Dear Larissa, 27, From Larissa, 17

Me, Age 17

What follows is a letter I wrote to myself when I was 17 and instructed myself to open when I turned 27, which happened almost a week ago. When I read it for the first time, I laughed so hard I cried. This is a relatively unfiltered look into my brain when I was a very immature 17, although I truly believed I was wise beyond my years.

Please note, I’ve omitted people’s’ names to protect the innocent. I apologize for the excessive amount of smiley faces–emoticons were pretty new and really hip at the time!

Well, this is by far the weirdest idea I’ve had yet. HEY YOU! Where are you in life right now? Are you married yet? Any kids? Jeez! That’s frightening. I hope life has treated you (me) well. Hmm… let’s see. If you’re married to anyone I know right now, I’d say XXX or XXX. I’ve had a high school obsession with XXX since the eighth grade. Maybe something actually happened between us. XXX is just a good friend, but you never know where that could go. But I bet I’m not married yet.

Are you a writer? I have no idea where I’m headed. Where did you go to college? Did you stay at PUC? Or were you gutsy and go someplace else? Hmm… I hope I’m still friends with XXX. And XXX, XXX, XXX, XXX, XXX, XXX, and XXX. These friends have always been there for me. Are you ballin’ down in Hollywood with Heath [Ledger] like you said you would? Are you in hot, steamy makeout scenes in box office hits with Ashton [Kutcher]? Maybe you’re in a rock band. That’s always been one of my secret ambitions.

Do you still shop at American Eagle? If you’re shopping at the Gap or someplace heinous like Macy’s I’ll kill you. 🙂 Is the number 32 still near and dear to your heart? This Thursday the [basketball] tournament starts. We’ll win. How much will I play? I hope a decent amount. I’m very excited; we finally got our basketball sweatshirts and I adore wearing it.

Is your hair red? I looked hot with red hair, back in the day. GO DYE YOUR HAIR RIGHT NOW. 🙂 If you’re blonde…! Please don’t be. Did you butcher your hair in college like I promised XXX? Hopefully not! What’s fashionable now? You’re not prancing around in an afro, are you? Ugh.

My favorite songs right now are “Rollout” by Ludacris, “In the End” by Linkin Park, “#1” by Nelly, and “Everlong” by the Foo Fighters. Were those names a blast from the past for you? 🙂 I bet those people aren’t even around anymore! Does ‘NSync still exist? You used to be quite infatuated with them! Hopefully by now you can finally play the guitar. Or drums. Mom would love that! How are Mom and Dad? Aging beautifully, I’m sure. Bill Gates took us all to Hawaii, right? And I’m sure David has dated a million girls and is happy, playing basketball professionally.

Do you wear contacts still or did you take the plunge and get your eyes lasered? Did you still work at the Market after you quit the second time? I hope not. Or did you go to Safeway? DO YOU HAVE A SILVER 4-RUNNER?! For the love of God you had better! And no stupid flames painted down the sides either. 🙂 How old were you when you finally got your license? Wait… you have it, right?! Haha.

Please tell me you stuck with Spanish and got your advanced diploma. Come on girl. Did you ever get crazy? You did slap XXX at some point, right? And you finally got a backbone and put XXX in their place. Sorry if you’re still friends with her. Lately she’s been terrible. All she does is hang out with XXX. It’s the most irritating thing.

My life is all right now, I guess. I would definitely call me a social butterfly. Too many different friends who don’t like each other. Let’s see. Well, I get up at 5:30 a.m. for basketball practice, and get yelled at by XXX. School pretty much sucks. Chemistry blows, but phat props to us for not wussing out. Algebra II is a awful but it’s almost over. XXX is a nutcase. Has anyone gotten rid of him yet?

I’d have to say I think I am generally liked. I’m good friends with the sophomores and the seniors. XXX has become a very close friend. What ever happened to XXX? Did he move to Sacramento? Did you ever manage to get to a concert? Incubus? Weezer? Sugar Ray? I hope you remember going to see the Dalesmen. That was my first concert, and it was just a few weeks ago. You went with XXX, XXX, XXX, and XXX. We had a blast. Remember XXX? I hope he never tried to hook up with you again. He was a real scumbag. Remember? “I’ve had a crush on you for a long time. Do you think we’ll get together?” The same thing happened to six other girls! GROSS! Hopefully you managed to hook XXX and XXX up. XXX and XXX got married, didn’t they? That’s wrong. Hopefully you got over XXX. Not that I’m not right now. It’s just weird.

Is XXX famous? Did XXX win the Nobel Prize? Is XXX a world famous singer? Can we cook? Because I’m pretty hopeless right now. I know…! I grew up to be a professional chef, didn’t I? 🙂 I bet you named your son Ethan Denton and your daughter Blythe Rose. The thought of me responsible for the upbringing of human life is CRAZY! Did you pierce your ears? No double piercings, please. Did you get a tattoo? Maybe one… that’s okay. Please tell me I broke my horrible habit of chewing on my nails.

I wonder how different you are from me. Are you a sultry temptress sitting in a bubble bath while hot, thong-wearing men feed you ice cream? You’re not a dork, I know. DUH! 🙂 I hope you’re spontaneous, and run out to the lake to go swimming and ponder the clouds. I hope I”m confident with myself. Being world famous will just be a bonus! Did they take “Friends” off the air? You used to be obsessed! Every Thursday you were at XXX’s at 8 p.m. Do you still write poetry? I haven’t been inspired to write in a long time. I miss it.

I hope I’ve found the meaning of life. Sometimes I think I’m so jaded and on the brink of becoming something, someone, I just don’t want to go in the wrong direction. Destiny awaits! There are many routes, but which one did I chose? Let passion guide you. People like me deserve happiness. Not XXX. Oh gosh, I’ve gone and gotten all serious…

My favorite color is blue! I’m very into both rap and rock. Nelly, Weezer, Incubus, P. Diddy, Ludacris, Dave Matthews Band, etc. Pop is no longer your favorite. I guess I’m your typical teen, in some ways. I like American Eagle. Smiles. Sports. American Pie. Road trips. I’m also a Giugni’s addict. But there is something about me that makes me different. Sure, I’m loud, and happy, but I do have an intense serious side, it can just be hard to find. It’s always easier to be the silly outgoing girl than the mysterious girl. You could accuse me of hiding my serious side. I hope that’s different about you.

Well, lucky you! I’ve got a chemistry test to study for. I hope you’re happy. Love someone. Give my kids a kiss for me. Go change the world. I know you did–or you will. Follow your dreams.

Much love from your past,

Larissa

(Written February4th, 2002)

The Academy Awards: Best Picture Winners During the 1930s, Part II

Mutiny on the Bounty 1935

“He doesn’t punish men for discipline. He likes to see men crawl.”

