Cyclovia and Occupy LA

Posted on October 13, 2011 by Alpha Juliet

Iconic Palm Trees Provide the Backdrop for a Mermaid Hitching a Ride with a Sea Captain on a Bicycle in front of a Patriotic Protest on the City Hall Lawn...Yes, This is La La Land.

Once or twice a year, downtown Los Angeles gives in to its masses. It closes streets to the incessant, honking traffic and ceases to become a city of rushing, exhausted, isolated individuals, locked inside air conditioned cars, losing their sanity in the constant, never ending, brutally life-sucking traffic.  For a few hours,  it is transformed into Cyclovia, a delightful bicycle oriented city, pedestrian friendly, utterly transforming the way people connect with each other. Cyclovias in the United States are inspired by the original Cyclovia in Bogota, Columbia, where streets are closed to cars and opened to pedestrians once a week to encourage healthy community.

In the spring of this year, I spent 1 month in Belgrade, Serbia, a fantastically rich city in South Eastern Europe. One of the main reasons I loved the city of Belgrade so much was that its people were so connected to each other and there was hardly a sense of isolation to be seen. Its pedestrian friendly streets were the complete opposite of most American cities, where we each sit alone, driving endless hours on highways and wide paved streets in a car of armor, a protective bubble, communicating only via cell phone. So though we have zoning laws and the auto industry and lack of functional public transit to blame for our situation, we can at least a few times a year, feel what it would be like to live in Dubrovnik, or Florence, or Paris. We get a chance to greet neighbors, smell the aromas of the street-side cafes, reach out to people in a less guarded way, and be a part of the fabric of the city.

In addition to leisurely pedalling down once forbidden streets, Ciclavia LA hosts a plethora of other activities such as guided city walks, human scale chess games, street performers, the famous LA gourmet food trucks, and a social demonstration at city hall: Occupy LA. The city walk I chose was led by a guide who high fived cyclists going in our opposite direction, and flashed the peace sign at passers, shouting, “Cyclists and pedestrians can get along!” She weaved us through the closed off streets,  talking about how LA is trying to make its streets more pedestrian friendly. The subtle, but impactful differences include new vegetation, a wider sidewalk with smaller, human scale artwork, street side seating and furniture, and more pedestrian friendly lighting.

The crown jewel of Cyclovia was Occupy LA. Occupy LA is an offshoot of Occupy Wall Street: peaceful protesters trying to organize themselves into a cohesive movement in which they claim they are the 99% (the 1% being the wealthiest in the US), and are protesting against corporate greed and corrupt democracy. It was both disturbing, inspiring, and entertaining to see all these protesters literally camped out in tents on the lawn of City Hall in downtown Los Angeles.

Attending  the eclectic Ciclovia event and witnessing the Occupy LA protest were 2 more important steps in exploring this great city of Los Angeles. These  experiences just confirmed my decision to explore this city like a tourist in order to feel like a local. So get out there, see whats happening, and be a part of it!

Downtown LA - Ahhh....Refreshingly Free of Cars

 

Cyclists in front of LA Theater

 

Gourmet Food Trucks

 

Look Alive, LA!

 

Protesters Camped out on City Hall Lawn - Occupy LA

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Channel Your Inner Rockstar at the Grammy Museum

Posted on October 2, 2011 by Alpha Juliet

The Grammy Award Comes From the Word "Gramophone" - An Antique Record Player

The Smithsonian National Museum Day rolls around once a year, and thousands of museums across the country open their doors to the public with free admission.  This day is held in the spirit of the Smithsonian Museums in Washington DC, where admission is always free.  This year I chose to channel my inner rock start and attend the Grammy Museum, in Downtown Los Angeles. The Grammy museum is a part of LA Live, a new venue designed to bring locals back to recently gentrified areas.

