Fun While It Lasted...

I slammed my face into a tree today.

There I was, sitting on the ground wondering where my glasses went to, when I noticed my bike broken clean in two.

I found my glasses. They must have taken the brunt of the blow, because they were bent all out of shape.

And my face hurt.

I checked my nose. A little blood, but not too painful. I felt a dull, numb ache across my brow, on the bridge of my nose, and around my eyes. But everything was still in place.

I was lucky. All my body parts were intact. Couldn't say that about my bike.

I stood up and looked back up the steep hill I had been enjoying just moments earlier.

It sure was fun while it lasted. Unfortunately, I was going the wrong way down a one-way street when a minivan turned onto the street just ahead of me.

That's when I decided I should take the sidewalk.

But I was going way too fast. I lost control, and ended up getting up close and personal with a tree trunk. At least it had soft bark.

I'll be alright. I just may look like a raccoon for a few days.

My bike faired a lot worse than I did. I had to partially carry it, partially wheel it as best I can the mile and a half back home. I don't know if it will survive.

Take a look:

The Stan

My Weekend Adventure Complete with UFOs...

Where shall I start?

Matt & Shelley, my good friends who decided to skip town a year ago, are back for a 10 day visit. So Alba & I went over to Shelley's Auntie Anne's house--which happens to be where my blog photo was taken somewhere around 12:00 am January 1, 2006.

It was a great party. Heidi was also back, fresh from Spain with her Spanish boyfriend "Lolo," and her nice Mediterranean surfer's tan! (Damn, Heidi!)

God, I've missed Matt B. & Shell C. L.A. is just not the same without them. But at least we can pretend it's just like old times for a few days.

I believe a congratulations are in order for Matt B., a new uncle as of Sunday morning...and the rest of the Bingham clan who've just added one to their number.

Sunday, I was back at the Salvation Army. Again, just like old times. I think I'll start going back more often.

Sunday afternoon, Steve, Abel & I headed over to Ruben's posh house over in Yorba Linda to talk brass band business.

Then, it was off to the top of a parking garage in Santa Monica to watch the Perseus meteor shower with Alba, Steve, & Abel until 4:00 am. A bit of a disappointment after that spectacular Leonid shower back in 2001, I believe it was. Damn, I froze my ass off for that one, but it was worth it!

Last night wasn't too bad, though. We didn't see much because we were only maybe a hundred feet above sea level and still in the L.A. basin. You can only get semi-dark skies directly overhead, so you could only see the brighter ones. I didn't feel like driving the two hours to Mt. Pinos.

But we took a look at the Andromeda Galaxy, the Orion Nebula, and the Pleiades Star Cluster through my trusty 10X50 binoculars. Plus, there were a flew flyovers from some extremely fast-moving and completely silent military aircraft.

At least I assume they were military. They looked sort of like planes. They were kind of a brownish-red, vaguely shaped like an airplane, flying low enough to see them without lights and make out a shape, made no noise whatsoever, and were extremely fast. Kind of weird.

Then, while I was off taking a piss in the commercial landscaping next door, Alba, Steve, & Abel reported seeing a UFO that suddenly changed direction at a 90 degree angle twice. Apparently, it was too high to make out a shape--only a dim light. I think it must of been meteors that happened to coincide in such a way as to appear like it was one object, as unlikely as that would be.

But remember Ockham's razor: The simplest and most likely explanation rules. Either we have some pretty freaky technology that's being tested out in the skies above Southern California, we have otherworldly visitors performing the alien equivalent of "the streak" just to freak us out, or it was some natural phenomenon. Natural phenomenon is the simplest and most likely explanation...if not as exciting.

So as I write this, middle of the afternoon on Monday, I'm pumped up on a bottle of Frappucino from 7-11. Still feel tired, though. But when do you ever end an adventure feeling rested and raring to go? If that were the case, it would disqualify as an "adventure!"

The Stan

Drum Corps International...

Sometimes I think I should allow my blog entries to "age" a day or so before I post them. Yesterday's seems just a little bit pathetic in retrospect.

I certainly had no right to feel anything about hearing of Marci getting married and having a baby. But we have no control our gut reactions. We have limited control over our emotions. It's the choices we make, however, that we have complete control over.

I'm reasonably happy with all the decisions that have led me to where I am today. I've lived my life--for the most part--with a clear conscience. And although I have a few lingering regrets, it's not in my nature to dwell on them or allow myself to become embittered by them.

Life's too short. And life does move on.

I'm happy to report that the "knot in my stomach" is no longer bothering me. Maybe it was because I talked to my friend Sal about this yesterday. Sal is a year older than I am and has probably dated more women than I've ever even met in my entire life!

As the dating expert--certainly no relationship expert--he informs me that I committed one of the cardinal sins of dating: never get back in contact with an ex.

Silly me...I didn't know that rule.

But then I can't even claim Marci as an ex. It's a special case. We merely had an unclassifiable long distance..."thing"...that never really developed into a real relationship. My decision to "end" it was the right one, I'm sure. Which makes yesterday's post and my gut reactions all the more silly in retrospect.

Whatever. Time for me to stop being a girl about this thing.

Anyway, in other news...