Mutiny on the Bounty tells the story of, you guessed it, a mutiny aboard a ship called The Bounty. Fletcher Christian (Clark Gable again!!!) leads the impressed crew in a revolt against the ship’s tyrannical, keelhaul-loving Captain Bligh. Just to make sure we know how evil he is, there are no less than 40 shots of him and his leering into the camera. Because Clark Gable is classy guy, they don’t kill Bligh – they just send him adrift in a rowboat with no food or water – before finding a tropical island full of hot native babes to marry. Unfortunately, Bligh is able to miraculously leer his way back to England, where he immediately gets a new ship and goes out for revenge. Most of the gang escapes with Clark Gable to another island where they burn their ship to hide their tracks, but some get dragged back to England and hanged.

Well, it’s not that uplifting of a story. The movie clocks in at over two hours, and not being a nautical-minded person I definitely felt that length. It takes a surprising amount of time for the mutiny to actually occur, so after a while I just wanted it to happen already. The crew are portrayed as simpletons, so it’s sad to see them tortured and abused. It’s also frustrating to see Captain Bligh succeed. However, it’s rewarding to know that Christian, who is Bligh’s real target, manages to come out of the ordeal unscathed.

I watched this movie around the time I watched Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, and it was interesting to see the difference between the two sea-centered films. These days, we’re used to so much action (explosions, mermaid attacks, etc.), while Mutiny was more like a slow burn; a long buildup until what we today would call a scuffle. Granted, Pirates was about pirates, obviously, while Mutiny featured men bound by honor who are taken to their limits, but it’s an interesting juxtaposition nonetheless.

I give Mutiny on the Bounty 2 out of 5 golden nude men.

 

The Great Ziegfeld 1936

Another musical. The Great Ziegfeld follows Flo Ziegfeld, who has very meager beginnings, but is able to build a show business empire using his charms (even though I found him lacking in the looks department and his lines were made of cheese). He marries Anna, a beautiful French singer whom he catapults into fame by leaking to the newspapers that she bathes daily in milk. Anna is wildly successful, but it’s not enough for Ziegfeld. He has dreams of building the ultimate female-driven show which births The Ziegfeld Follies, a lavish production brimming with gorgeous women. It’s extremely successful, and more versions of the Follies are made. As you can only imagine, Anna is quite jealous of all the attention Ziegfeld pays to these ladies, particularly to Audrey, a singer with a love of booze. Anna divorces him, believing he will come back to her. Instead, he marries another Broadway star, Billie Burke. There’s a sad scene of Anna giving him a call to congratulate him, even though she is heartbroken. Time passes, and people wonder whether Ziegfeld’s moment is over. He vows to have four hits on Broadway at the same time, which he achieves. However, the stock market crash in 1929 leaves him bankrupt, and he becomes very ill over his stress regarding his finances and the growing popularity of films. In the final scene, he dies while reminiscing over the success of the Follies.

The movie’s tagline was “10 Big Shows in 1!” and let me tell you, you get those shows. This film is beastly long, coming close to three hours. There is song-and-dance number after song-and-dance number, including one very bizarre and extravagant song that includes hundreds of extras in outrageous costumes on a revolving staircase. For your viewing pleasure, the video of the aforementioned scene is below (the real action kicks in at about the 1:05 mark and keeps going).

 

If you love musicals and outrageous productions, then this film is for you. As I’ve mentioned before I’m not the keenest on musicals, so this movie began to feel like torture as hour after hour ticked by. I also base a lot of my opinion of a movie on whether or not I like any of the central characters, and it was obviously very difficult to connect with Ziegfeld.

I can’t mention this film without talking about one scene in particular left me a little unnerved. When he’s younger and starting out, he’s telling his father about how he’s going to pursue his dreams. Little Mary Lou, who can’t be more than six- or seven-years old and has had a crush on him for years, is distraught Ziegfeld is leaving and won’t say goodbye. However, to pacify her, he has a present, which he will only give to her if he gives her a kiss. He then tells her,

“Some people like beautiful paintings. Some people love beautiful flowers. Now, I love beautiful little girls like this one. You know what I’m going to do someday? I’m going to take all the beautiful girls like you and I’m going to put them together and make pictures with them.”

You definitely wouldn’t hear any lines like that in this day in age! And if you did, you can guarantee the man would be made to register as a sex offender.

The Great Ziegfeld earns 3 out of 5 golden nude men. (Given for production values, which were actually pretty impressive.)

 

The Life of Emile Zola 1937

In The Life of Emile Zola, unsurprisingly we follow Emile Zola, a struggling French writer who builds his career criticizing the government. He becomes very rich and very famous, and consequently very complacent in his new comforts. He is living comfortably when the Dreyfus Affair incident occurs, in which a secret agent steals a letter that is meant for someone in the German embassy. According to the letter, there is a spy within the top ranking officials in the French army staff. Without conducting much investigation, it is decided by these top officials that Captain Dreyfus is the spy. He is found guilty and is imprisoned on a tropical island in solitary confinement.

However, when a new chief is brought in, he discovers evidence that Major Esterhazy is the real traitor, but his superiors order him to remain silent about the issue as they don’t wish to be embarrassed about being wrong. The chief is quickly assigned elsewhere. Many years pass, and then Dreyfus’ wife confronts Zola to fight for her husband’s injustice. He’s reluctant to do anything to endanger his now pampered life, but he is curious by the information she has. His old passion for social justice once again inflamed, Zola writes an open letter in the newspaper that accuses the army of the cover up. He is accused of libel, and taken to a trial that is nothing but a sham. His lawyer isn’t permitted to address the Dreyfus Affair, and when the military witnesses are questioned, they lie. He is sentenced to a year in prison, but he escapes to England, where he continues to write about Dreyfus’ injustice. Finally, the new administration admits Dreyfus is innocent, and the officials that attempted the cover up are forced to resign. Esterhazy flees the country. The night before the ceremony for Dreyfus’ exoneration, Zola falls asleep in his study after the chimney blocks up and fills the room with carbon dioxide as he becomes second protagonist in a row to die alone in his chair.

When I watched the film, I was struck by what I perceived to be its strong political/moral stances. Government should be honest and transparent, be true to your country, seek injustice on behalf of those that are wrongly persecuted… etc. However, in reading online about the story, which really happened, I discovered that Dreyfus was Jewish, which was not touched on in the film whatsoever. In real life, the incident was viewed as being very anti-Semitic, and I’m very disappointed the movie failed to address that issue.

The Life of Emile Zola receives 2 out of 5 golden nude men.

 

You Can’t Take it With You 1938

“Sometimes you’re so beautiful it just gags me.”

In this old fashioned, Royal Tenenbaums-esque story, You Can’t Take it With You centers on Alice and her offbeat, happy-go-lucky family. Alice, the only normal person in her family, is a stenographer who’s engaged to her boss Tony (Jimmy Stewart!!!). Tony works for his money-hungry father, who is looking to purchase Alice’s family’s house in order to turn the neighborhood into a giant war munitions factory. Obviously, this leads to a clash between the two families that threatens to tear apart Alice and Tony’s relationship. One crazy event leads to another and the two families wind up spending a night in jail, where Alice’s dad is able to tell Tony’s dad what life is all about (a.k.a not money). While Tony’s family simply buys their way out of jail, they’re taken aback to see the entirety of Alice’s neighborhood collectively pony up the money to bail Alice and her beloved family out. Tony’s family comes to terms with the error of their ways, allowing Alice and Tony to be in love and be married. Hooray!