My preconceived notion was that the Grammy museum would be a commercialized tourist trap, focusing mainly on pop music, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. The 30,000 square foot museum covers nearly every conceivable genre of music, going far beyond the mainstream to include gospel, classical, jazz, and various obscure genres. Nearly every form of music is represented here, and the floors are jam packed with memorabilia, video footage of awards ceremonies, performances, intimate recordings, and historical artifacts.

Dozens of exhibits are interactive and allow the visitor to experience the recording process: mixing, blending, and editing your own original pieces. There are even stations where you can write lyrics to a song, sing karaoke, play the drums or guitar on stage, or work with live amps.  The Grammy museum provides a unique, stimulating, and educational peek behind the scenes into the creative process that is music making. It tells stories about legendary figures that contributed their talent to create the soundtrack of our lives. Way more fun than the Chinese Theater or the Hollywood Walk of Fame, this is a must see in Los Angeles.

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The Library – A Haven for Procrastinators

Posted on October 2, 2011 by Alpha Juliet

Los Angeles Central Library Interior



There’s something about the quiet, studious atmosphere of a public library that makes me want to crack open a neglected book and learn something. It’s stately environment always seems to beckon me to venture down the book-lined aisles, searching for that perfect little corner desk from which to soak up knowledge on some obscure, scholarly pursuit. The endless shelves of perfectly ordered volumes seem to elicit discipline and structure, creating a perfect setting for cranial aspirations. The library is a haven for the academic, the intellectual, and the student of life. It is also a sanctuary for the procrastinator, who has nowhere to turn but to the opened page when confronted with blank walls, hushed voices, and stern rows of books staring you down.

Unlike the library’s snobby cousin, the corporate bookseller of the world, the library is delightfully free of distractions, other than fascinating people watching.  At the public library, there will be no browsing of colorful moleskin notebooks, no purchasing of raspberry scones, no wasting time flipping through Oprah’s latest favorite book, just pure learning.

The library has something to offer everyone. As a child, I would go there with my mom, eagerly snatching up the maximum allotment of new books to bring home to read. Sometimes going to the library meant settling in for story time, sitting cross-legged at the feet of the storyteller, willingly immersed in some new literary adventure. As a student, I spent long days buried in the archives at the Truman Library, painstakingly gathering sources and copying down information for citations while working on my senior research paper. As an adult, I volunteer as an adult literacy tutor, meeting my student there regularly to discuss the basics of English grammar and conversation.

Did you know that many libraries boast an intriguing smorgasbord of extracurricular offerings beyond the expected book signings and computer classes? Many of them offer cooking classes, travelling art exhibits, and public forums. At the LA library, there is currently an exhibit on Sesame Street illustrations through the years. Who’d have thought this would all be available, free and open to the public, at your unassuming local library.

My newest library discovery is the Central Library in downtown Los Angeles.  I was thrilled to stumble upon this beautiful public library in the heart of bustling downtown. By keeping a tourist mentality, I was able to discover the hidden jewel that is the LA public library, complete with its massive 5 story escalator halls, its cultural murals, lovely garden grounds, and partner cafes. Nestled between two skyscrapers, its gift to Angelenos is a little bit of peace in the center of one of the largest urban centers in the United States. I can’t wait to go back and crack open a new book!

Central Library-Downtown Los Angeles

Central LA Library Entrance

Los Angeles Library Garden

Los Angeles Central Library Interior

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Lessons on Living Well, from Grandma

Posted on September 15, 2011 by Alpha Juliet

Lessons on Living Well, from Grandma.

When I was a little girl, I remember standing side by side with my grandmother as she taught me how to wash my hands.  “Now dear, rub your hands together just like this and make sure you work up a good lather!” I watched her intently, imitating her moves, excited to be working up a good “Lavender” just like Grandma.

Several years later, we stood next to each other again, in front of a tooth brushing display at the Dental School Visitors’ night, diligently learning the proper way to brush our teeth. She was so excited about it. I remember she exclaimed, “I never knew the perfect technique for this until now!” And so I was excited about it too.  Later she asked if I wanted to attend a manners class, and she made it sound so enticing, that I jumped at the opportunity. I was about 8 years old.