I went to the DCI (Drum Corps International) Quarterfinals at the Rose Bowl yesterday. I've never seen a drum & bugle corps perform live so I was looking forward to seeing some of the best corps in the world perform. It was a LONG show and at first I was disappointed. But then I noticed that each corps seemed to outperform the one before it. They kept getting better and better so that by the time the last third of the 8 hour show rolled around, each band was spectacular.

The most memorable were the Vanguard from Santa Clarita, CA (just up the 5 freeway from L.A.), Caroline Crown, and of course, the Blue Devils from Concord, CA (which is up in the bay area.) One band--can't remember which--did a great show based on Stravinsky's Firebird. Another did Shostokovich's Scherzo, from one of his symphonies (can't remember which).

The better bands could really produce the sound and fill up the stadium with just 50-60 brass musicians. Amazing. Of course, actually being in tune really helps you out with that. You don't have to work as hard.

All in all a great show.

Then it was off to Hooters under the presumption that we were there for beer and appetizers.

The New & Improved Griffith Observatory.

It's been since before the renovation that I've gone to visit the Griffith Observatory. I remember not being very impressed with it. It was small. Not much to see except the planetarium show, which was its showpiece. That and the awesome view of downtown, the Wilshire corridor, and if the air is clear, Palos Verdes (among other sites).

But the renovation did the Observatory good. It's not a real observatory in the sense that astronomers do serious work there--it sits above the bright skies of L.A., after all. But it was built for the public and not astronomers, anyway.

It's really more of a museum of astronomy, especially now that they have the expanded basement under the front lawn.

Alba and I reserved a visit for yesterday and spent most of the day there taking in the new exhibits and the still-spectacular view (even if there was a bit of the typical mid-summer haze hanging in the air).

I love the new exhibits.

The Big Picture is the world's largest photographic image of the night sky, made up of 105 4' X 8' panels stretched three high (24' feet high) by 35 long (140' long). (It's HUGE!) And in it are hundreds, possibly thousands of far off galaxies that lie in a stretch of sky in the constellation Virgo that you could cover up with your index finger held at arm's length.

How's that for a visual demonstration of the expansiveness of the universe! Awe inspiring, it is.

Then there are the gigantic scale models of the solar system with a Saturn that dominates the ceiling area with its massive ring system, and a Pluto (no longer considered a planet), which is nothing but a small brass ball.

Then there are the gigantic, rotating full-relief globes of the Earth and Moon showing all the mountain ranges, deep-see trenches, moon craters, etc.

Then there are the meteorite exhibits, live images of the sun, time-lapse videos of solar activity, a visual model of the periodic table complete with actual samples of each element, even uranium. (But not many of the really heavy or man-made elements.) And other exhibits to keep you entertained for a few hours.

There's even a cafe and gift shop now.

I had read about a hike from the Observatory down to Fern Dell Park in a guide book to L.A. area hikes. So around 4:00 pm, Alba and I hiked down to Fern Dell Park, a shady park that follows a creek with charming little wooden bridges that cross it every so often. Then we hiked back up to the Observatory.

I think what I learn more than anything else that day was that reading about a 500-foot elevation gain is a hell of a lot different than actually hiking a 500-foot elevation gain! (Talk about my buns burning!)

After the hike, Alba and I took the shuttle back to the parking area and had dinner in a nice shady area of Griffith Park.

I love Griffith Park. It's HUGE! It's one of the largest municipal parks in the world. (The "Hollywood" sign sits below just one of the several peaks in the park.) And it's still quite nice, even after the fires. Nothing really important was lost in the fires. Just a few hiking trails, bench areas, and maybe the bird sanctuary, but don't quote me on it.

That still leaves the Zoo, the Gene Autry Museum, the Observatory, Greek Theater, Hollywood Sign, Equestrian Center, Golf Course, Merry-Go-Round, Visitor Center, Travel Town, several picnic areas, many miles of trails, baseball diamond, basketball and tennis courts, pool, etc. In other words, plenty to keep you busy.

Camping On Mt. Pinos

Well, I spent my Fourth of July camping in the Los Padres National Forest about two hours north of L.A. There is a campground near the summit of Mt. Pinos (elevation 8831 ft.) at elevation 8300 called Chula Vista, and it lies right on the border between Ventura and Kern Counties.

Chula Vista has a large parking lot, which marks the very end of Mt. Pinos Rd., and many amateur astronomers congregate there all year round (unless the road is closed due to snow.) The parking lot and adjacent meadow allow a break in the Pines which affords a spectacular view of most of the night sky.

But during the summer, the skies never get really dark. The edge of the horizon looks like it's constantly dusk. But if you look carefully, you could still make out a fuzzy patch where the Milky Way should be. It's a great spot for stargazing, and I took full advantage of it, searching out all the visible constellations and planets. Venus, Saturn, and Jupiter are all visible in the early evening right now. Venus shines bright in the west, with Saturn close by. Jupiter is obvious in the East.

But there weren't any astronomers there on the Fourth of July, though. In fact, it was deserted. The campground has 12 camp sites, and Alba and I were the only ones there. During the day, there were the occasional hikers, but come nightfall, we might as well have been in the Old West, except for the sound of an occasional commercial airplane far overhead.