I appreciated this film’s attempt at quirk. It was refreshing to see such zany characters on screen, even if a few of them came across as being legitimately insane. It was enjoyable to see Jimmy Stewart be Jimmy Stewart, but I was also sad to see that his character didn’t stand by Alice during the trial and jail moments, though I understand family loyalty—to a point. I was hoping he would be the moral compass that would make his parents realize their wrongs, but instead it took Alice’s family to wake his father from his greedy stupor. Despite this, the film was still some much-needed light-hearted fare after The Life of Emile Zola.

You Can’t Take it With You is awarded 3 out of 5 golden nude men.

 

Gone With The Wind 1939

“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn!”

(Note: Since Gone With The Wind is one of the 12 films in existence my moving-loving husband hasn’t seen, I asked for him to guest write the film’s entry in our documentation of our journey. His thoughts are below.)

I knew there was a reason there wasn’t a hole in my movie-loving heart due to avoiding this behemoth of garbage. In addition to being about 160 minutes too long and the utter lack of anything resembling a redeeming quality in any character, the dialogue was some of the most gruelingly bad stuff I’ve ever heard. I literally had to turn on the subtitles to be sure I was actually hearing the words correctly. I say all this fully knowing how dated the film is culturally, but also knowing that there were also some gems that had come before – like It Happened One Night – that prove cinema was actually capable of witty writing and decent plot composition.

The plot follows the saga of Scarlett O’Hara, who probably takes the cake in being the most unappealing character in my memory. After her crush, Ashley, marries her saintly best friend she spends her entire young adulthood marrying idiot suitors in an attempt to make him jealous – which works because Ashley totally makes out with her in secret all the time. Anyway, Clark Gable shows up and falls in love with Scarlett who won’t have him because A, he’s not Ashley and B, Clark Gable enjoys a good whore now and then. At this point in the film I still had full confidence that Scarlett and Gable’s Rhett would both overcome their shady paths, fall in love, and make honest adults out of each other.

Nope.

Scarlett eventually marries Rhett for his cash and then blames him for the death of their child, causing him to walk out on her and the film ends.

While it was fun to see the first full color Best Picture winner, as well as some really sweet jib and crane shots full of scenic beauty and hundreds of extras, nothing could overcome how bewildered I was that this plot is so beloved by so many people. Maybe I just watched too may episodes of Power Rangers as a kid, but I was bored and annoyed out of my mind.

Gone With The Wind gets 1 out of 5 golden nude men from me, while LC gives it 3 (she just likes to look at Clark Gable.)

The Academy Awards: Best Picture Winners During the 1930s, Part I

Cimarron 1930/1931

“You shouldn’t interfere when men are having a little friendly shootin’.”

How do I even begin? Cimarron is one of the most offensive movies I have ever seen. It’s been a couple months since I watched it, but I still can’t get over the idiocy of the film’s protagonist. The story is centered around a man called Yancy, a newspaper editor who decides to journey west during the Oklahoma land rush with his wife and child. Somehow, without explanation, Yancy knows just about everyone in their new rough-and-tumble town, enabling him to solve a murder without any evidence (outside the murderer’s greasy mustache and constant leering) and become the de facto mayor, pastor, and sheriff.  Admittedly, this does enable him to do some pretty cool things, such as shooting a criminal suspect in the face while giving his Sunday sermon. Not joking – that actually happens.

After a few years – and the film does an excellent job of making you feel like you’ve been watching that long – Yancy’s wanderlust kicks in and he bolts for another startup town, leaving his wife and son to hang out with the newspaper on their own. You read that correctly. He leaves without them and doesn’t return for years. When he does return – we’re talking the day he walks through the door – he’s upset to find that his wife’s been using the newspaper’s editorials to purge the town of criminals and hookers and adds the title of defense lawyer to his resume. With his beloved status throughout the town, he has little trouble crushing his wife’s cause after a couple courtroom speeches before he takes off to enlist in the first World War.

We never hear from him again until the day his wife is elected one of the first Congresswomen in history, when he’s found dead at an accident on a construction site in New York. No explanation is given for Yancy’s refusal to return to his family, but one can only assume it was to continue his tradition of not caring about his family.

Can you tell why I didn’t care for this film yet? I know “times have changed,” but that doesn’t make this one any easier to like. From the film’s glorification of Yancy’s horrible treatment of his family and NOT his wife’s evolution from pathetic sidekick to empowered woman, to the awful portrayal of African-Americans (there are no shortage of lines like “Please massa, take me to Okie-Homie!”) the film’s themes were unlikeable from start to finish. The only positive aspect of the movie was that it dealt with racism – unless your race was African American, with Yancy and his wife supporting the marriage of their son to a Native American woman.

I hated this film so much.

Cimarron gets 1 out of 5 golden nude men.

 

Grand Hotel 1931/1932

“Grand Hotel… always the same. People come, people go. Nothing ever happens.”

The forerunner to Love Actually, Grand Hotel follows several characters whose storylines inevitably intersect while staying at a luxurious hotel. The one storyline that really matters is the one involving Baron Felix von Geigern, who has squandered his wealth and is now a common thief, and Grusinskaya, a Russian ballerina in the twilight of her career. One night, the Baron sneaks into Grusinskaya’s room to steal a strand of her pearls but gets caught in the act by the dancer, leading instead by a long night of flirtatious banter that evolves into a love affair in true Hollywood fashion.

Before they can run off together, the Baron has to settle his debts and decides the best way to do this is by attempting to rob the only nefarious character in the ensemble, a crooked corporate stooge called Preysing. As the Baron can’t even avoid getting caught by a ballerina, Preysing obviously catches him and decides to bludgeon him to death with a telephone. None of the other characters tell Grusinskaya what happened, so she rides off into the sunset thinking she was stood up. Fin.

It’s rather hard to like a movie where the romantic interest is literally killed with a telephone. That said, it was rather charming how the characters kept popping in and out of each other’s stories, a la Love Actually (though London is a tad more interesting than some hotel). Besides phone homicide and a couple inferences of the exchange of sexual favors for a job, my main irritation revolved around the Baron and Grusinskaya magically falling in love in just a few minutes. Then again, romantic comedy is believable? Apparently not even the first ones.

I give Grand Hotel 2 out of 5 golden nude men.

 

Cavalcade 1932/33

Like Wings, Cavalcade is not available on DVD. We weren’t able to locate it on VHS through our public library, nor are there clips on YouTube. L If anyone knows of a way to get a hold of this movie, please let me know, I would appreciate it! It’s also very bothersome “skipping” over a film on our quest.

 

It Happened One Night 1934

“Any guy that would fall in love with your daughter ought to have his head examined.”

