The People I Meet #5: Film Alcoholic

Yesterday, a little before 11am, I hear playful, but violent knocking on the door. Stef had just left for work, so I was all alone. The knocking continued, and by habit, I got up and peeked through the peephole. It was a face I recognized so I opened the door. A waft of heavy alcohol came through the opening.

"Hey! You're not Stefan..." he says, confused as all hell.
"No, he's at work right now," I said, terrified to say any more.
"Oh! Uh, there's something I wanted him to help me with, you see, I'm working on a movie..."

Of course. Only in LA would someone completely drunk before 11am, come to my door and talk about working in movies. After more awkward conversation, I told him I would tell Stef about his visit and to call him. He agreed, turned toward the stairs, and left.

I hope he is okay out there in the world.

The People I Meet #4 - "Rich" Couple

Last Sunday, Stef and I decided to take a drive along PCH to Malibu to enjoy the California sun. Instead of listening to the radio, we jammed out on a KORG Monotron and Bebot on my iPhone the whole way. I could barely contain the necessity to keep my eyes on the road, getting distracted by Ferraris, motorcycles, crashing waves, and surfers. Stuck in sightseer traffic, we noticed strange things, like two people selling quarts of their gourmet basil lemonade on the sidewalk out of a cooler and a large sombrero-wearing Mexican statue holding a boat(?) that graces the roof of La Salsa.

After passing many seafood joints, we made it to our destination at Malibu Seafood. This shack is a tiny building nestled right at the foot of the Santa Monica Mountain Reserve, proving popular with its long line and filled parking spaces. Fish and chips were on our minds, but looking at their menu, we couldn't hold off on that day's special of grilled yellowtail, so we compromised and shared fish and chips along with the grilled yellowtail. That was the best idea ever.

There's only outdoor seating and the benches were made to accommodate large parties. The two of us took over a large bench (it was the only seat open) and felt bad that we were taking up so much space. Luckily, another couple came by and asked if they could share the space.

They were your "normal," "rich" couple: Prada purse, overdressed for a nice lunch right by the coast at a shacky seafood place, designer sunglasses, and I only assume they drove up in their black luxury automobile. Not to mention, miserable. Their interaction with each other was so stoic, so empty. The wife presented herself so horrendously, coming off as a controlling, needy wife that only enjoys her husband for his money. The husband seemed like a gentle soul, tending to his wife's needs to be nice, that I almost felt bad for him.

As soon as they sat down, the wife couldn't stop peering over at Stef and me. It was strange. Was she judging us? Was our apparent happiness radiating invading her personal space, causing her to sneer? We were having fun joking around and savoring our food on a lovely day. We talked about driving more up the coast to this biker hangout to grab a couple of cold ones. We were enjoying each other's company immensely.

Husband walks away from the bench to get condiments.
"Honey, can you get me some ketchup? Some ketchup honey. Ketchup please. I need some ketchup." Says the wife in a quiet, monotone voice.
He comes back with three tiny containers filled with ketchup.
"Why did you get so much ketchup?"
Us, in our heads, "Because you kept hollering your need for ketchup, you bitch!"

In the middle of the wife complaining about her food, the husband tries to relieve tension by saying something nice.

"We should get a boat, and sail along the ocean."
"Ugh, and where are we going to get a boat?"
"We can borrow my friend's. I don't know honey, we should just get away."
"Ugh."

In the mean time, she still kept peering over in our direction. She must have been looking at us because there was only a wall beyond us. We left, enjoying our whole experience eating some of the best fish and chips on a day we couldn't ask for more perfect weather.

Stef asked, "Was she looking at us?"
"YES." I said.
"What was up with her? Was she judging us? She kept complaining about her food, did you notice that?"
"I don't know. I'm sorry she was dissatisfied, I thought it was great. Did we bother her with our gleaming faces? Maybe it's so apparent that we're happy together that it bothered her because she looked miserable."

We walked to our car and continued our adventure along the Malibu coast.

The People I Meet #3 - The Downstairs Neighbor

The guy downstairs is worthy of a "People I Meet" post. I rarely see him leave his apartment. When he's outside, he is seen in tattered clothing, covered in tears and stains that look like his clothes haven't been washed in years. He restores clarinets for a living and sells them on eBay. If he doesn't sell enough to make his quota, he doesn't make rent.

His van that is parked in the same spot on the street every day. If someone steals his spot, I entertain myself by assuming that he closely watches outside his window until the car moves so he can reclaim it. True story: I once parked in his spot and left for no more than 10 minutes. When I got back, his van was parked in "his" spot.

