One of the traditional touristy LA things to do is go target shooting, so of course we had to spend an afternoon at the gun range:






I thought I’d give myself something specific to aim for:
I don't crave the warmth of your unconditional approval.
I recently visited LA for the first time ever. I visited a friend over the Columbus Day weekend, and, while apparently three weeks to a month is plenty of time for me to make sweeping, authoritative observations about entire countries, I don’t feel like five days qualifies me to say anything about LA. So, I’ll just compare it to New York, because traditionally NYers and LAers pretty much define their cities in opposition to each other.
Before visiting, I feared I’d want to move to LA immediately, because I love sunshine and warmth and hate winter and darkness (feared, because moving to LA would mean getting a car and driving for the first time in a decade). But it turns out, I’m not as much as a sun person as I’d thought. My skin doesn’t lie, apparently. I kind of thought that everyone in LA would be as sun-phobic as NYers are – I mean, LA is the land of eternal-youth obsession after all. My friends in NY would sooner attack their delicate facial skin with razor blades than sit in direct sunlight without a high SPF. We are shade seekers. But in LA, it’s all, ‘Let’s have brunch on the patio – no need for an umbrella! Aren’t you hot in that sweatshirt and wide-brimmed hat? Don’t you feel insane in that veil and poncho?’ And then there was all the driving – hours and hours of driving with direct sunlight just plowing through the windshield. I felt like an ant under a magnifying lens. I could hear myself sizzling and feel melanomas and sun spots springing up from deep in my dermal layers. I could feel the thin skin around my eyes and lips shriveling into dry, crone-like crepe.
So, there was that. But LA is really beautiful. Just postcard pretty, everywhere you go. And all the people are really beautiful, too, which is annoying. It doesn’t feel urban, though – more suburban. I always think I hate crowds here in NY, but being in such semi-deserted big spaces while clearly still in a city made me uneasy, like maybe someone had sounded an alarm and I hadn’t heard it.
Socially, LA is more outgoing than NY – I’m pretty sure I can say that definitively, even based on my limited experience. I mean, twice while I was reading in public, a total stranger came up to ask what I was reading and introduce themselves. And they weren’t even creeps, or crazy people! Never before in my life has that happened, and actually, I liked it. I wish I could always make friends without having to take my nose out of my book and initiate eye contact. Otherwise, people do ask you what you do in LA and expect you to have an answer, which I hate, but they do that in NY, too.
Money-wise, rent isn’t that much less in LA, but you get a lot more for it. My friends out there mostly live in gorgeous, sunny spaces with washer/dryers. I thought food and alcohol was considerably pricier, but maybe that’s just because I’ve lived in NY long enough to know where and where not to go. Thrift stores are much, much cheaper, and apparently, they don’t have bedbugs out there yet.
Overall, I think that unless you have a career-related reason to be in LA (which I’m sure most people do), it’d be better to live in Southern California, somewhere more remote. There are definite advantages to being right in NYC, rather than outside NYC, but I don’t think LA itself is that much of a draw – it’s more the general atmosphere of the region. NYC is a cooler city, but LA is more livable and a prettier place. There, that’s my (terribly original) sweeping pronouncement on the subject.
Here are some pictures, and I’ll probably post more, too, at some point:
In this slideshow, S teaches L how to swing dance:
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Our wireless service went out for about a week, but now that it’s fixed, I still have a few more photos from this party I’d like to post. Hope it’s not too boring. This set of photos is of all of the dancers – there were a lot of professional swing dancers on the floor, and they were really fun to watch.
The Jazz Lawn Party was in a field in the middle of a ring of old houses and buildings. There was a big fence around the event, and tables of food and drinks and a dance floor and old cars, and stands with vintage clothes, and a lot of people camped out on the grass. Everyone looked really cool:
This past Sunday, my friends and I went to Governor’s Island for the 5th Bi-Annual Jazz Lawn Party. We had had a slumber party the night before, so we didn’t have flapper costumes and were all a little sleepy and hungover, but it was a gorgeous, sunny day.
To get to Governor’s Island, you have to take a ferry from Battery Park. It took us a little while to find the ferry.
Once we found the ferry, we boarded with a hoard of people, then quickly went to the back deck, where we found an empty bench.
H took advantage of the short ferry ride to french braid S’s hair:
The ferry had a lot of very well-dressed ’20s-style folk aboard.