When I was young, she took me on vacations with her and her brother Harold. They helped me with my workbook lessons and took me to musicals and stage performances and to elegant affairs. One time, as we were waiting for a show to start when I was about 11, I complained, “Grandma, I’m bored”. She responded, “Oh Adrienne, how could you be bored when there are so many fascinating things in this world to think about?” And I knew she was absolutely right.

Yes, she sure covered the basics in my childhood,but what she has taught me in adulthood is just as essential to life as manners and good personal hygiene. My grandmother has set the example of how to live well. She was modest and didn’t like to hear me say things like this, but she was the perfect example of wisdom and beauty. Anyone who knew her would agree. She was also the perfect example of how to age gracefully. As many have said, she really did get more beautiful with age. She was always kind, gentle, loving, and thoughtful. When she spoke, I listened intently, just as I did as a child, because I knew that her words were carefully thought out, significant, and essential for my well-being. She always knew the right thing to say, which is why I felt I could always confide in her my true feeling.

Occasionally, she would ask me about my romantic life- didn’t push or pressure me, just asked me honestly, as two friends talking.  “Have you met anyone special lately?” And I told her.  When I was in high school, she must have sensed that my heart would be broken by the boy I was dating, and she wisely told me to keep my options open. “There’s plenty of good fellas out there”, she reminded me, and proceeded to point out the “good looking fellas” to me for several years during my teens, which I got a huge kick out of. So after all this, and her losing her husband years ago, and witnessing a long lifetime of loves and also heartbreaks, she still was a true believer in love and romance, and she was the eternal optimist.

When I went through a few troubling years in college, she always knew just what to say. She didn’t pry, didn’t judge. She quietly said, “Remember, Adrienne, what you do now could affect your life later on”, and of course I knew she was right again.

As I grew older, she supported me in my 2 passions in life, writing and flying. My dream was to become a professional pilot. She inspired me with her own interest in space, flying, and all things aviation. She believed  in me, and since she had such sound judgment on all other matters, I believed in me too. She supported me and never doubted that I would be successful. I told her eagerly about my aerobatics training, about every test and maneuver I mastered, and kept her updated on my progress. Later, I would call her from towns in Montana, or Arizona, or Oregon, and each time, she would want to know, “Where have you been, where are you going, and how was your flight?” And most of the time, when I told her where I was, she would respond, “Oh Yes…. Paul and I covered every inch of that territory. Yes, we were there”. And then she would pause thoughtfully, before proceeding to tell me about an out of the way hotel or a restaurant or what the town was like when she was there with Grandpa. I loved knowing that my husband and I were trekking around the country by plane, when just several generations ago, she and her husband were trekking around the exact same parts of the country by automobile. They were going from town to town just as we were. It was an amazing parallel that we didn’t ignore.

My grandma didn’t constrain me with worries or fears or excessive cautions, and so I flew naturally on my own into my adult life, becoming every thing she thought I would be. I was always happy and grateful for her consistent love and support. She wanted to read my writings and encouraged me to send them to her, and so I wrote poems and short stories, and she was my biggest fan. When I stopped flying for awhile, she subtly asked me about when I would get back up in the air. When I wasn’t writing, she asked me when I would write my next piece. She was good for me in the best way.

For a girl coming of age in the early 1930s, she was extremely progressive. She was a forward thinking, independent woman who led by example. She was taking flying lessons in the 1940s when most women were wearing aprons, working in Washington DC in politics when most women were ironing clothes and having babies. But she was also a very warm and loving person, dedicated to her family, her husband Paul, her brother Harold and her daughter, Nancy, and later of course to her grandchildren and great grandchildren.