The campsite was over 1000 feet from the edge of the parking lot, which made it a lot of work packing everything to and from the campsite. But it was worth it. You couldn't even see the parking lot from our camp.

The weather was mild, but extremely dry. The ground was nothing but dust, which crusted up our mucous membranes, and got in our eyes when our foreheads began to sweat.

Here were the amenities: picnic table, fire ring, and a bathroom which was just a hole in the ground. That's it. No running water whatsoever.

It's an interesting experience to live without running water. Try going to the bathroom, then realizing that you can't wash your hands. Or eat a peach, then have no way to wash off the stickiness. Or a layer of dust all over your body and especially your feet and between your toes, with no way to wash yourself. By the next day, Alba and I were nasty, sweaty, and stinking to high heaven.

But it was a hell of a lot of fun, and I can't wait to go again!

The best part was at night, when no one else was around. It's strange how a wooded landscape, which during the day is so beautiful and tranquil, can appear sinister and spooky at night. Alba was scared walking down the dark moonless path from the parking lot back to the campground after our stargazing session.

There was this one spot where the trail dipped down a bit, and cut through a rotting, fallen log. A section of it was cut out to allow for the path, and on one end of this huge log was a jumble of branches forming a dark, twisting shadow looming over the trail. At the same time, the temperature had dropped suddenly by at least 15 degrees.

Yep...pretty spooky.

And the woods were dead quiet all night. Not a sound, but the occasional breeze through the trees and the far off sound of commercial planes soaring overhead just to the south.

I've been camping enough to know that the forest is supposed to make noise at night. Crickets, insects, birds, animals, etc. In the Midwest, the woods can be downright LOUD. But these woods were dead silent. Not a sound until the early dawn when the birds start their song.

Just before dusk on the evening of the Fourth, I lit a fire, which started with surprising ease, and roasted some marshmellows, and assembled the obligatory s'mores. (Camping isn't really camping without a fire, roasted marshmellows, and s'mores!)

All in all, despite some painful and uncomfortable moments and fitful sleep, it was a great trip. I'm hooked on camping and hiking now, and like I said: I can't wait to go again!

The Natural History Museum

I love the L.A. County Natural History Museum. It's kind of small...not nearly the size of Chicago, New York, or the Smithsonian. But there is one area of the museum that's world class: The Hall of Gems & Minerals.

I must admit: I love rocks and minerals. Call me a nerd if you want to, but I just think they're so cool. I even have a little collection of my own. (And I belong to the Mineral of the Month Club!)

But the museum has some SPECTACULAR specimens. And the exhibit is HUGE!

I went there with a friend of mine last Saturday and most of the day was spent in the mineral hall. Sure, they have those cool dinosaur skeletons from the Mesozoic and skeletons of extinct mammals from the Cenozoic, and those cool diaramas of North American and African mammals. And the Latin American History wing, the History of California exhibit where they have a gigantic model of what L.A. looked like in the 30s. Then they have the insect zoo (which isn't quite as cool as it sounds). And some other rotating exhibits.

But the Gem & Mineral Hall is the crown jewel (pun definitely intended) of the museum. The photo you see is only part of one wall and displays specimens arranged according to systematic mineralogy.

Another wall shows minerals and crystals of California. Then there is the gold exhibit. The meteorite exhibit. The classic specimens (some of which are extraordinarily spectacular). Fluorescent specimens. The "Gem Vault" where you literally walk into a vault containing hundreds of precious cut gemstones. Plus interactive stations showing how crystals are formed, etc. (Oh, and they have one of the largest crystal balls in the world and its flawless.)

I can't wait to go again. I never get tired of that Hall. There's just something about these crystals...all those different colors and shapes...it's remarkable to think of them as natural phenomenon. They're just so beautiful!

But there's nothing at all really complicated about them. They're just regularly arranged structures of basic elements.

Take stibnite, for example. It has a distinctively metallic hue and forms in groups of long, thin crystals. I have a stibnite sample at home. It's beautiful. But it's just Antimony Sulfide arranged in a regular pattern. Galena is Lead Sulfide, also arranged in a regular pattern, but the crystals are much larger and can form in gigantic cubes.

So...simple compounds...regular patterns...beautiful crystals.

Dr. Nerdstan

Epilogue: A Shitty Day in Mexico

I occurs to me after re-reading my posts about my shitty day in Mexico, that perhaps I was too hard on "M." After all, I could have said no from the very beginning to taking someone else along on my and Alba's day trip.

That was my first mistake, and mine alone. I do remember Alba asking me about it, and I obviously didn't think through all the ramifications of taking along someone else. (Particularly the part about leaving much later than expected and getting up the next day much earlier than expected.)

What really bothered me the most about this trip was not the pothole from hell, not the fact that "M" didn't pay for anything, not the fact that I spent the day with two extra people, one of whom I'd never met and didn't really feel comfortable with when I'd imagined a trip with just me and Alba...it was the fact that of the 16 hours the trip entailed...from 8:30 am Monday morning (from the hotel in San Diego) to 12:30 am Teusday morning (when we got back home), about 13 of those hours were spent in the damn car...and getting sick as a dog.