I’d been looking forward to watching It Happened One Night, since I know it is one of my grandparents’ favorites. Right off the top I’ll tell you that I thoroughly enjoyed it in no small part because I consider this to be the first Best Picture winner I would call genuine comedy. The movie tells the story of Ellie, a spoiled heiress who has married a man called Westley against her father’s wishes. Before the marriage is consummated, however, her father finds and retrieves her. This leads her run away to be with Westley, which must’ve been crazy-scandalous for that time period. Fate however, has other plans. On the bus (yes, the little heiress takes the bus), she meets Peter (CLARK GABLE!!!), a newspaper reporter who’s just lost his job. He recognizes her and agrees to help her evade her father’s henchmen on the condition that she’ll give him an exclusive on her story. Knowing that if she refuses he’ll tell her father where she is and collect the large reward that has been offered, she begrudgingly accepts Peter’s help.

As the strain of the long travel gets to her, Ellie begins to become a more bearable human being while falling in love with Peter. One night, she confesses her love to Peter, who of course feels the same, and tells her his true feelings. After she has fallen asleep (don’t worry, they’re sleeping in separate beds and have a sheet hung between them – honor still intact), he leaves to buy her an engagement ring. As he didn’t leave any kind of note, she naturally thinks Peter’s gone to turn her in and collect the reward money so she does what anyone in her position would do and runs back into Westley’s arms. As they prep their wedding, a crushed Peter pays Ellie’s father a visit – not to collect the reward but to recoup the mere $40 he spent while taking care of his daughter. The dad obviously realizes Peter is a quality guy, and sees how miserable his daughter is without her so he of course waits until he’s walking her down the aisle to encourage her to run and meet up with Peter. She goes all Runaway Bride on Westley (who doesn’t care after her dad pays him off – what a champ) and all is well.

While a lot of elements in this film have been copied a hundred times by its romantic comedy successors, I was totally charmed by the film’s witty writing and the chemistry between the two leads. Then again, Clark Gable could’ve probably generated some serious chemistry with a tree. With the exception of perhaps Jimmy Stewart, Clark Gable seems to epitomize the classic old-school movie star, and I could truly feel the star wattage power missing from the previous Best Picture winners. There were also some fun “wink-wink” scandalous moments, such as the famous hitchhiking scene which is below for your enjoyment.

 

Need I say anything more?

It Happened One Night gets 4 out of 5 golden nude men.

Whoever Said You Can’t Buy Happiness Never Bought an Annual Pass to Disneyland

Where does he fit all the cash he makes?!

About a month ago, my husband and I decided to be responsible adults and use a portion of our tax return and go through one of the biggest rites of passage for any Southern Californian (particularly a new one): we bought annual passes to Disneyland.

Disney knows how to hook you, even if you really can’t (or shouldn’t) afford it. You can purchase a day pass and then up your ticket to a yearly pass (that day) and pay in monthly increments. So while you’re signing your life away, you’re thinking it will only be $30 per month to have unlimited access to unlimited happiness, you are definitely not thinking that in a year’s time you will have paid over $400 to have such access. No, you are not thinking that at all!

Previous to buying my pass, I had had a somewhat limited experience with Disneyland. According to my parents, I allegedly went when I was 2 1/2, but I have no memories of it. I don’t count that. I went to Disneyworld when I was 5-years-old, and only have vague memories of it, mostly consisting of the Dumbo ride and meeting Goofy, for whom I apparently ran away from my grandparents for and almost gave them heart attacks. I also went in high school as a part of a choir tour, and then again in college on a spontaneous (and now infamous) road trip with one of my favorite accomplices, Krissy. We were determined to stay in the park from opening until closing, but at about 2 p.m. we felt like we had been run over. I believe we made it until 9 p.m. before calling it quits. Post-college, I went with my brother and his now-wife and my now-husband (that sounds weird, but you know what I mean). I’ve never seen anybody fall in love with anything so rapidly as my brother with Disneyland. Two years ago, my husband and I went for his birthday, since it was the “Year of Dreams” and you could go free on your birthday. It was a whirlwind of a day, and it was his first time there. Obviously, more time at the park was needed.

These are the faces of happiness.

The day we purchased our passes, I am not ashamed to tell you that at points I would randomly attempt to leap like a ballerina and shout, “We’re at Disneyland!” It was magical (the day, not my dance moves – I’m white. I can’t dance). I was wide-eyed and soaking it all in. That night at the “World of Color” show I couldn’t help but feel like I was part of a great big happy family. Granted, between my husband and I we will have paid an exorbitant amount over a year’s time to be a part of that family, but I didn’t dwell on that. Of course not.

Each time we go – and we’ve been almost every weekend since buying our passes, I feel like I’m stepping into a different, magical world. (I’m sure Walt would love to hear that.) I hope the magic never rubs off, but we’ll see. I’m a little afraid I’m about to become one of those Disney-ified people that have Disney stuff all over their house, car, office; have the Christmas ornaments, the pins… oh the pins.

(Side story: During our most recent adventure at Disneyland, my husband and I purchased Disneyland lanyards for our passes like Asian tourists. [We’re also seriously hunting for fanny packs to complete the nerdy ensemble]. He surprised me and got me the Wall-E and Eva pins for my lanyard. I’ve only recently discovered the Disney pin obsession and I’m terrified I’m going to be sucked in to pin mania.)

For now, we’re like crack addicts after… crack. Being able to go to Disneyland anytime we want is so tempting. Because why hang out in Burbank if you could be hanging out at the happiest place on Earth?!

(If this blog post doesn’t make it obvious, I’ve got Disney fever and I’ve got it bad!)

The Academy Awards: Best Picture Winners During the 1920s

So shiny!

source

A few months ago, after watching the 83rd edition of The Oscars, my husband – who works in the movie industry – sheepishly admitted he hadn’t seen a good deal of the films awarded the Oscar for Best Picture. To correct that, he and I decided we would embark upon a quest: We would watch all of the Best Picture winners, in order. While my husband went to film school and can appreciate all those countless elements the casual moviegoer like myself don’t even think of, I figured the most interesting approach this particular project would be to see how I react to each film as the product of a 21st century upbringing. I’m genuinely interested in how someone like myself – who considers Clueless a masterwork of cinema and will always defer to Finding Nemo over any film that seems remotely scary – would react to what over three generations of film professionals and critics have deemed the best work in the business. I’ve only seen 16 Best Picture winners (about 19%), so I’m obviously venturing into uncharted regions of pop culture.

I’ve decided to share my reactions with you each time we finish a decade of winners. While I’m by no means a film critic, I’m really excited and interested to see what each decade thought was awesome, whether I – decades later – share that opinion, and to finally see some classic films I myself am ashamed to having yet to take in (I’m looking at you, “Casablanca”!).

Let’s begin!

Wings 1927/1928

“For there was chivalry among the knights of the sky.”

Wings, the only silent film to ever win Best Picture, was my second foray into the silent film era – my first was the original vampire film Nosferatu I sat through with my husband and mostly ignored because it was super creepy. Sadly, Wings is one of the two Best Picture winners that as of now has yet to be released on DVD in the United States. In order to prevent our project from getting derailed before it even began, we wound up having to watch the entire film in 10-minute clips on YouTube. It was an unorthodox, but memorable experience.