Recently when I called her, she was reading a book about Charles Lindbergh and she was so excited about what she was learning. She asked me if I had read the book and we discussed Lindbergh and early aviation. She also kept up on the stock market, current events, and politics. She always displayed a healthy curiosity about the world, its people and its cultures.  When my brother lived with her during college, she hosted Japanese exchange students at her home. Her husband had fought the Japanese in WWII, and yet she had didn’t hesitate to welcome their grandsons into her home, for this was just the kind of woman she was. When my siblings or I would come to her with a concern or worry, she would dismiss it, if it was indeed frivolous, and say “I just don’t worry about little things like that, it’s not worth it”. And we would see that she was right, and let it go.

Many times during our conversations, she would leave me with an important kernel of information about life. I greedily ate these up, trying to remember them all as much as I could. Recently she said, “I just think we all need a little more fun in our lives, don’t you? There’s nothing wrong with that”. And I agreed. I am grateful to have had an adult relationship with my grandma, something that not everyone gets to do. The best way I can honor her is to live my life incorporating the things she has taught me, try my best to live life as she did, taking on challenges head first, but also being happy with how things are, and always seeking to learn more, experience all I can in life, reach out to others, and find peace within ones’ self.  For this is how to live life well.

 

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Dance With Me…

Posted on August 29, 2011 by Alpha Juliet


Imagine a group of 7 year olds doing a choreographed dance routine to “New Kids on the Block”. It was 1990, in a strip mall dance studio in the suburbs of Kansas City. It was not pretty. Other childhood dance memories include itchy tights, wrinkled ballet slippers, and scratchy tutus. But apart from those minute details, I Loved to Dance! I soon tired of endless practicing of demi- pliés, pas de bourreés and barre exercises. I wanted to DANCE! No more icky leotards for me, I wanted to have fun!

As a shy but indignant 9 year old, one day my mother brought me in to talk with the head dance studio teacher, an intimidating french woman named Ms. Chassé. I had refused to attend 1 more ballet class, I only wanted to do the fun stuff: Jazz and Tap. Ms. Chassé lectured me on the importance of discipline in ballet, and how it was an absolutely essential fundamental building block of all dance. If I wanted to do fun dances like jazz or tap (my only other options), I would have to first start with ballet. This was a great life lesson, but through my 9 year old eyes, I also had some overlooked wisdom – sometimes, you have to stop the endless practicing and just have fun.

Over the years, dance was always a part of my life, evolving as I did, mirroring the fun parts in life, the awkward parts in life, and maturing just as I did, through it all. There were the cringe worthy 1st dances in middle school (boys II men, anyone?) and cheesy numbers as part of high school musicals. There were formals, proms and a really humiliating period in which I was forced to attend “Jr. Cotillion”. Jr Cotillion was sort of a mix between etiquette and ballroom dancing for adolescents. Later, I joined the dance team at my university (it was a highly technical school, so our dance team left a lot to be desired), and danced my heart out with my best girl friend, a much better dancer than myself. Later, I would dance reggae on sandy beaches under the stars with my hippie friends,  line dance at a country show in Miami, and take swing lessons with a boyfriend. Years later, I would dance an ethnic Serbian folk dance at my wedding. And it was on that wedding night, when I was dancing to Michael Buble’s “Baby, You’ve Got What it Takes”, when it hit me: I DO have what it takes! So I’m not a great dancer, but I’m decent. I have the basics (Thanks to my strict, French ballet teacher), and I have the right attitude – to have fun! And standing right in front of me was a willing partner, a little slow on the pick up, but just as eager to learn. And he looked good on the dance floor, was unafraid of attention, and he had rhythm. What more could I ask for?

We began taking Salsa classes immediately and soon became enthralled with the dance. A good dance instructor recommendation proved essential in our progress. Our teacher turned out to be a charismatic looker named Rico Suave. Ok, so that’s not his real name, but you get the picture. This guy would make you melt just by looking at you, or more accurately, he’d make you blush just by spinning you into a side dip with perfect eye contact and a nice firm leading touch. This was enough to make any white bread girl next door wanna shake it like a Latin mamacita. And so I did, and we did. We learned, watched, and practiced and now we are lovers of Salsa. As it turned out, those thousands of pirouettes that Ms. Chassé forced me to practice really did come in handy, decades after the fact.