THAT is what really sucked.

As far as the pothole goes...shit happens. I can deal with it. In fact, I wasn't even terribly bothered with it at the time. Just surprised that there was a gigantic pothole on the highway.

What I do hate is that the whole f**king day (forgive my language, folks) was spent in the car, and not actually doing anything. (Except getting carsick.)

I'm a pretty impulsive person. The fact is, I kind of wanted to go to Ensenada. I wanted to go to La Bufadora. I'd never been to those places and the fact they weren't on our original agenda kind of made it more exciting. But I didn't have all the facts, either.

Ensenada was NOT 40 minutes away, it was two hours. And when I was told that La Bufadora was 30 minutes away, I should have made the logical conclusion that if 40 minutes equals two hours, then 30 minutes (by logical extension) must equal an hour and a half.

But I didn't come to that conclusion. I gave the benefit of the doubt when it had already been spent. So I can't place the blame on any one person. When I trace back all the events, the mistake happened when I reluctantly agreed to let "M" come along. So it was really my own damn fault.

But like I said in my last post...never again.

The Stan

A Shitty Day in Mexico, Part IV

FOUR HOURS to get back to Tijuana. In other words, my and Alba's day off together was spent with "C" and "M," mostly in the car driving, and me getting more and more sick. I was nauseated, sunburnt, had a HUGE headache and constantly felt like throwing up.

We arrive in Tijuana around 7:00 pm or so, but spend an hour at "M"s friend's house because she needed to pick up her stuff. Then, "C" took us to the line to cross back into the states, at which point we said our goodbyes, borrowed $40 from "M" to give him for his trouble (which "M" criticized Alba for), and waited in line for nearly two hours.

I hear the line on foot is equally gruelling these days, so given the alternative, I'd prefer waiting two hours sitting in the car behind the wheel, than standing in line carrying a bunch of shit, feeling like shit.

Since I had a HUGE headache, I needed to be drinking water. But there is no restroom during that two hour wait. (Someone should start a business with roadside bathrooms along the highway back into the U.S. You'd make tons of money, I'm sure.) The last half an hour was particularly rough. I almost stepped out the car and pissed off the side of the road. But I didn't want to get arrested by a Federale.

Finally, we got through, and I took the first exit on the American side so I could take a piss. But also, by this time I was feeling worse than shit. So I asked Alba to drive.

I hate riding with Alba. She's too timid a driver. And she always acts too scared to change lanes when I ask her to. But today I have no choice.

She tells me "You're going to have to direct me back to the freeway."

"Okay," I said.

So we're heading up to an intersection and well-beforehand I tell her "turn left up here at the light."

We get closer to the light. Alba's not moving into the turning lane. I say again: "Turn left here."

Alba stays right on course.

"You need to turn left here."

"Turn left. Turn left. Turn left. Turn left." Nothing. I'm pointing to the left.

"Turn left. TURN LEFT. LEFT. LEFT. LEFT. LEFT. LEFT. LEFT." I'm pointing frantically to the left, but still Alba doesn't change lanes. She just acts too timid. But there is NO ONE around! (INFURIATING! She does stuff like this ALL THE TIME! That's why I always have to drive if we're together.)

So she never gets into the turning lane, but stays in the lane to go straight. But now, there is traffic coming and she can't back up to get into the other lane. Fortunately as the light turns green, the driver in the other lane lets her go ahead.

I successfully get her onto the freeway, and I lean back to try to get some rest...for about an hour.

But Alba gets off the freeway about 20 minutes south of Irvine, and asks me to drive again because she's too tired and having a hard time staying awake. So, feeling like shit, I have to drive the last hour back home.

But we've got to drop "M" off first and let her get her stuff out the car. Then...we finally get home around 12:30 am and I have to work the next day.

At this point, I couldn't give a rat's ass about unloading the car, or putting anything away. I just go inside, undress, and go straight to bed.

Well...lesson learned. I will never take "M" on a trip with us again. She's nice enough. But I felt awkward the whole time with "C." I felt a little taken advantage of (by "M"). "M" didn't pay for anything. Alba and I didn't really get to spend quality time together. And the trip certainly wasn't my agenda.

Never again.

A Shitty Day in Mexico, Part III

After two hours of car-sickness, we finally arrive in Ensenada, which has a harbor and a HUGE Mexican flag which, according to "C," takes eight people to raise.

"C" knows some people with a little restaurant in Ensenada (and I mean little), which is right next to the fish market.

There are also four other little restaurants, all serving the same menu, right next to the fish market, and any time someone walks by, they are simultaneously accosted by five waitresses begging them to come to their little restaurant for some fish tacos (instead of any of the other four.) I was accosted at least eight times even after I'd eaten.

We went to the fifth restaurant, which had a unique selling proposition the others didn't: They were friends of "C." But the fried fish, the holy grail we were seaking, was awesome. Very tasty. And so was the shrimp a la diablo. And the siete mares ("seven seas") soup Alba ordered. Arguably, it was worth the trouble, but I wonder if we couldn't have gotten the same thing in Tijuana, or any of the coastal towns close by.