Here are what the ferry slips look like from out on the water:
Once we got to Governor’s Island, we disembarked and walked around looking for the lawn party. Governor’s Island is a state-owned park that was a military base forever, back through the Civil War. More recently, it was used as a Coast Guard base, until the mid-90s when the government sold the island to New York State. Since then, there’ve been a number of large-scale art installations,attractions and programs on the island aimed at getting people to take advantage of the free ferry and enjoy the island. Currently, there’s free biking certain days of the week, and rental bikes the rest of the time. There’s a Civil War fort in the middle, and a number of lovely wood-and-brick homes and tree-lined avenues. There are also abandoned facilities – a library, a dental clinic, etc. – from the recent past.
Here are some photos of the houses and lawns:
But we had a party to attend . . .
Recently, I turned 29, and my friend also turned a year older, so we all went to Rockaway Beach to celebrate.
But first, we got donuts.
Peter Pan donuts is a Greenpoint institution. The servers wear these kitschy outfits, and kitschy sour expressions, and there’s a little counter and everything.
The donuts fortified us for the hour-plus train ride down to Far Rockaway. When we got there, though, we needed lunch. We went to the best diner in Far Rockaway, according to the owner, who told us that several times, so I figure it must be true.
And then. . . beach! I’d never been to Rockaway beach before – it was really crowded, but nice. I even went swimming, which I almost never do at beaches off of large cities. My only bathing suit (which I bought at Old Navy five years ago for about $3 and wore all through five countries in all sorts of situations) had finally bit the dust, so I wore an old strapless bra. I don’t think anyone could tell the difference.
You’re not technically allowed to have beer on the beach, so we had to be really subtle with our bartending.
Some of us brought fancy cheese:
And some, less fancy cheese:
When you’re at the beach, you pretty much have to dig a giant hole at some point.
Some of my friends made this awesome happy birthday land shark!
Overall, a delightful birthday! (Well, until we tried to leave Rockaway and there was a track fire and no train service, and it ended up [for various reasons] taking us four and a half hours to get home . . . but other than that, a loverly day!)
Let’s all make sure to take advantage of whatever nearby seashores we have access to, before this wave rolls in:
While I was out of town, my roommate was sweet enough to watch Thomasina for me!
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I don’t think I’ll ask her again…
I realized right before I left town for my camping trip that I’d forgotten to have my very long hair cut. It had gotten quite long:
Sure, long hair’s fun and all:
But it’s not so great for camping in hot weather.
Luckily, my roommate S thought she might like to try cutting it! This was a good plan, because it would be immediate and free. First, S sorted my hair into pigtails (btw, I don’t actually have any skin imperfections – I know that looks like a big zit, but it was probably something weird on my camera lens):
Next, she drew a line on my neck about where I wanted my hair to end up. See the line there? And then started to cut.
The cutting went on for a long time:
At one point, I looked at S, and she looked sort of crazy, or maybe like she wasn’t really so sure how to give a professional haircut:
I began to get a little worried and frightened:
And then, S got the scissors stuck in my hair and it took us awhile to pull them out.
But finally, the job was done:
The hair ended up pretty close to the line we’d drawn, and it was almost even on both sides! I was happy with the cut’s efficiency and freeness, and would turn to S again in a pinch.
Long subway rides are the perfect time to take some glamorous glamor shots!
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(Thanks to my clever, clever roommate for thinking this up and making us do it, even though we were all tired and whiny! See also: this Improv Everywhere stunt. I don’t know if this is where S got the idea or if the subway just suggests such activities!)
Those of you who know me, hold on to your hats: recently, I went to a Mets game…and stayed for all nine innings! How was it? Well, it was cold. Like, really, really, really cold. But better than college games in that I did not have to smuggle in airplane bottles of liquor in my bra. I went with a bunch of writers – you can tell which one is the Mets fan by his hat, and by the fact that he’s the only one watching the game in all the photos. I enjoyed myself for awhile, and now, I can say that I have had this Mets experience (whereas, despite living four years in Chicago within walking distance of Wrigley field, I cannot truthfully say that I ever had the Cubs experience, unless the Cubs experience means navigating drunken throngs in order to get to ImprovOlympic).
Here’s proof that I went:
This is the last of these, I promise. Taking photos is my newest hobby. It gives me something to do while socializing, and I love tinkering with the settings on my photo editing software, although I have no idea what I’m doing. For some reason, it’s satisfying to pick out my favorite shots and decide how I want them to look – green, blue, cartoonish or hazy, etc. It’s certainly a hell of a lot easier than coming up with amusing, intelligent things to say. I know this blog is particularly drifty and sparse lately, but, as most of you probably know, it’s because I’m attempting (however unsuccessfully) to spend my energy on more substantial writing.