Wings centers around Jack and David, two rival teenagers from Small Town America who both vie for the affection of the same girl, and Mary, Jack’s tomboy best friend who secretly loves him despite him treating her like dirt. When The Great War hits, both Jack and David enlist in the Air Service and head off to training camp. The horrors of World War I don’t take long to sink in, melting Jack and David’s rivalry and molding it into a brotherly love. Meanwhile, Mary joins the war effort as an ambulance driver. The film’s climax takes place at the Battle of Saint-Mihiel, when David is shot down behind enemy lines. Surviving the crash, David manages to steal an enemy plane and pilot it back toward the American camp. Mistaken for an enemy fighter by Jack – furious over the presumed death of his friend – David and his best friend engage in a heated aerial dogfight that ends with Jack sending David down to his death. Returning home from the war with a newfound maturity and respect for life, Jack winds up recognizing Mary’s true friendship and love and they live happily ever after.

Several things surprised me about this film. As a history major, I was shocked movies were being made about the Great War so soon after it ended (this particular film came only nine years after the war drew to a close). I would have thought it might take a while before people wanted to pay money to see the horror of war on the silver screen. Another shocker? During one scene, for a quick minute, you get a glimpse of Clara Bow’s (Mary) breast when she’s changing, making Wings was one of the first widely released films to show nudity. Scandalous! Especially for the 20s. I didn’t think we would encounter nakedness so soon on our quest. Another first for Wings is that it contains the first male-on-male kiss on film, and it’s a biggie!  Jack finds David lying in the wreckage of his aircraft after their fatal dogfight, and in his agony over sending his friend to his death plants a long, big, wet one. It’s awkward.

I can barely remember a movie that doesn’t have CGI or some kind of digital special effect, so watching an old film like this made me respect the crazy stunts and fight scenes. According to my extensive research (let’s be real, I just read Wikipedia and IMDb), no one was injured during the filming, which contained explosions, tons of aerial dogfight scenes featuring scores of planes, and thousands of extras pretending to stab each other in trenches. We can’t even stage a stupid Spider-Man play today without people getting hurt!

I was not, however, impressed by the ever-present and cheery Wurlitzer pipe organ, from which there was no respite. Not even as people were bayoneted in the face. Clara Bow’s extremely exaggerated mannerisms also grated on my nerves, and by the end I was happy we wouldn’t have to sit through another silent film. I’m definitely not a fan.

I give Wings 3 out of 5 golden nude men.

The Broadway Melody 1928/1929

 “Those men aren’t going to pay ten bucks to look at your face; this is Broadway! ”

“The Broadway Melody” was awful. As you would expect with such a title, it was a musical – making it the of course the first musical to win Best Picture. While I don’t hate musicals, I’m by no means a huge fan. If you had to make me choose my favorite, it’d probably be an animated Disney film.

The film follows two sisters, Harriet and Queenie, as the now clichéd small town girls who move to New York looking for their big break. They’re helped out by Harriet’s fiancé Eddie, a moderately successful Broadway songwriter. Queenie, the “hot” one, is immediately vaulted into the spotlight thanks to her attractive, flirtatious manners, leaving her sister in the dust. Harriet tries her best to protect Queenie from the dirty millionaires and playboys courting her – which she does mainly by whining. Queenie eventually comes around to common sense, but not before stealing Eddie from her sister. Harriet seems to be fine with the whole thing, as the film ends with her moving in the newly-married couple. Hooray!

The female characters in this film were terrible role models. Harriet spends 95 percent of the film moping and crying over Queenie’s antics. I understand that times have certainly changed since then, so perhaps I can’t understand the full nature of how scandalous it was for Queenie to be something of a gold digger, but Harriet was just so pathetic. I understand that women’s suffrage and voting rights were still a newfangled thing at the time (recently made law in 1920), and women still did not have as much voice or as many privileges as men, but I was horribly disappointed in her idiotic, dim-witted portrayal. She was written as the brains behind the operation, and yet she couldn’t even realize her fiancé was obviously into her sister, even after walking in on Eddie virtually on top of Queenie. She just kept crying (Justin Timberlake would approve), giving me a strong desire to walk into the television and slap her in the face.

Also, I don’t care what century or time period you are from, it’s never okay for your little sister to steal your fiancé! Nor should you live with them after they return from their honeymoon. That’s just cruel and unusual.

The Broadway Melody gets 1 out of 5 golden nude men.

All Quiet on the Western Front 1929/1930

“We live in the trenches out there. We fight. We try not to be killed, but sometimes we are. That’s all.”

I’m not into war movies, which is likely due to the fact that I despise war – especially the pointlessness of WWI. Just hearing the phrase “trench warfare” makes me sick, thinking about the thousands and thousands of men who died fighting for mere inches day after day. As a result, I haven’t seen many war films. Seeing as war films are so revered by the Academy, I knew I’d be sitting through more of them during this project than I have throughout my entire life.

Made simply to expose as many people to the pointlessness and horror of war, All Quiet on the Western Front has a message I can really get behind. The film follows a group of young German men, inspired into to enlist in the Great War by their school teacher who instills in them the value that it is glorious to die for one’s country. It doesn’t take long for the group of young men to have their lives shattered by the constant bombings, gassing, and trench warfare that begins to send them into madness and violent death one by one before their eyes.

I was stunned by the amount of violence and gore in the film, as I’ve seen R-rated films today with less violence. However, the film strikes the heart of its message not from the epic scenes of war, but in the quiet, intimate moments when the young men are forced to confront the situation they’re in. One of the most intense scenes is when Paul, the main soldier whom the story follows, is stuck in a hole for a night with a French soldier he has mortally wounded. He isn’t able to comfort the dying Frenchman, as he doesn’t know the language. The Frenchman dies scared and helpless in his arms, breaking Paul’s spirit and nearly driving him insane. On leave, he returns to the schoolroom where he was originally brainwashed into enlisting. He explains, much to his pro-war school master’s horror, the utter pointlessness of the war being fought before literally being shouted out of the classroom – his message falling upon deaf ears.

I was happy to read on Wikipedia that when the film was released, it was written in Variety of the film that “The League of Nations could make no better investment than to buy up the master-print, reproduce it in every language, to be shown in all the nations until the word ‘war’ is taken out of the dictionaries.” Indeed, if anyone wants to question just how much glory goes on in war, they should watch All Quiet on the Western Front.

All Quiet on the Western Front gets 3 out of 5 nude golden men.

Stay tuned as we trudge through the Best Picture winners during the 1930s, including Gone with the Wind, which I can’t believe my husband has never seen!

An Open Letter to Southern California

UGH!

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Dear Southern California,

You’re disappointing me. Just thought I would get straight to the point.