We (Alba and I) bought lunch for everyone (the least we could do for "C," who we felt kind of sorry for, him taking the day off work, spending his day driving around people he doesn't know--except "M").

While we were in Ensenada, we took a 45 minute boat ride into the harbor (which we also paid for.) It was fun, though. We fed the seals (and a few crafty seagulls). We looked around at the fish market. I can't believe how cheap the seafood was. But it's illegal to take uncooked seafood back in the states, and we didn't come prepared with an ice chest, anyway. We did get some smoked marlin, though.

Next, we went to a place called La Bufadora, which was supposedly just half an hour away. At this point, I'm getting concerned, because I didn't expect to be traipsing all over Mexico. I was just planning on a quick trip into Tijuana. I didn't bring a lot of cash, and neither did Alba...and it's not like there are ATM machines on every corner. But "M" says she will lend us cash if we need it, and since La Bufadora was just half an hour away, I figured what the hell. Might as well, since we're already down here.

But La Bufadora isn't a half hour away.

Try an hour and a half further south. Through curving, winding roads. Meanwhile, getting even more carsick, with a headache creeping on.

La Bufadora is beautiful. It's on a cliff on the edge of the ocean in the middle of nowhere. There is a crevice in the rocks where a cave blows out air at high pressure. When the water rises into the cave and starts to plug the hole, it acts like a crimped water hose, shooting the water high up into the air several dozen feet, sounding like some giant blowhole of the largest whale you could imagine. It's thunderous.

The observation platform is right above the cave, so a particularly high "geyser" will saturate the platform and anyone on it.

This moment and the time in Ensenada were the highlights of an otherwise shitty trip. But both the time here, and the time in Ensenada were short-lived. It was mostly a lot of driving for just a few minutes of fun. After La Bufadora, we started heading back to Tijuana.

And this is where the trip starts getting shitty again.

To be continued...

A Shitty Day in Mexico, Part II

So I'm stuck on the freeway, having missed the last exit before Mexico. I HAVE to drive into Mexico. Right as we were crossing the border, we're "lucky" enough to spot "M," and she hopped the freeway barrier to get in the car. Well at this point, I was committed. I would just have to drive my car in Mexico instead of renting cabs, or walking, or whatever.

But neither Alba, nor "M" know how to get around in Tijuana. And I didn't have a map because I wasn't expecting to be driving there.

So "M" directs me to get off at a certain exit, which she is hoping will take us to where "C" is supposed to meet us. But it's not an exit...it's an exchange to another highway. And there's no exit for miles.

Finally, we spot an exit, and I turn around to head back the way we came.

Then, out of nowhere, materialized this HUGE pothole! On the highway! It's over three feet in diameter and almost a foot deep. I can't believe how big it is. I still...can't...believe there is such a GIGANTIC pothole right on the highway.

I didn't have time to react. I didn't have time to brake. There is a car right behind me. I can't swerve because there is a car right next to me in the other lane. On the other side of the pothole is no shoulder whatsoever. So I have no choice but to run over it.

WHACK WHACK!!!!! WSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I could hear the air rushing out of the tire. But with no shoulder, I couldn't pull over.

Finally, after about a mile, a spot a place to pull over and check the tires. Sure enough, the right rear tire was flat.

Luckily, there happened to be a mechanic close by and he helped us change the tire. And it's lucky, because the car jack in the trunk didn't go high enough to change the tire. AND...I've broken those cheap little tire irons before, when I tried to loosen up lug nuts. (A few years ago, I completely broke the head off the lug-nut wrench that came with my car because the lug nuts were so tight. Had to wait a couple of hours for a tow truck.)

Meanwhile, "M" finds a pay phone and calls "C," who gets a taxi to meet us.

When we got the tire off, you could see that the tire AND the rim were ruined. The rim had a big dent in it. (And the car is now badly out of alignment.)

Unfortunately, the spare is almost worn bald in places, so we had to drive around to three different tire places (which are surprisingly abundant in Tijuana...actually not so surprising anymore) looking for a tire to fit the rim.

Finally, we're ready to go to Ensenada, which is where "M" said the good fried fish was. Supposedly, Ensenada is not far. So I hand the keys to "C" who is to be our local guide.

Let me tell you about "C:" "C" is cool. Humble, personable, friendly, willing to help. But somehow, "M" coaxed him into being our guide that day. But "C" had been up all night at a cock-fight (popular in Mexico). And he was supposed to work that day. But he took the day off to drive us around. No idea how he got talked into that--maybe how Alba and I got "talked into" taking "M" along with us.

Anyway, "C" used to be a taxi driver. A taxi driver in Mexico is ten times more aggressive than those LAX taxi drivers in L.A. I'm usually pretty calm when I'm riding with someone, but there were a few moments where I was getting kind of nervous.

But what the hell.

I didn't say anything...mostly because I was getting carsick.

I hate riding in cars. I have to be driving. When I'm driving, I enjoy it. But when I'm riding, I get carsick and can't enjoy the scenery as much as I'd like to. I certainly don't want to be holding any conversations. So, not only was "C" roped into ferrying us around Mexico, I couldn't even keep him entertained with a good conversation. It was definitely awkward. But "C" was cool.