It's unfortunate for me that he has odd sleeping hours. Around my normal bedtime, ranging from 11pm to 1am, he spends his time watching television very loudly and playing guitar and bass, also very loudly. He once spent weeks continuously playing the same riff on the guitar. The riff was from a country song he was trying to perfect, but his awful robotic strumming made it sound more like Adam Sandler's "Hanukkah Song." Sadly, he moved on to the bass and I came to the realization that he's not trying to perfect the riffs he repeats... I think he gets satisfaction from being able to play the riff so he plays it over, and over, and over... Now he is continuously playing the main riff from War's hit "Low Rider." It sounds like a broken record that contains a sole riff played very badly. Please save me.

The People I Meet #2 - Party Girl at Grace Jones Concert

This is exciting. I never thought I would be writing this post. On my way to Downtown LA Artwalk (pictures) last night, I received a text from an unknown number. The area code originated from San Francisco, so I thought it might someone I know from gaming.

"Is this the girl I was sitting next to and watching Grace Jones? It's party season, when are you coming to SF?"

WHOA! That was almost a year ago! On July 26th, 2009, Grace Jones performed at the Hollywood Bowl and Stef and I sat next to a group of people who were involved in things like Do LaB and Burning Man. I was drunk, as the tradition at the Hollywood Bowl, and got to know Kelly. From what I remember, she's a full blown free-spirited person, who is up for any kind of party. I got the sense that she judges no one, is very open-minded, and aims to always have a good time.

I would love to visit her when I make my way to San Francisco. Maybe it'll allow me to expand on this post.

The People I Meet #1 - LA Native From Echo Park

2:36pm, Friday, May 7th. I arrived in Gardena via a long Metro ride, taking the rail from North Hollywood to downtown and then catching the Silver Line there to the Artesia Transit Center. Nineteen minutes and a mile later, I found myself at my parents’ house. Walking through the ghetto was nerve-wracking being a “pretty girl” on the streets. Everyone who was walking was a minority with carts full of recyclables, or looked homeless.

My friends invited me to the Natural History Museum for their First Fridays series. Riding on public transportation is very rare for them, but for some reason they wanted to take the Metro to the museum that night. Great.

4:15pm. I was hungry. Really, really hungry. A friend came to meet me at my parents’ house and we walked to 7-Eleven to grab some cash for my museum admission. I perused through the aisles, hungry, and came out with an Almond Snickers along with my cash. Bad choice, but convenience stores usually don’t have the greatest selection of (good/healthy) food.

We got to the Natural History Museum too late for the tour. We bought tickets for the regular entrance and to listen to the discussion at 6:30pm: “Toxic Algal Blooms Along the Southern Californian Coast: Causes, Challenges and Solutions” with Dr. David A. Caron.

First Fridays changed a lot since I attended three years ago. A regular museum admission ($6.50 students/$9 adults) included live entertainment along with the extended hours of the museum. Now, people have to pay $15 to get into the room to watch the bands play and they stream the performance on large projectors in the main hall for those that only paid to roam the museum during its extended hours.

These pictures will tell the story of my visit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/aileenrobot/sets/72157624018618686/

8:30pm. I said my goodbyes to my friends and decided to take the Metro home from there. Due to the Revlon Run/Walk event blocking Figueroa St., buses going northbound at night were rerouted AND I DID NOT KNOW. I waited at the stop for an hour. Waited longer, even when this creepy bum looked at me, saying indistinguishable ramble. Waited longer around the ghetto streets of USC and examined the juxtaposition between the neighborhood folk and the erudite students of higher education.

9:30pm. A California Science Center employee finished her shift and came to the stop I was waiting at to also catch the bus home. She knew instantly, since I’ve been waiting there for a long time, that the buses were picking up people from different stops. The creepy bum finally left when Reyna started talking to me, reinforcing the idea that a pretty girl shouldn’t be alone in the streets.

We talked the whole time about growing up in LA. She told me about Echo Park, pre-hipster days, and how she lived through the drive-bys and cholos hanging out in the streets. It was very gang-infested before its inevitable gentrification. “I lived there for 20 years and had to move out two years ago when the white people with tight jeans started moving in. The rent became too expensive to afford.”

She and I walked a couple of blocks down to wait for either the 81 or the 200 buses. The 81 routes to downtown, while the 200 cuts through MacArthur Park to Echo Park. We opted to take the first bus that arrived, which was the 200 that was rerouted because of the special event. Luckily, there is a rail at MacArthur Park that took us to our respective destinations. The unexpected route was much different than what I had planned: Silver Line northbound to the 7th St./Metro Center stop to the North Hollywood Station via Red Line.

We parted when my train stopped at the platform. She gave me her card and told me to keep in touch. Without her, I wouldn’t have gotten home that night. I am so appreciative to interact with her. I learned a lot about the city I grew up in as well.

10:50pm. The last stretch was to walk from the station to my apartment. It felt so good to be home.