When I was 12-years-old, my parents announced we were moving from frigid Massachusetts to California. I had expectations. I thought the state was one big beach and palm trees would be everywhere. I expected to be ridiculously tan year-round, and have blond, sun-streaked hair that had that messy surfer look because, well, I was going to be a surfer.

I can distinctly recall driving up Howell Mountain, our car laden with things too important to put in the moving truck. As we climbed higher and higher, my eyes took in pine trees. Hundreds of them. No palm trees in sight. It was burning hot, but I was told the beach was an hour away, and likely overcast and cold. I was sad.

I soon learned about the distinction between Northern California and Southern California, and it’s no secret I soon adored the Napa Valley. I even found a few palm trees, but they were mostly limited to the yards of million dollar homes. I was content.

When my husband found out he got a job at a world famous animation studio in Southern California, in spite of myself, I began to set up many of my former expectations. I had been told for so long that SoCal was warm and sunny year-round. That I would be able to go to the beach at almost any time, pending I didn’t mind sitting in traffic. I was even advised against packing my winter coats when I was boxing my belongings. I was told I likely wouldn’t need them, at least not so many (I have four, and a raincoat). My collection of scarves? Sure, I could take them, but they would probably sit in my closet, gathering dust.

And what did I find? True, initially we did encounter record highs in Los Angeles, which led me to believe everything I had been told was accurate. Sadly, we didn’t have enough good sense to go to the beach during this time, telling ourselves there would plenty of chances later on. I thought excitedly of being able to call our parents during the winter; respectively miserable in Portland and Napa during the cold, rainy season; and bragging that we were walking at the pier in Santa Monica in tank tops and shorts. I was wrong.

After that initial spike in heat, it got cold, and it got cold fast. And it rained! Oh did it rain. It poured for days, and shattered rain records. There was one flood warning after another. In fact, there was one morning I was on my work to work that I questioned whether I would be able to make it. Traffic was awful, there was minor flooding everywhere, and the sky was still dumping rain. When I finally arrived, my husband began texting me about the evacuations that were being made in nearby La Cañada Flintridge, and I misunderstood his texts to mean our area was being evacuated. I freaked out and almost left work. When I realized our home wasn’t in danger, I was calm, but still disgusted at the weather.

Oh, and then there was snow in Los Angeles. I was in Burbank and it began to flurry. I couldn’t believe my eyes were seeing snow in Southern California. When I came home at the end of the night, there was an inch of snow in some parts of our front lawn, and most were completely frozen. Some of the snow even managed to stay around until mid-morning the next day. Excuse me, but what is that?!

I complained to my fellow Angelenos, who joked that I brought the bad weather with me from NorCal. I’ve started to believe them. However, they assured me that things would start looking up, and soon. I began to get hopeful yet again. But… “Heavy rain, high winds, cold air to hit Southern California this weekend.”

Please stop.

Sincerely,

Larissa Church

Hair

I look gooooooooooood!

One of the first things you need to know about me is I’m not a girly girl. Well, I suppose this is partially true. In some ways, I am very girly—I hate being dirty, I really like jewelry, and I have a pathetic love of chick flicks—but in other ways, not so much. For instance, I have no patience to spend time meticulously painting my nails, I am a disaster with eyeliner, and I can barely cook (See “The Beginning of the Culinary Adventures of Larissa Church”), though I’m really trying to fix that last fact. You’ll sooner find me in a pair of jeans than a dress, and I wear high heels about once a year—and then hang onto my husband’s arm for dear life as I totter about.

I’ve never really been good with hair. When I was in the fifth grade, I got a perm, and I trace that to the root of the problem (ha, ha). I don’t think my hair has been the same since. I have thick hair that manages to be flat, with enough wave to give it life but curly not enough to make it pretty. In the past, I’ve dyed it to make it more interesting (See “Little Known Facts About Me”). To make it presentable, I have two choices: Blow dry it, then straighten it with a flatiron, or scrunch some product in it to attempt to make it all wave-y. When my hair is straight, in my opinion, it is limp and lifeless. When it’s wave-y, it’s not wave-y enough so I think it looks stupid. Until today, I had pretty much resigned myself to either of those options.

Like most “alternative” girls, I have a celebrity crush on Zooey Deschanel. No Kim Kardashian envy for me! I think Zooey’s just about the raddest gal around. She can sing and act, and looks great doing both. I love her style, and I love her hair. I’ve attempted to get her bangs before, at Great Clips, but it’s never worked out. I have a love/hate relationship with bangs—I grow them out, and I want them back. I have them, and I want them gone. Le sigh. For the past few months, I’ve been growing my bangs out, since the last version I had were awful.

However, I was starting to get the itch to have my bangs back, which is always dangerous. And I needed a haircut desperately—I hadn’t cut my hair since before the wedding, back in August. Not that I’ve ever been one to take good care of my hair, but it’s recommended you get your hair cut every six to eight weeks, and the fact that I hadn’t in over six months was hideously apparent. I was complaining to my husband, but I wasn’t doing anything about it. I was driving him crazy, until yesterday he couldn’t take it anymore. He went on Yelp, and found Frenchy’s Beauty Parlor. With 235 reviews and 4 ½ stars, it sounded great. Haircuts for ladies were $60—the most I have ever spent is $20. I was hesitant, but my dear husband was insistent that I deserved it. I called, doubting they had openings for the next day, but they did. It was on! It was time to decide what in the world to do with my hair, though, and I had no idea what I should aim for but ultimately be disappointed by. A quick trip to the grocery store solidified my choice. As fate would have it, Zooey was on the cover of Lucky magazine, and I knew my decision had been made. I was going for it.

This is a look of love.

I arrived at Frenchy’s 15 minutes before my appointment. The parlor was awesome: The ceilings were pink with big sparkles. It had a retro vibe. The receptionist immediately offered me a soda or water, complimentary, of course. Sufjan Stevens was playing—how can you not love a hair salon that plays Sufjan Stevens?! Solidifying the salon’s awesomeness was the wall art: the salon was featuring Audrey Knight’s Mammalian Military. My favorite piece was of a walrus with an eye patch. I could have looked at that painting all day. The place was hip but I surprisingly didn’t feel out of place at all, which is something I can’t say for a lot of places I’ve seen/been to in Los Angeles.

Within three minutes of arriving, Rosie, who was to be my stylist, came over and introduced herself. Along with my haircut, I was to have a complimentary scalp massage, and I needed to pick the oil fragrance I would like used. I went with “Peppermint Dream.” It smelled incredible, and having my scalp massaged was the most relaxing things I had done in a long while. Also included in a haircut was a wash, which I was excited about since Great Clips typically sprays your hair with a spray bottle. Frenchy’s uses Bumble and bumble, and it’s a safe assumption to say my hair has never smelled as nice before today. I was already in heaven and my haircut had yet to really begin.

Rosie was great: she worked quickly and efficiently, managed to chitchat but not talk too much. It was clear she knew what she was doing. I was envious of her hair—it was pink-streaked and she had a fuchsia hair feather with tinsel. And she pulled it off.