As it turns out, Ensenada is NOT the 40-45 minutes away it was supposed to be. Try two hours.

Two hours of swerving roads with spectacular ocean views I was trying really hard to enjoy.

To be continued...

A Shitty Day in Mexico, Part I

Yesterday was Memorial Day. Alba managed to get a day off yesterday, so for the first time in almost two months we'd have a day off together. She always works during the weekend, when I have off. And her "weekend" is during the week when I have to work. Consequently, we rarely get to actually do anything together.

So, here was the plan:

I rented a night at the Hilton in San Diego (a 5-Star resort), so we could drive down on Sunday as soon as she got off work and got cleaned up. We'd spend a relaxing evening there, perhaps heading to downtown San Diego to walk along the waterfront, go shopping, or whatever (if time). Then, we'd have a lazy morning before heading down to Tijuana to maybe eat some delicious Mexican food, browse the little shops, whatever. Then come back home early Monday evening. In other words, just a nice little overnight trip before going back to work on Teusday.

That's what was SUPPOSED to happen. Here's what ACTUALLY happened:

On Saturday night, Alba called her sister "M," (name has been changed to protect the not-so-innocent) to ask her where is the best place is to eat fried fish in Tijuana. "M" goes there all the time and should know. Well...turns out "M" was planning on going to Tijuana on Monday, too! (That's a sarcastic "!") So guess what?

Yep...we pick up a third wheel.

Suddenly, it becomes "M"s little trip. I don't want "M" to stay with us in the hotel...I'd already reserved a room...it was expensive...and I had other things in mind. So we drop her off at the border, where she is to meet and stay with a friend of her's in Tijuana. We're supposed to meet up with her the next morning at 9:00 am. (Not the lazy morning I had planned.)

Nor, did we get to the hotel early evening either. I had to wait forever for Alba to get ready. Then, we had to eat dinner at "M"s house, instead of someplace nice in San Diego. Then we had to wait for "M" to get ready. Then we had to drive her an extra half an hour down to the border, then the half an hour back to the hotel. Consequently, it wasn't the "relaxing evening" I had planned, either. We didn't get to the hotel until around 10:00 pm.

So...expensive hotel. Quick, overnight stay. Let me tell you about it: I had managed to secure a room with Priceline for $125. With taxes, it came to $150. Starting to stretch my budget a little, but what the hell. I'd rather pay a few bucks more for someplace nice than $90 for a shitty hotel. (Hotel prices have skyrocketed lately!)

But...where other hotels will nickle and dime you for everything, this hotel 10 and 20 dollared me for everything! Overnight parking in their parking lot? $20. Connection to the internet? $12. Breakfast in the morning for ONE person? $22. That sick-to-my-stomach feeling, knowing it's just a place to sleep for a night and nothing else? Priceless.

Now, it's Monday morning. "M" calls and says this guy who is supposed to meet us and be our "guide" (who I don't know and had no idea we were supposed to meet) has been waiting for us since 6:30 am! So instead of being there at 9:00 am, we need to hurry it up and get going. We get to the border at 8:30.

And I happen to miss the last exit off the 5 freeway before Mexico. I'm committed...I must drive into Mexico.

To be continued...

A Culinary Adventure

What you see to the left is a Tlayuda. (The "T" and "L" are pronounced very quickly, almost like saying "Clayuda" but with a "T." In fact, for a long time, that's what I thought it was.)

It's a traditional food from the natives of Oaxaca, Mexico, which is where Alba, my fiancee, is from.

Oaxaca is known for its cuisine. It's nothing like what you'd eat in Texas or California. It's true Mexican food, often dating back to the days before Spanish colonization.

The tlayuda is kind of like a big chalupa…sort of. It's over a foot in diameter and made of white corn, then baked to a crisp. Over this, you put black bean paste, which is AMAZING, especially when flavored with toasted avocado leaves. Then you add meat such as carne asada, salchichon (a very tasty type of sausage) or chicken. Then add shredded cabbage, avocado, and queso de patate (a type of cheese).

Pure heaven.

Each element has a unique flavor. The tortilla. The black bean paste. The meat. The cheese. It's become one of my favorite dishes.

Here are some other foods Alba has introduced me to (or introduced me to a different variant):

Queso de Patate: Or “cheese of basket.” A crumbly type of cheese that’s cured in a weaved basket. It’s very good and has a unique flavor.

Quesillo: Like a string cheese, but much more tasty than American string cheese. It’s wound up in a ball.

Frijoles sabor Avocate: toasted avocado leaves which are ground up and mixed with refried black beans. Very unique and wonderful flavor. Excellent with queso de patate. This is the black bean paste I was referring to earlier.

Salchichon: a type of sausage that is very tasty.

Chorizo: much different than the store-bought variety here in the states. This stuff is hard, like other sausage, spicy, and very tasty.

Wonderful salsas and salads…with plenty of cilantro.

Tortas: Like a sandwich…made from a bolillo (a piece of bread). You can put beans, cheese, whatever on it.

Tapatío and Cholula. I’ve really developed a taste for these sauces since being with Alba. She uses them on EVERYTHING!

Teas made from all kinds of strange herbs and spices.