Rico Suave would always give us a little pep talk before each class, something about giving into the music, dancing with lots of partners, and learning how to lead and follow. Oh wait, no, I’m supposed to follow, he’s supposed to lead. That one was really hard for me, especially when I knew what I was supposed to do, and my partner didn’t, but I still had to stand there blindly until he “led” me to the next move. Many, many hours of dance instruction, blistered feet, mid-dance floor lover’s quarrels, and a few mastered moves later, we were dancing. Yes, we were dancing, and it was fantastic. We started going to Salsa clubs, taking classes there, and becoming a part of the scene. At the Salsa club, every couple on the floor is a salsa dancer. There is no booty dancing, no bump and grind, no ignorant swaying back and forth. No, these are real dancers with technique and style. It’s beautiful. The beauty in Salsa dancing is not just the smooth moves of the Latino crowd, the exquisitely toned legs of the classically trained dancers, or the bright energy of that live Cuban band, its more than that. It’s that on the Salsa floor, older couples dance amidst young ones, Asians, Blacks, Latinos, and White Bread Mid-Westerners like me, dance together, all levels, all ages, all backgrounds.  Together we share a unique hobby that embodies a passionate enjoyment of life: the Art of Dance.

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Long Beach Roller Derby

Posted on August 10, 2011 by Alpha Juliet

Roller Derby Girls

It was a Friday night in July, and I was cruising down to Long Beach to meet a friend who shared a mutual curiosity: The Roller Derby. Yep, we were headed to see the Belmont Hot Broads compete against the Bixby Rollerettes in a sold out dome by the Queen Mary. Outside, food vendors were set up to satisfy the long line of spectators eager to get inside. The dark dome was almost circus-like in its ambiance. Catchy music played while people strolled the booths of full of motorcycle accessories and roller skates and waited in line for beer. For $20, we got grand stand tickets, allowing us to sit in the stadium squeezed in between a group of tween hard core derby fans and an awkward couple on their first date. The lights went down, the roller rink was illuminated, and the pre-game entertainment began.  Imagine a tiny Nascar track with raised edges and lit up like Christmas. Girls wearing something out of a Jasmine/Aladdin movie entered the rink and performed a fascinating fire dance with twirling, flaming batons. The music escalated as they danced a fantasy inspired, thrilling, show.

The game began and the DJ announced the teams as each player skated an introductory lap. The players had nicknames such as “Inchie Lada, French Connection, Skinny Dip, and Slice Princess”.  Their snazzy uniforms were more costumey than any other athletic team I’ve seen. The Rollerettes rocked 60s style mini dresses with white gogo boots and the Hot Broads wore bright pink hot pants. Imagine a team of roller skaters playing a contact sport like rugby, but wearing outfits like pin up girls. It was quite a site. This sport appeals to guys and girls alike – watching a girl race around a rink in a mini skirt draws in one type of audience, while the idea of a girl power/estrogen saturated sport draws in another. It’s probably the only event where you have feminists, lesbians, and male chauvinists sitting next to each other cheering on the same team. The diverse crowd certainly made fantastic people watching!

With the help of my handy “Rules & Derby Basics” program, I was able to figure out the ins and outs of the jammers, the pack, the blockers, and the star. This was the first roller derby match I had attended and so I was pleased to realize that I actually understood all the rules of the game by the time the Rollerettes were cheered to victory that night.  Roller Derby is quite unlike football or baseball, which seem to move so slowly and employ so many rules, regs, and stats, that it ruins the pure joy of the game.