In addition to the scalp massage and wash, you also have your hair styled after it is cut, which is again nicer than Great Clips since they boot you out the door with hair that is sopping wet. I let Rosie decide what to do, and she used a round brush after spraying some Bumble and bumble “lotion” in for texture. She used a flatiron on my bangs, and when it was over, I can honestly tell you my hair has never looked as good in its life. I was blown away (ha, ha).

I can't stop looking at myself!

Frenchy’s, you have converted me. I suppose as a newish resident of LA, it was only a matter of time before I started becoming narcissistic. Since having my haircut, I can’t stop looking at myself in the mirror, or stop talking about how good I look. I’ve only had a taste of pampering, and already I want more. Goodbye Great Clips, you are dead to me.

To quote the great Ron Burgundy, “Hey everyone! Come see how good I look!”

Fear and Raging in Los Angeles

Go go go!

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One of the things I do not appreciate about my new Los Angeles life is the traffic. To understand how jarring traffic is for me, I may need to give you a little background information.

I miss you.

Before moving here, I resided in the absolutely perfect Napa Valley. For almost 15 years, I lived in a little hilltop town that boasts of one stop sign on its “Main Street.” I lived half a mile from my work, so the commute… well, there wasn’t one. A jaunt into St. Helena, the closest place of interest took all of 15 minutes. While the nearest Target and retail shopping was about a half hour away in Napa itself, I didn’t mind the drive. How could I complain when such a trip was filled with field after field of grapevines and the occasional hot air balloon? I couldn’t. Tourists who were suckered into bicycling the valley also made the drive interesting, as their misery was greatly evident. I loved to make fun of them. (photo source)

It’s true that the summer months brought in hoards of tourists and jammed the 29, but none of them ever bothered to do any research about where to go or how to get there, so the Silverado Trail was usually fine. The moral of this tale is that until recently, my experience with traffic was practically zilch. While it is true I encountered some traffic whenever I trekked into San Francisco, it was excusable because I was going to San Francisco.

Now, since my husband and I share a vehicle (shout out to Pierre!), at least two hours of my day is devoted to getting us to and from work. I suppose I should be grateful there isn’t more, but it’s still something I’m having a hard time accepting, which I assume you can understand given my past history. On weekdays, my husband and I aim to leave our house before 8 a.m. We take two freeways to his work. I drop my husband off, and then take another freeway to my work. The worst part of my commute is the 1.7 mile stretch from the freeway to my work – it takes at least 20 minutes. Then I do the whole thing in reverse at the end of the day. What kills me is the trip is approximately 26.7 miles but takes at least 45 minutes to complete. Don’t even get me started about how I have two Targets 4.9 and six miles away from my house but I have to get on three or four different freeways to get to either of them.

If the whole thing sounds unpleasant, it’s because it is, but I don’t mind since my husband is able to commute with me at least for part of the time. The worst part about all the driving are the drivers. The drivers in LA are hands down the worst I have ever been around. I may be doing 10 over the speed limit in a residential neighborhood but I will be tailgated and honked at and occasionally flipped off. It is great (I’m being sarcastic). On the freeway, I have learned that if I am not tailgating the car in front of me, it’s like I have a large, Vegas-style sign atop my car that says in bright, flash lights “Yes! Please! Cut me off!”

As you can imagine, all of these things make me mad. Very mad. And I may have a confession to make…

I have road rage. Or at least an early onset version of it.

I feel your pain, man.

But don’t worry, you won’t see me jumping out of any cars and trying to hit anybody with a golf club. The only person my rage effects is myself. See, it’s kind of a passive-aggressive kind of rage, in that other drivers are more than likely not aware of my feelings. Mostly, I yell at the cars that are tailgating me/cutting me off/otherwise driving irrationally and call them names. That is because I am terrified of other drivers, which takes us to the second point of this blog post. (photo source)

More explaining may be due here. Remember that small, hilltop town I referenced earlier? That town has little to no crime, and the same goes with the majority of Napa County (though Napa itself I realize is getting a bit sketchy in parts). I literally know millionaires who don’t lock their million-dollar homes. With the exception of the Wal-Mart in Napa, I have never been worried when walking alone, even at night. (I realize this has a very “Pleasantville”-esque sound to it, but it’s the truth.) In my entire time living there, I believe there was only one murder in St. Helena and it was family-related (not that that makes it any better, but at least it wasn’t some random killing). It was the first homicide in the area in years.

Now, I live in a county that has had 96 homicides since the beginning of this year, according to The Homicide Report of The Los Angeles Times. So you can see why I would be hesitant to even honk at a motorist who deliberately cuts me off or tailgates me relentlessly. I’m worried they’re going to shoot me. When driving around in Napa, my biggest concerns were avoiding the numerous drunk tourists or hitting a deer.

Thanks for telling me to stay "Straight Outta Compton."

I understand that Los Angeles is much different than Napa, in so many ways. Population-wise, little Napa County boasts a mere 134,650 residents (source) while LA county has over 9.8 million (source). I also know that a majority of the crime in the county occurs in East Los Angeles, which I can tell you I will never visit. I’ve listened to Dr. Dre, I know what’s up. Still, it is unnerving to know I live in a place where there’s actually crime. And traffic. (photo source)

Thankfully, however, my husband and I are lucky to live in a really nice place, one that has only had 11 violent crimes (no homicides!) and 129 property crimes in the last six months. We have no plans to venture into Compton or Inglewood, and I guess I just need to get a grip about traffic. Mom, rest easy. 🙂

Don’t Be a Statistic!

This guy should have read my blog.

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Chances are, if you have spent any time with me over the last few months, you have heard me utter the phrase, “Don’t be a statistic!” in regards to walking/driving/living. If you haven’t, allow me to explain.

As a previous blog post noted (see “S.E. OoooOoOOoOOOOooOoooooO.”), I work for a legal internet marketing company as a blog editor and copywriter. We deal exclusively with attorneys, and the vast majority are personal injury lawyers (as opposed to criminal defense lawyers). My days are filled with writing and editing blog posts and website content pages on topics such as product liability, medical malpractice, workers’ compensation, defective drugs, and various accidents, such as car, bicycle, motorcycle, and truck accidents.

Thanks to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA), I’m able to rattle off certain accident statistics like I’m Watson the super computer. I can tell you off the top of my head that 33,808 people died in motor vehicle accidents in 2009 in the United States (stats for 2010 haven’t yet been published), and over 2.2 million people were injured in these accidents, and that over 10,000 fatalities were in alcohol-related crashes (I had to check my handy NHTSA PDF to see that the exact number is 10,839). These statistics scare me, but it’s easy enough to brush off since the population of Los Angeles is somewhere around 3.8 million (source), making my chances of being involved in an accident relatively low.

I know you can read.

However, there are two areas whose statistics I haven’t been able to shake from my mind, and that’s where my phrase “Don’t be a statistic!” comes in.

(I apologize if what follows is overly preach-y or if you have heard me rant about this topic before. Learning these things at my job has definitely made me improve my driving habits and by sharing them, I hope to change the habits of those who read this as well.)