The most wonderfully tasty black beans cooked with onion, cilantro, and ham.

Homemade tamales! Awesome!!

Papas rellenos: stuffed mashed potatoes (with meat), flattened, then fried.

Chile rellenos: very different from the typical Mexican restaurant. These were large chiles stuffed with vegetables, or meat, or fish. Then baked. Very tasty.

But not everything was a hit...

Salsa de Gusanito: Or, “worm salsa.” Literally made from worms. I thought it was quite good until I found out what “gusanito” meant.

Salsa de Chapulín: Or, “locust salsa.” Literally made from locusts. I thought it wasn’t that great both before and after I found out what “chapulín” meant.

Other than those two notable exceptions, the last three years has been VERY good to my stomach!

(Actually, a little too good, but not because of Alba. Most of her food is very healthy, or she prefers a more healthy variant. Like baking instead of frying those chile rellenos. Plus, she's practically a vegetarian. So I can't blame her for my spare tire!)

The Stan

Used Car Shopping Sucks!

What a pain in the ass! I hate looking for cars. I’ve just spent the whole day searching for a decent sedan for $5000 or less. If a car looked like a good deal, it was either already sold…or involved in an accident.

I even took the day off work to look for a car, and we came up with nothing.

I suppose I can only blame our narrow search criteria: a Honda, Toyota, or Nissan sedan with no cosmetic issues, a clean carfax report, 150K miles or less, and nothing white, red, blue, green, yellow, or any color other than silver, black, grey, tan or gold…and preferably from a private seller rather than a dealer. (I just chafe at the idea of paying a premium to a used car salesman.)

There were actually quite a few possibilities that came up. But without exception, the best deals were already taken. And on the two occasions when I found what at first appeared to be a good deal, I took time to drive to see the cars and they were in awful shape.

So…back to square one. And the clock is ticking on the rental car.

Today was a busy day, but that culinary adventure post I promised is coming soon. Also, I’ve been requested to write about my encounter with molesto-man, so look for that sometime within the next few days or so.

Oh! I just remembered! I’ve actually had two molesto-man encounters, but the second was when I was much older and in college, so it was less traumatic. Just disgusting.

The Stan

A Scrape With Death

Alba totaled the Honda today. She's okay and so are the people who hit her. Thank God for that.

It was Alba's faught...mostly. She was driving west into the late afternoon sun. As she was approaching the intersection, she saw the light was green. But because of the sun, she couldn't see the light as she got closer to the intersection. She assumed that it would stay green...but as lights are wont to do, it switched to yellow...then red...then Alba flies into the intersection not realizing it had changed.

Unfortunately, the cross traffic was already moving through the intersection and she got hit on the driver's side. Both doors were severely smashed in. The back tire's flat. The car's a total loss.

But fortunately, Alba's okay. Unharmed. A bit shaken up, though. I think I would be, too. Imagine looking out your left window at a car fast approaching you. It's like looking into the face of death.

I almost died once. (Well, more than once, but I'm telling about this one incident.) I was in college in Springfield, MO at the time. I lived in a neighborhood with a railroad crossing, and I'd always cross over it on my way to school. There were no lights at this particular crossing--it was a small neighborhood street--and there was almost never a train that passed through there.

Except one day there was a train.

And it just so happened to be crossing my road the moment I was planning to cross its tracks. I usually slowed down to check that all was clear, but on this particular morning, I was late...and in a hurry. There was a building that obscured the view to the south. You had to get real close to the tracks to see around it.

Well I did get close to the tracks that day...going almost 40 mph on a residential street. And just as I cleared the building and could see to the south, there was a train RIGHT THERE!!

I slammed on my brakes and skidded about 20 feet or so and stopped about 20 feet or so in front of the tracks...just as the train passed right in front of me.

I looked into the face of death that day. I also looked into the face of the train engineer who was shaking his head and wagging his finger at me.

I don't know what it is with me and close calls. But every time they happen...once the initial moment of absolute terror has coursed through my veins...I think it's funny! I was cracking up all the way to the music store where I was scheduled to give a lesson. I almost died so I could trim five minutes off my trip to a lesson...and I was busting a gut!

This has happened several times. I won't go into all the close calls on L.A.'s freeways. There's just too many of them, and most of them are forgotten. When I was working as a computer tech, it was almost a daily occurance. I had to drive so much, there was always a car changing lanes, clipping me off. Or the traffic unexpectedly stopped. Or the big piece of debris in the road. One time this bucket few out of the back of a truck, bounced on the road in front of me, and headed straight for my windsheild. I swerved to miss it without even checking the other lane. Fortunately, no one was there.

After a while, it stopped being funny. But then I stopped getting the shots of adrenaline, too. Just like it was a daily automatic reaction to whatever potentially deadly thing the road threw at me. I didn't even react emotionally, I just reacted.

And over the course of four years driving the L.A. freeways, I never got into an accident...accept once...and it wasn't my faught...and ironically, I was at a dead stop on the freeway. I had been stopped for almost a minute when this truck plows into my rear bumper. I didn't even know what happened. Suddenly I'm thrust forward, my head rolls back and I'm looking straight up at the ceiling of my car wondering why I'm doing that, then I'm looking straight down at my crotch, then straight ahead again--all in less than a second.