At half time, a grunge girl-band called “Fly Trap” took the stage and sang a song called, “I just wanna Partay!” I was digging it. A sport like Roller Derby is quirky enough to have a novelty appeal and rare enough to have avoided commercialism and escalating ticket prices. It is simple enough to enjoy without asking too many questions and creative enough to appeal to a wide audience range. All the while it provides fresh, energetic, entertainment. Another night of fine summer fun in SoCal.

Bixby Rollerettes vs. Belmont Hot Broads

 

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Pacific Coast Paradise

Posted on July 26, 2011 by Alpha Juliet

I am lucky to live just a few miles away from a gorgeous stretch of famous beach, home to endless possibilities of summer fun.  The nearby Pacific Palisades Park is a narrow grassy stretch with a walk path paralleling the ocean front. Lined with sky-high palm trees and stunning ocean views, it’s no wonder the park is always alive with runners, yoga groups, mommy and me classes, and picnickers.  The park runs into Santa Monica Beach, which is strewn with bicycle rentals, volleyball nets, roller-bladers, and sun umbrellas near the waterfront. This beach culminates at the legendary Santa Monica Pier before fading into Eclectic Venice Beach, home to renowned body builders, medical marijuana dispensaries, and skate parks. A long afternoon stroll along these parts provides an array of distractions for the summer tourist or just a curious local like me. Want to fish for Halibut from the pier’s edge, get your name carved on a tiny piece of rice, or take home a caricature of yourself?  Do you have an inkling to fly like a trapeze artist, ride a roller coaster, get your picture with a tropical parrot or eat a hot dog on a stick? The pier’s got it all. People watching on the pier is enough to keep one entertained for hours. But after all, a picture is worth more than words, so enjoy a few I snapped while on my afternoon stroll.

Palms

 

Santa Monica Ferris Wheel

 

Santa Monica Overpass

 

Sharing a Bench

The Georgian

 

Train Man

 

End of Route 66

Beach Cruiser

Big Dean's Beer Garden

Dog Town Dogs

 