Of those 33,808 accident-related fatalities in the U.S. in 2009, 5,474 were reported to have involved a form of distracted driving (source), which includes cell phone use, eating, flipping through a playlist on an iPod, etc. Of those 2.2 million people that were injured in accidents that year (keeping in mind that becoming a paraplegic is considered an injury), 448,000 of them were injured in accidents that were distracted driving-related.

A recent study found that a driver using a cell phone (texting or talking, handheld or hands-free) delays their reaction as much as have a blood alcohol concentration (BAC) at the legal limit of .08 percent. Scary, isn’t it? Think about that the next time you reach for your cell phone while behind the wheel to read a text that likely contains something along the lines of “Hey, what’s up?”

If these statistics and facts still haven’t made you want to change your driving habits, I encourage you to go look through the NHTSA’s “The Faces of Distracted Driving” video series, which highlight the people who have lost their lives in distracted driving-related accidents by interviewing their friends and family while telling the victim’s story. They are heartbreaking.

I warn you in advance: if I am a passenger in your car and you get out your phone while behind the wheel, I will yell at you.

 

Let the poor man walk!

Closely tied to distracted driving are pedestrian accidents, the second area of personal injury with which I have become obsessed. According to our friends over at the NHTSA, a pedestrian “is any person on foot, walking, running, jogging, hiking, sitting or lying down who is involved in a motor vehicle traffic crash.”

In 2009, 4,092 pedestrians died in traffic accidents in the U.S. and an estimated 59,000 were injured in these accidents. (Note: these statistics are not a part of the 33,808 motor vehicle accident fatalities or the 2.2 million people injured.) These statistics result in an average of a pedestrian killed every two hours and one injured every nine minutes in traffic accidents in the U.S.

This information has caused me to now look both ways before crossing a street at least twice, and then give each car that approaches or is stopped at the intersection the evil eye should they be tempted to run me or my companions over.

Also, thanks to my job, I have the contact information of over 100 highly skilled personal injury attorneys, and you bet your sweet rear-end I will sue the living daylights out of you if you hit me or my friends.

I Live in Los Angeles

That's my city!

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(Sometimes, when I’m driving on the 2 and see the sun setting behind the city, I can’t believe I live in Los Angeles. [along with 4 million other people!] It’s surreal.)

Lately, my LA life has been going a million miles an hour.

I’m very happy to announce that earlier in January my husband was offered a position at DreamWorks Animation Studios, where he had previously worked before getting laid off. This time, however, he’s an assistant artist, which means he’s doing ridiculously cool things, like spending his afternoon drawing with super legit people. Obviously, I’m jealous, but my stick figures look like mentally handicapped people, so I know a job in the creative realm is out of the question. Thankfully, my husband is contractually locked in until 2013, which is a huge relief to us after we were both unemployed for a time.

A lot of January was filled with celebrating, as you can imagine. We also awoke from hibernation, and finally crawled out of our little home and got around to exploring some of prettier parts of the Los Angeles area, which, according to Travel & Leisure Magazine, is the rudest city in the United States. (Personally, the people I have met are nothing but nice—however, the drivers here are TERRIFYING.) Thankfully, the annual Urban Mobility Report from the Texas Transportation Institute reports that traffic in the LA area isn’t the worst in the U.S. anymore, which is great.

Awesome.

The first place we visited was the Griffith Observatory. I was anxious to go for a few reasons. I had heard the views of Los Angeles were incredible, that you could see the Hollywood sign which I hadn’t really seen, and I was desperate to go to the Leonard Nimoy Event Horizon Theater there, because I am a gigantic nerd. The Observatory was wonderful. It was a beautiful sunny day, and it was actually relatively smog-free. The views were fabulous, and reminded me that I actually live really close to the ocean now (it’s easy to forget in the concrete jungle). I was disappointed to find that a huge cell phone tower is atop the hill the Hollywood sign resides against (and almost ruins it), but it was great nonetheless to see such an iconic LA landmark. While we didn’t star gaze, since it was daytime, the exhibits and city views definitely made the trip worth it, even if we had to park what felt like 10 miles away to get to the Observatory. I can’t wait to take my space-loving dad when he visits!

We then trekked over to Hollywood. We first visited the legitimacy that is Gallery 1988 to see the exhibit, “Is This Thing On?” featuring art inspired by popular comedians. I can’t express how much we loved the gallery! How can you not love a place that displays art like little stuffed Brets and Jemanines from “Flight of the Conchords” or a piece that highlights the greatest cinematic glory of our time—the fight scene in “Anchorman”?! Love love love. Then, we went to the Hollywood strip to see the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Without a map, I was excited that we stumbled upon the stars for Harrison Ford, William Shatner, and Godzilla (me=nerd, remember?). I had no idea that stars weren’t just for movies—did you know stars are also given in the categories of television, music, broadcast radio, and live theater? It felt a little bit like Vegas, but without people trying to shove porno business cards in my hand. I also saw the Kodak Theatre, which to be honest was a little disappointing. They do a good job during the Academy Awards broadcast of not highlighting the nearby area, so I was surprised to see the Theatre was next to a giant Gap, among other stores. So not what I expected. I’m halfway tempted this year to camp out by the Theatre and watch the stars arrive for the Oscars, but my husband pointed out that then I wouldn’t be able to actually watch the broadcast, so I doubt I will attempt such a feat.

On our next outing, we went to Venice Beach. It had been several years since I had visited, and two things jumped right out at me that had changed: the plethora of medical marijuana dispensaries and the abundance of really weird art that featured Marilyn Monroe as a gangster. (Note: Anyone who thinks that marijuana isn’t legal should definitely visit Venice Beach. I have news for you. It basically is.) We walked the entire Ocean Front Walk, enjoying our lemonade in the hot sun while refusing about 10,000 people asking us if we wanted to see a “doctor” to get a medical marijuana license. We skipped over to Intelligentsia’s Venice Coffeebar, where I proceeded to trip down a stair, spilling my expensive cappuccino in front of bored hipsters, solidifying my lameness and the fact that I have no business being at such a trendy place. After my embarrassment, we checked out the “Multiplayer” exhibit at the other Gallery 1988. I don’t play a lot of video games, so many of the references went over my head, but I was excited to see a few pieces that featured Mario, Sonic, and the original “Tron”, which I had recently seen and loved. (How can you not instantly love a movie that looks like one long Fry’s commercial?!)

Sunset.

Santa Monica was next. My favorite part of this leg of our tour was watching a street performing sing “Colors of the Wind” from Disney’s completely inaccurate “Pocahontas.” Mostly, we walked around, which was nice, and when the sun began to set, we went to the pier. Though everyone in the group was afraid of heights, we toyed with the idea of riding the Ferris wheel, but opted not to. Our day as tourists came to a close with a treat from Vanilla Bake Shop, which is how I feel every day should end.

More and more, as I begin to depend on my Garmin less, I realize I’m starting to put down some roots in Los Angeles, and surprisingly, it is alright with me.

(How about those Clippers?!)