I won't go into all the details of this story. I'll just point out that the bastard took off and I was stuck with a totaled car I had to replace. And a sore neck for the next few days.

One more story before I sign off: (This one I remember because I definitely had an emotional reaction!)

I was driving on the 210 in Pasadena, during the late afternoon a few years ago. I was cruising about 80 when suddenly, the whole freeway started slowing to a craw. The 18 wheeler in the lane next to me slams on his brakes and he starts skidding down the freeway. His trailer starts jackknifing--and moving into my lane! So I slam on my brakes harder to get behind this guy. He has a lot more momentum than I do.

Meanwhile, black acrid smoke is screaching off his tires right into my windshield and obscuring the whole scene. Fortunately, he doesn't hit anyone...and I stay well behind. Apparently, an accident has just happened up ahead, and that's why the traffic slowed down so suddenly. I don't don't know for sure because I couldn't see it. But I move over and get off at the next exit to bypass whatever stopped the traffic.

All it takes is a split second to separate your spirit from your body. Everyday, people are killed on L.A.'s freeways. But I'm still here because of the grace of God. I almost died at birth because the umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck. I almost died as a child from a severe allergic reaction to a red wasp sting--another few minutes getting to the hospital and I'd have been a goner. And as an adult, I've had more close calls than I care to remember.

But I'm still here.

And thank God Alba is, too.

Let's hope we're both around for a long time to come!

The Stan

P.S. I'll post my culinary adventure tomorrow!

Crashing a Quinceanera

Last Saturday, Alba insisted I go with her to this quinceanera. A quinceanera is a Mexican tradition celebrating a girl’s 15th birthday. It’s supposed to be a big fiesta.

I’d never been to one. And oddly enough, neither had Alba. She’s Mexican…but not Catholic. And apparently the quinceanera is more of a Mexican Catholic tradition.

So Alba wanted to go.

Now, here’s the thing: Neither Alba, nor I, knew the girl, or any of the family, or anyone who was to go there.

It turns out this family had invited Alba’s sister, X (name has been changed to protect the innocent), who does tailoring work for them. So basically, they are a casual acquaintance, a customer, of X…and X decided she couldn’t go (a diplomatic way of saying she didn’t want to), so she gave the tickets to Alba.

Alba wanted to go…out of curiosity. And she insisted I go with her.

Now, X told us it was a formal occasion. Formal to me means “tuxedo.” So I don my tuxedo (a relic of my performing days) to go to a quinceanera for a girl I don’t know, for a family I’ve never met, for an event where I will be a complete stranger to everyone…and they’re all Latinos.

I just happen to be white (with medium brown hair and green eyes)…and tall…and weigh 280 lbs.

I point all this out to Alba, whereupon she insists “It will be fine, you’ll blend right in.” I’m dubious, but off we go.

For a white guy it’s a somewhat disconcerting experience being the ONLY gringo in a room of 400 Latinos…Moreover if you’re the tallest person in the room. Mexicans…especially native ones…aren’t known for their height. Just ask Alba.

And of course, due to the misunderstanding of what “formal” means, I’m the ONLY guy wearing a tuxedo.

So considering the fact that I’m the only white guy, I’m the tallest guy in the room, and I’m the only one wearing a tuxedo, there ain’t no way ANYONE missed me, and possibly wondered what the hell this gringo was doing crashing their party.

Fortunately, Latino’s are a friendly race. At least this bunch were.

But once I got over the fact that I stuck out like a big white guy in a tuxedo in a room full of short, dark-skinned Hispanics, I began to relax and enjoy myself.

We were seated at a circular table in a large ballroom, with a Mexican band from Yucatan as the main feature. We were even treated to a performance of the traditional village dance of whatever village this family was from.

There’s something very charming about native traditional dances…the native clothing…the Latin ladies...


I have a weakness for Latin ladies…hence my engagement to a Oaxacan native. But to see beautiful young Latinas in the traditional garb doing the traditional dance. I must say it was a pleasurable experience. Not really erotic, mind you. Just pleasurable.

Apart from the fact that I was in a restaurant ballroom in El Segundo, CA, I felt I could have been in Mexico proper. If you close your eyes, you could easily imagine yourself in a small village square, having a grand old fiesta.

The food was awesome. I love Mexican food anyway, (another reason to be with a Mexican woman), and this stuff was particularly good.

But I couldn’t get over just how expensive this party must have been…and for a 15th birthday! You can’t really equate it with the “Sweet 16” tradition in America. I mean, these people went all out. This was no simple house party. The only thing I can equate it to is a wedding reception…complete with "groomsmen," a "groom," "bridesmaids," and the "dress."

Which is why I felt like a wedding crasher.

Of course, I did the polite thing and congratulated the new 15-year-old. I even met her Mother. And I had some pleasurable conversation with the other guests at our table.

All in all it was an enjoyable experience. Alba was wearing this striped, frilled skirt that showed off her beautiful brown legs. It just so happens I love a pair of beautiful brown legs. Especially hers. And that skirt…man! Get’s me excited thinking about it.

Yes…all in all in was a VERY pleasurable evening!

The Stan