Buzz Words of 2009

My friend recently completed her 4th novel for NaNoWriMo. In a  likely ineffective attempt to provide motivation and support for her efforts, I sent a few words and definitions to her, oddballs such as pogonography (beard-growing) and josser (one not born to circus life.)

But maybe the NYTimes buzzwords of 2009 would have been more effective.

Aporkalypse: Undue worry in response to swine flu. Includes unnecessary acts like removing nonessential kisses from Mexican telenovelas and the mass slaughter of pigs in Egypt.

Mancession: A recession that affects men more than women. Also hecession.

Sexting: The sending of sexual messages or pictures by mobile telephone.

Read the full list here.

self-promotion: Eating East iPhone Application

Eating East is my recently published iPhone Application that serves as an addition (and hopefully one day, a replacement) to frantic Internet research and disorganized travel guides we all put together prior to and during our vacations, or even our lunch plans. The application, available for $1.99 on your iPhone or online, provides contact information, an interactive map, pricing guidelines and reveiws for over 100 eateries on the greater East Side of Los Angeles. 

Read more about it or purchase it for your iPhone here.

Resonance

Les Paul.
1915-2009

From the New York Times:
“They were touring in 1948 when Mr. Paul’s car skidded off an icy bridge. Among his many injuries, his right elbow was shattered; once set, it would be immovable. Mr. Paul had it set at an angle, slightly less than 90 degrees, so that he could continue to play guitar.

books and bottles: tom shone in “more intelligent life”

In another testament to the sense of escapasim that we feel when we unabashedly sink into art, Tom Shone, former critic of The Sunday Times and author of “In The Rooms,” which focuses on alcohol/drug recover, writes about some of our favorite tormented authors. He posits that these individuals were able to approach the frontiers of their imagination, insidiousness, confidence, and neuroses primarily by relinquishing themselves to the bottle. And on the flip side, he explores what has happened to art — especially literature — since recovery, detox centers, Alcoholics Anonymous, etc. have become a more common and less taboo part of people’s lives.

Not too much of this article is exactly surprising (like how I should be thanking Hemingway not only for graceful dialog in literature, but also for helping to popularlize the delightful combination of absinthe and champagne). Artists are best when they allow themselves to be crazy. But especially as I have been paying more attention to the types of artists and creativity that fills Los Angeles’ cultural world, it provides a nother shade of thought to individual’s inspiration, or their method of allowing inspiration into their lives.

And it also does speak to the strength and stability sober and lucid artistry demands–the ability of an artist to reach and then surpass the standard parameters of normalcy, control and functionality for the sake of their work, and then return to a relatively stable, functioning lifestyle to thrive outside their artistic realm. It is a tough balance, to be sure, and one that I do not see too many of my peers execute successfully (the barista at one of my favorite coffee shops just gruffed in teasing frustration that her buddies with sunglasses on at the bar were up too late the night before on ruffies to be able to sit up straight; meanwhile, someone outside is yammering on about something unintellible, completely drunk off of his own artistic mojo. )

more than the joe

What can I surmise from the fact that I take the time and energy some mornings to ride my bike from one coffee shop to another and another and another to find a conducive place to work — entering the doors, scoping out the clientele more closely than I do the cleanliness of the pastry case, weighing the cost of a coup of joe against the art on the walls and the overall vibe of my surroundings — and ultimately, at the end of my 45-minute excursion around the east side, settle into an uncomfortable chair next to a tickle-happy vine along busy and noisy Sunset Boulevard for a cup of mellow iced coffee that toes the tongue with hints of blueberry, and shift uncomfortably for an hour while at least attempting to do some work?

a.) I have too much time and energy on my hands

b.) I am neurotic

c.) I should really just grow the diligence to write in my own apartment

d.) the Eastside of LA is sorely suffering from an inexcusable paucity of good coffee shops that fully serve their purpose (comfort, baristas that leave their douchey half at home, wireless internet, some food options, open space, and good coffee that isn’t priced like a crappy glass of wine.)

e.) all of the above.