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I Survived Carmageddon

Posted on July 26, 2011 by Alpha Juliet

Typical Day on the 405

Today, the Midwest is experiencing a dangerous heat wave, and here in La La Land, its 72 and sunny. Just like it is everyday, day after day, all year round. When the southeast is preparing for hurricanes, the midwest is recovering for tornado damage, and the east coast is shut down because of blizzards, Angeleno’s are sunning at the beach. More accurately, they are probably wearing designer hats to protect their skin from the sun’s harmful rays, while they stroll with their mini designer dogs through an organic farmers market. Los Angeles is shockingly void of seasons though native Californians will argue otherwise. Yes, LA certainly enjoys eternal springtime, gorgeous beach landscapes, and all the benefits that go with it, but it makes up for those perks it when it comes to horrendous traffic. I never really knew how bad traffic could get till I moved to LA. I’d seen it in Orange County, and I’ve avoided rush hours in other cities, but I had no idea how bad it could really get. I spend more time in traffic in LA then I ever spent raking leaves in Kansas City, or boarding up my windows to prep for hurricanes in Daytona Beach, or applying sunscreen in Las Vegas. Rush hour lasts about 8 hours per day, from 5:30 AM to 9:30 AM and then again, from 3:00 PM to 7:00 PM. And don’t forget the lunch rush. It’s frustrating to have to plan your schedule around traffic when it consumes so much of your day. And with so many freeways and city pockets all over the metro area, I have no idea which ways the heavy traffic is flowing at what time of day. You may think you are safe going from West LA to Sherman Oaks at noon on a Tuesday and then get stuck in a jam. Going from Long Beach to Malibu on Wednesday night? Stuck again. I learned my lesson when trying to make it to a grocery store less than 2 miles away at 3:45 PM on a weekday. It took me 1.5 hours to get there and back, not including grocery shopping. Then there was the time I made the mistake of trying to get on to the 405 highway at 4:10 PM to go 2 miles. Yup, I only wanted to go 2 miles, and 45 minutes later, I finally made it the .5 miles to the nearest exit and got off the highway, frustrated, infuriated, and steaming…
If you’re not from CA, you may not have heard of our most recent traffic induced nightmare, Carmageddon. As a part of highway expansion, the main 405 freeway was to be closed for the entire weekend while construction crews worked on demolishing the 50-year-old Mulholland bridge. Street message boards, radio stations, and the nightly news warned everyone of the Carmageddon that could be triggered by attempting to drive anywhere on the weekend of the closure (this weekend), and advised everyone to stay home. City officials went on the record saying the massive overflow of traffic could cause city wide gridlock on the streets for people trying to take detours. JetBlue offered record low $4 Carmageddon airline flights from Long Beach to Burbank, and discounted helicopter rides were advertised from Van Nuys to LAX airport. It seemed like every place from Tatoo Parlors to Gelato Shops were offering Carmageddon Discounts, and with all the hype I was more than happy to camp out at home for the weekend. Even our building supervisor posted a note that she was “working off site, due to traffic concerns with Carmageddon”.
Friday, the first day of the closure, came and went, and on Saturday I ventured outside expecting to hear more car horns than usual. Instead, I was surprised by the serene relative quiet. Apparently everyone had heeded the warning, and the roadways were unusually clear. I was delighted! I spent the rest of the weekend exploring my new city, traffic free! Everyone was out walking, riding bicycles, and patronizing their local businesses. It was so refreshing to be out of traffic jams and instead, driving comfortably, convertible top down, cruising my new neighborhood completely free from road rage. As it turned out, the crews finished 17 hours early, and the highways are now open again. Yet another example of news media using fear mongering to manipulate society (ahh…but thats a topic for another blog) Well, I can’t complain, it worked! I’m half wishing for a Carmageddon every weekend, what a treat that would be!

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Inhale Up Dog, Exhale Down Dog

Posted on July 26, 2011 by Alpha Juliet

Nope, Not Me

 

Recently I’ve found myself spending some time in a position called the Downward Dog.  Since moving to LA, I’ve been trying to pick up Yoga. With year round swimsuit weather and endless healthy food options, Yoga seemed like the perfect new hobby. All those “ommmms” and weird poses never really appealed to me before, so it was only when a new friend suggested I try out her Yoga Studio that I decided to finally make a commitment. Now don’t get me wrong, I look alright in my Yoga outfit before class starts, but once it does, I’m definitely the most out of place one in the room. This Yoga studio is for serious Yogis. It offers 62 different Yoga classes per week with class names like “Mantra Flow” “Sweaty Vinyasa”, and “Weekend Detox”.
The people around me are like contortionists, twisting their limbs into impossible positions, their elbows reaching where my fingertips can’t even come close to touching . 5 minutes into class and I’m shaking like an addict who’s just gone cold turkey. The Downward Dog pose is brutal. We come back to it so often throughout class, I wonder if it’s supposed to be some sort of neutral pose, but for me, it’s pure pain, or as the teacher calls it “intense sensation”. An hour into the class, and we’ve done countless Warrior Poses, Sun Salutations, and even a pose called the Happy Baby. The Happy Baby is where you lie on your back and clutch your toes with your hands, your legs apart and bent, like, well, a Happy Baby.
Every once in a while the instructor will say, if you feel like springing into a head stand or popping a wheelie, do so… honor your body. All around me, Yogi’s are jumping into circus like poses, as I stare in spellbound amazement. It was all I could do to keep trying to mimic the others. I have to stifle laughter when the instructor suggests certain modifications to make a pose more challenging; I can barely sit cross-legged with a straight back without being in some sort of discomfort. At least I can try to distract myself by checking out all the fascinating tattoos on my yogi classmates. Every few minutes, we are encouraged to take “Ahhh breaths”, and the guy next to me is letting out a strangled groan like he is enjoying the class a little too much.  I find myself thinking that to honor my body; I should go into the child’s pose, which is where you curl up and assume a face down fetal position.
After awhile I start to wonder if something is really wrong with me. The others around me look like they’re not even trying very hard, and my face is snarled in pain and I have sweat dripping from every pore in my body, from my ears to my ankles. I’m trying hard to make a prayer with my feet and soften my jaw while looking out of my third eye, but it’s just not looking right. A discussion with my mother confirms my suspicions that extreme inflexibility runs in our family, so I will allow myself to blame my yoga mediocrity on genetics.
My favorite part of class is the cool down, which is where I secretly congratulate myself for surviving the hour and a half session of pain, humiliation, and awkwardness, and once that’s done, I try to find inner peace. Sometimes the instructor will get out a ukulele and play and sing for us, and one time, an instructor came by and anointed everyone with essential oils as we were flat on our backs with our eyes closed. It’s a position which I have named, “the cult pose”. But I have to admit, I’m beginning to love the cool down. It’s like really cheap therapy.
I thought Yoga would get easier after a few sessions, but it’s still just as torturous as it was the 1st day. I will say though that I have started to crave Yoga class a little. There is something about facing your own physical and mental weaknesses head on that is essential to your own growth. There is something about confronting your own thoughts in a forced active relaxation that is imperative to rejuvenation. And there is something about taking a time out from everything to find the stillness within you that is healing. And as my Yoga instructor says, yoga is about creating calm amidst a challenge. And I’m ready to take on that challenge. Call me masochistic, but I can’t wait to go back.

