Awesome heirlooms that restored my somewhat destroyed faith in tomatoes after that Target experience.

And, to top it all off, we discovered a new addition to the Hollywood Farmers' Market--a Poem Store.  This super-talented chick busts out (really good) poems while barely taking time to breathe in-between.  As a customer, you choose the topic and the price, and she'll hand you a totally unique poem no more than two minutes later.  Awesome.

 Apparently the LA Times discovered her last week and wrote a pretty sweet piece about her, making the waiting line for a poem that much longer.  But oh so worth it.

Here is the poem she wrote for me, about the Hollywood Farmers' Market.  I love it.

Awesome Day Ten: A Homemade Outdoor Movie Theater

I love watching movies.  And I love going to the movies.  But movie theaters in LA (and around the country, probably) have gotten ridiculously expensive.  Like fifteen-dollars-for-a-weekday, God-help-you-if-you-want-popcorn, don't-even-consider-the-IMAX kind of expensive.  There is rarely a time when I feel like the purchase is justified--and honestly, it just makes me feel like a curmudgeon, repeating the phrase: "Remember when movies used to cost $5.25?"

That leaves me with basically one alternative for movie watching--sitting at home, on the couch, desperately waiting for Netflix to arrive so I can watch something on the not-nearly-as-magical 32" television screen.  While I do enjoy a movie night at home, sometimes I miss the big screen, the popcorn, the audience, the ambiance.

We live in a rad neighborhood, in a pretty cool location.  High up on a hill, we overlook Sunset, and all the traffic and nightlife that comes with it.  Our "front yard" is really a public sidewalk, but no one ever walks on it, since it's so high above the main drag.  It's kind of perfect, especially when you decide to take the movie situation into your own hands.

Enlisting the help of our neighbors--who, oddly enough, also had the idea of a homemade outdoor movie theater this week and had all of the equipment already--we set up an Awesome space.  Complete with projector, a screen made from a white sheet, clothespins, and a creative use of chain-link fencing, surround sound speakers set up on recycled Trader Joe's bags, and ample outdoor seating, it was all you could want in a movie theater experience.  Stove-top popcorn (not that microwave junk), a table full of candy, and growlers of microbrewed beer (perk of working at a brewery) topped it all off--not to mention, at our movie theater, pizza delivery is possible, and encouraged.  There was even a cigar-smoker present, which was totally cool, because we were outside.  Add a group of Awesome friends, and it really was a memorable Awesome night.

It was like a drive-in, without the driving.

We kept it Awesomely nostalgic (remember the times when you could actually afford to see a movie?) with a double feature of The Sandlot and Top Gun, but the night was such a success that we're considering a once-a-month reprise with differently themed movie nights.  Ideas are welcome.

Best of all:  I can rest assured that my movie theater days are not over; they are only just beginning, and even the puppies can come along too.