ANSWER: e, of course

I’m from Orange County. Admitting to this never fails to make me wince slighly inside. Similar to one’s answer to the question “what was the first concert you ever went to,” a person’s hometown carries with it a measuremnt of cool-cred, despite the fact that you have little control or where you grew up, nor the foresight and perspective to choose your first concert carefully. Digress…

OC has LA beat in this area, if in few others. I can name two different places just within a few miles of my parents’ house (Gypsy Den in Santa Ana and The Lost Bean in Tustin) that I’d prefer any day over the options here.

Am I wrong for having such high standards? Am I just another spoiled OC girl? Or is it fair to expect a neighborhood such as ours, one which houses an impressive number of artists and freelancers and young adults who would rather pay for coffee and conversation than create it in their own apartments, to open up a really good coffee shop?

Answer? Likely, all of the above.

e.b. white

A friend of my recently lent me a collection of E.B. White essays that were initially published in the News and Comments and Talk of the Town sections of New Yorker, beginning in 1927 at the onset of White’s career, through the 1970s. As most individuals, my first interaction with White’s writing was through Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little. But as I flipped through the pages of the collection, I wondered how I could have passed over his  essay writings so disinterestedly as I began to write more myself, and then longed nostalgically for an era that I never even experienced to begin with.

Recent editions of the magazine feature a Talk of the Town chalk-full with sly, smart commentary on happenings in the political, financial, environmental, social, and cultural worlds, and everything in between. All useful information indeed. And they all are – or at the least try their darndest to be – introspective, eloquent, terribly intelligent and witty, as are White’s from almost a century ago.

But White’s pieces are also, among other things, shorter. As such, they are forced to discuss lighter topics, are structurally free-formed, and evolve unconstrained by the pressure to honor a clear and appropriate introduction, a well-paced and well-supported argument, or a conclusion stated with clinching finality (a pressure that even some timid bloggers feel a need to do, apparently.)

E.B. White’s essays are little snipets into ordinary objects and thoughts and actions, approached with humor, creativity, and a broad aperture. Instead of focusing intently on a specific event that is happening around town as most current articles tend to do, White’s essays—and those by his fellow New Yorker writers in this early era—capture overarching themes that define our world just as much as do the fact-filled headlines in newspapers that inspire current articles in this section. As a result, White’s essays are just as valuable and informational as current New Yorker Talk of the Town pieces, and also manage to be absolutely and unfailingly delightful.

And it’s not that our current atmosphere does not allow for “mere” delight, porch-top witticisms. I suppose you just have to look elsewhere for them.

M. Pollan and J. Steingarten on the empty kitchen

A great article from a top-tier shaman to foodies everywhere: “Out of the Kitchen, Onto the Couch.” The title says it all: Americans are spending more and more money on food, more and more time talking and reading about food, but less and less time actually in the kitchen. Some of it has to do with the change in woman’s role in the workforce; some of it has to do with television’s fluctuating market and sponsors; some of it can be traced to the development of our agricultural system.

It was an especially fascinating read for me since I’m currently working my way through Jeffrey Steingarten’s The Man Who Ate Everything, in which the lawyer-turned-Vogue-food-writer-and-Iron-Chef-America-judge considered this same topic and, despite the fact that he wrote this book in 1996, well before Rachel Ray earned her keep, before food blogs, and before the real explosion of foodie-mania, his predictions are spot-on.

wine in atwater

Every other person I meet in Los Angeles is a self-proclaimed foodie, anxious to talk up the newest restaurant and their own kitchen inventions;  to talk down the disappointment of a celebrity chef and the “true” merit of an uber hip and buzz-worthy eatery; and then to write or chat about all their insights as if they are experts. And I don’t shirk the blame either; my blog is proof that my hands are as dirty with truffle oil and goat cheese as the next person’s.

