a little atrophy.
I didn't do much this week.
That isn't strictly true; I drove a rental car over most of west and central los angeles, getting lost many many times. I saw some interesting things I didn't intend to see (the Scientology center, which is actually on a tiny street off of Sunset named L. Ron Hubbard Drive), but missed most of what I wanted to see (the Getty, Mulholland Drive, "nature") due to how frequently and completely I was lost. I drove through many neighborhoods in which every sign was either in Korean or Spanish, sometimes alternatingly. Usually in these neighborhoods, I'd have to pee very badly, but couldn't figure out what kind of place was likely to have a public-use restroom. And so I would drive on, until I reached a Ralph's, where someone could give me directions (to home, and to the bathroom).
I did make it to the beach three times, though the third time it was late and cold, and I left before I made it all the way to the ocean. It turns out that in Santa Monica, there is a whole series of roads named after universities I didn't get into for grad school. Berkeley, Yale, Harvard. It was mildly painful.
Santa Monica Pier was not so exciting, though I suppose if I was with someone who loved a good Ferris Wheel, it would have been a little more so. There, I had the following exchange with a middle aged man:
Him: "Has the weather been like this all day?"
Me: "I've only just gotten here."
Him: "Oh. Are you from Europe?"
Me: "No."
And then I walked away. I still don't understand why most strangers seem to think I am from Germany or suchlike. I do not have an accent except the great accent of the country of the Midwest.
Venice Beach was a lot more like Florida, to me. There were rollerbladers, men in speedos, headshops, a lot of places to buy cheap sunglasses or island-print dresses. No establishment in Venice Beach, however, has a public-use restroom. This fact is displayed on the door of every place you go into, along with helpful directions to the concrete-and-metal bathrooms on the beach itself. I do not want to go to the bathroom anywhere that a bum has just used as a shower, thank you.
The other thing I did with the car, which was a tiny zippy Chevy Aveo that made me feel that no space was too small for me to fit into, nor no light too yellow that I could not speed through it, was go to Target. Target was like finding religion. Everything I didn't have yet, they had, and all I had to do was put it into my cart and skip to the cash register and hand over my credit card, and it would be mine. And this is what I did. I spent half an hour pacing the sheets and blankets, picking one thing out, finding sheets that would match, finding sheets I liked more, putting the blanket back because now it didn't match the sheets. I filled the entire cart, and then some. My cashier offered to help me get things to my car. I spent an amount of money that makes me cringe every time I remember it.
All the adventuring ended, though, on Thursday, and I have spent the weekend this far puttering around the apartment and eating brownies. Today I will venture out, and conquer. Something. Maybe a cafe.
That isn't strictly true; I drove a rental car over most of west and central los angeles, getting lost many many times. I saw some interesting things I didn't intend to see (the Scientology center, which is actually on a tiny street off of Sunset named L. Ron Hubbard Drive), but missed most of what I wanted to see (the Getty, Mulholland Drive, "nature") due to how frequently and completely I was lost. I drove through many neighborhoods in which every sign was either in Korean or Spanish, sometimes alternatingly. Usually in these neighborhoods, I'd have to pee very badly, but couldn't figure out what kind of place was likely to have a public-use restroom. And so I would drive on, until I reached a Ralph's, where someone could give me directions (to home, and to the bathroom).
I did make it to the beach three times, though the third time it was late and cold, and I left before I made it all the way to the ocean. It turns out that in Santa Monica, there is a whole series of roads named after universities I didn't get into for grad school. Berkeley, Yale, Harvard. It was mildly painful.
Santa Monica Pier was not so exciting, though I suppose if I was with someone who loved a good Ferris Wheel, it would have been a little more so. There, I had the following exchange with a middle aged man:
Him: "Has the weather been like this all day?"
Me: "I've only just gotten here."
Him: "Oh. Are you from Europe?"
Me: "No."
And then I walked away. I still don't understand why most strangers seem to think I am from Germany or suchlike. I do not have an accent except the great accent of the country of the Midwest.
Venice Beach was a lot more like Florida, to me. There were rollerbladers, men in speedos, headshops, a lot of places to buy cheap sunglasses or island-print dresses. No establishment in Venice Beach, however, has a public-use restroom. This fact is displayed on the door of every place you go into, along with helpful directions to the concrete-and-metal bathrooms on the beach itself. I do not want to go to the bathroom anywhere that a bum has just used as a shower, thank you.
The other thing I did with the car, which was a tiny zippy Chevy Aveo that made me feel that no space was too small for me to fit into, nor no light too yellow that I could not speed through it, was go to Target. Target was like finding religion. Everything I didn't have yet, they had, and all I had to do was put it into my cart and skip to the cash register and hand over my credit card, and it would be mine. And this is what I did. I spent half an hour pacing the sheets and blankets, picking one thing out, finding sheets that would match, finding sheets I liked more, putting the blanket back because now it didn't match the sheets. I filled the entire cart, and then some. My cashier offered to help me get things to my car. I spent an amount of money that makes me cringe every time I remember it.
All the adventuring ended, though, on Thursday, and I have spent the weekend this far puttering around the apartment and eating brownies. Today I will venture out, and conquer. Something. Maybe a cafe.