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Capturing the Thrill of an Old Fashioned Independence Day

Posted on July 26, 2011 by Alpha Juliet

Tiny Patriot

Independence Day has always been my favorite holiday. Childhood memories of this celebrated day include running barefoot in the prickly green grass, catching fireflies in my hands, writing my name in the dark sky with a crackly sparkler, smelling the charcoal grill smoke from a backyard burger, and licking cold watermelon juice off my sticky fingers. It was always the best day.

Most of the time in adulthood, holiday traditions become a burden rather than a joy. All the decorating, cleaning, and going out of your way to make the day special, well it’s pretty tiresome. Somehow between the commercialism and the hype these holidays have lost some of their magic. But for me, Independence Day has somehow been spared. It still holds a little thrill. I can still capture some of that childlike joy, just as I did years ago as a kid growing up in the Midwest.

This 4th of July is the first holiday I’ve spent in LA, and I was determined to kick off in style. Someone had to “work” a little today at the airport, so we corralled a few friends and headed over to Van Nuys to fly on a corporate jet with my honey at the controls, ferrying the airplane over to LAX for a quick re-positioning flight so its ready for its early start tomorrow. In the 12 minute flight, we had a great view of the Hollywood sign, the Disney Concert Hall, the Downtown LA skyline, and the vast metropolis of Los Angeles laid out below us. We felt like celebrities, jet setting in style, until all 5 of us crammed into compact rental and drove through a bit of traffic back home. Ahh…Living the Dream!
After a quick espresso, we were off to the Pacific Palisades Parade, touted as one of the best parades in the country, and described as a classic, old-fashioned, American Independence Day Parade. It was just the fix I needed to feel back home in a place so far away from it.

The rest of the parade was spent marvelling at the countless floats, bands, dancers, classic cars, and animals. Yes, everything from dogs to donkeys was on display draped in red, white, and blue. Rotary clubs, girl scouts, veterans, sports teams, marching bands and politicians all vied for our attention as the parade snaked by on Sunset Blvd. It was quite a sight, and possibly one of the best 4th of July Parades I’ve ever seen. Tonight we’ll sip vino while watching fireworks from our building’s rooftop. What a beautiful day.

 

One of Many Great Marching Bands

 

This Parade Skydiver got to be a Hero for the Day

 

Band of Bagpipes

Security on Horseback

 

 

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