But I forget often, as I think many do, to not only talk the talk, and walk the map of a Los Angeles food aficionado, but also to slow down and really explore and appreciate this part of our culture for all its facets, impact, and possibilities.

This weekend, I had the opportunity to visit 55 Degree Wine in Atwater Village, which is housed in a small, brick-orange strip next to a Starbucks. The first floor is a narrow, rustic wine store displaying a small, careful, and economical selection of wines and spuds from throughout the world.

Then, in the back corner, down the dark stairwell and into the basement, is where the real appeal of 55 Degree emerges. Starting at 6pm on weekdays and 5pm on weekends, the store welcomes a young, casual and under-glorified crowd to their dim-lit underground den to try flights of wine, cheeses, and snacks (they also offer flights of beer on Sundays.) The back wall is made of a window looking in on the shallow but well-stocked storage area; and while the basement is a bit acoustically-challenged, it’s a perfectly cozy space for about twenty to thirty people to gather around barrels or wooden, rustic tables and unwind with a few decent, thoughtful drinks.

I took advantage of their special flight featuring three Portuguese wines that were decent, interesting and affordable. We also ordered a cheese plate to go along with the event. I’m not going to go into the wines mostly because, although everything was enjoyable, I didn’t try anything that really impressed me.

But going to 55 Degree reminded me that despite its reputation for being elitist and pretentious, wine tasting can actually play a crucial first step when someone begins to really understanding his or her palette. Working your way through a flight of very different wines, especially those that include both reds and whites, and genuinely taking the time to pay attention to and evaluate your experience with what you’re drinking,  provides an amazing opportunity to learn how to satisfy and stimulate your taste buds with different flavors, textures, temperatures, etc.

Wine, even one-note, simple and playful wine like the glasses I had the other night, flirt with and awaken ribbons of sensations in your mouth. Beginning with the moment the drink firsts meets your tongue, as it coat the rest of your throat and then leaves its echo in your mouth after you swallowed, the taste continues to evolve and expand in different ways. And what you crave immediately afterward – something sweet, salty, crunchy, smooth, bready, crumbly, whatever—says worlds not just about the wine or about the food that you pair it with, but also about what is going on in your mouth throughout the experience.

We’ve got enough wine snobs and foodies in the hood. But there’s always room for folks who enjoy exploring the depth and complexity of our own palettes, who truly understand the appeal and possibilities of goat cheese and truffle oil and the tendency to put bacon on just about everything imaginable, and who can discern what’s merely a phase in current food crazes, and what is just downright good eating.

self promotion

If you’re interested in buzz-worthy and/or just buzzed-about restaurants in Los Angeles, check out my article on Celestino Drago’s newest restaurant in downtown LA, Drago Centro, published in the June edition of Food & Beverage Magazine.

achey-brakey “reinvention”

In a way, getting fired from your job in this climate is a nerve wracking, humbling, achey-brakey, tender experience. In another way, it’s incredible. The event can unify you with one out of every ten other people around you in an age when society seems more fractured and isolated than ever before; it can shove you out of a role that, in many cases, you didn’t really enjoy to begin with, forcing you to rethink and reorganize your life like so few of us ever dare to do; it can make you more resourceful, and more respectful of the priorities you have set for yourself.

I was not “fired.” But alas, I find myself this Thursday morning gratefully lounging on my  bed in jeans and a sweatshirt as my ill-fitting and dull corporate clothes hang sloppily in my closet, scouring job sites, feeling goofily connected with the world — and feeling like I just got my face slapped harder than I have in quite a while. And where does my gaze of ambitions fall when confronted with this opportunity for reinvention, risk, and courage?

Writing. It always comes back to writing, a passion that I have largely ignored over the past 8 months (unsurprisingly, that is also the length of time I was working at my previous job. Hmm…)

Jason Jones from the Daily Show has a thing or two to say about that:

http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?videoId=230076&title=end-times