California Dreamin'... San Francisco and places in between...

California Dreamin'... Los Angeles and San Diego

The Chill(y) San Francisco and Back Again

San Francisco and I started off on the wrong foot. I arrived after 14 hours of train travel and attempted to navigate the transit system. And failed. Well, only slightly, overshooting my final destination. But by such time, not only was I lost, I was tired and confused and disoriented and fed-up. (But happy to see Katharine!) SF was considerably colder and less sunny than L.A. or San Diego so putting on a sweater and a scarf begrudged me a little more. But a visit to the Golden Gate Bridge and North Beach put me on good terms again. San Francisco and I were in it for the long haul. And San Francisco was laying on the charm. Thick.

With a capricious sine-curve topography and no home left without bay windows or colorful coats, it was hard not to enjoy San Francisco's fun and chill temperament. I could even pardon its all-in-one weather, cold to hot, clear to cloudy, sunny to rainy, windy to foggy... sometimes all in the same day.

Culinary treasures abounded from the homemade pumpkin ravioli of Osteria del Forno to the eye-widening deliciousness of Limon Rotisserie's yucca fries with "yellow" sauce, and not to forget Tartine's morning bun, Arizmendi's potato and pesto pizza, the Ghoshal matriarch's feast or Alembic's Kobe beef tongue sliders. Truly a city after my stomach.

While museums and their architecture were interesting (the desert storm exterior of the de Young, the eco-friendly roof of the California Academy of Arts and Science, the wildly modern wacko addition at the Contemporary Jewish), I valued San Francisco more for the time I got to spend with old friends: Katharine, Shivani, Allie, Tatiana, and Annemarie. I was truly overjoyed to rekindle friendship with Annemarie, we seem to have uncovered again the hope-filled days of freshman year and giggled and smiled our way through our time together.

And then I was off for one last night on the culinary scene with dear Angela, hitting CUT and Father's Office (not her father's office) and meeting the legendary cousin. It felt like a natural finish to return to the airport and head back home but I am glad I discovered the mythic California and brought that dream that I've nurtured for so long to life.

Surf's Up

San Diego started with a whirlwind tour beginning at 9.30am (after a 6am wakeup and a 7.20 train), taking me from Del Mar to San Diego, from Cabrillo National Monument to the Hotel Del and swinging by the Mexican border before heading back.

I enjoyed spending a few days with Bea and Tom, from the excited informative banter to wandering their home and looking at all their treasures from around the world. It was nice to feel part of a home again in the middle of my journey. We laughed and chatted and adventured.

The zoo in San Diego is deservedly world-famous. We first took a tour around, seeing monkeys, birds, meerkats, giraffes, elephants, lions, tigers, bears (oh my!), and other wild things. It was wondrous to see exotic moments - lions growling, hornbills 'kissing', monkeys swinging around, flamingos squawking and peacocks prancing about. Enchanting.

The big highlight of San Diego would have to have been the surf lesson and riding the waves. I signed up for a group lesson but ended up being the only one there. I learned the basics and got all wetsuited up (I wore booties too!) and hit the waves. Surfing was a lot more forgiving than it looked. I rode a couple of waves (what a feeling!) and took a few mouthfuls and facefuls of sea water (ah! clearing the sinuses). I put my yoga skills to the test to pop up and had a sensational time.

I left early on Friday to take the train up the coast and see more of California's varied and beautifully rugged desert-like terrain. I passed through rocky valleys, flat expanses of groomed farmland, unremarkable small towns, glittering seaside coasts, all while enjoying the ride up to San Francisco, a city I was told I would love...

chillin' in L.A.

Los Angeles, city of freeways and movie stars. While I didn't catch a glimpse of a celebrity (I am shocked at my disappointment), I certainly had my fair share of freeways and car-dominated asphalt landscapes. But I had been warned of the urban sprawl of the west coast metropolis. Coming from Montreal, I relished the sunshine and the spots of t-shirt weather, the palm-tree-lined streets and the proximity to the beach, the abundance of cultural/architectural landmarks/sanctuaries and an equally wide array of culinary hotspots.

I feel truly blessed to have been reunited with my bestest friend Angela and find a few more friendly faces along the way (Leah, Carly, Sergio, Mike, Aaron).

A few highlights:

- yoga classes in its secondary heartland

- meals at Gjelina and Mozza with Angela

- road rage and other road adventures (see trials with GPS)

- the swooping curves and delft porcelain fountain of the Walt Disney Center

- the astonishing expanse of LA as seen from the Griffith Observatory

- shameless partying in WeHo

- an extensive culinary tour complete with tastings at the Farmer's Market

- meeting Angela's cute cute parents!

- the breathtaking outer peristyle of the Malibu Getty with a view out to the Pacific

- finding sanctuary in the grid of the Meier Getty

- the many conversations and moments with friends

- getting in free to museums (thank you CCA!)

At night

At night, the corners of my room disappear. In their stead the ceiling [balloons up

into darkness to an uncertain infinity. Objects have no edges as [parents

snore tirelessly. Dimensions, blindness, time, and darkness stretch [on –

the limitless horizon and possibility of night. The side of my bookcase [gets lost

in the wall, books queue endlessly, mired and waiting. The floor, the [piles

of clothes, the furniture become a natural landscape. Here, in this [world, I cannot read

the words I write, text is black on black, words are but movements, [momentary, lost. Infinity

is punctuated by round holes where light once used to be.

The Oscars: The Good and The Bad

Some quick moments, the highs and lows of the night... The Oscars started off classy in their radiant new home, but bumbling presentations, awry musical compilations, and long-winded montages weighed the awards down. In the end however, some touching moments, eloquent Actor presentations and a few good jokes redeemed the bad touches. Can you ever really tarnish the glamour and allure of Hollywood?


Kate Winslet trades her shampoo bottle for an Oscar, and finds her whistling father.

Jessica Biels unfortunately fails to hide an extra yard of fabric from her dress.

The eloquent quints of past best (supporting) actor winners having one-on-one monologues to the nominees.

Sophia Loren pulls off hooker/bride-of-frankenstein/tanning-salon-junkie perfectly.

Slumdog Millionaire sweeps the Oscars.

Slumdog cinematographer becomes a slumdog himself and wears white Crocs to the Oscars. Classy, real classy.

Hugh Jackman charmed us with his pipes and his quips at the beginning of the show, but otherwise should have shelved it. He should have veto'd that medley from hell...

Penelope Cruz stuns us with a 60-year-old vintage Blamain gown.

Meryl Streep and her daughter go recession-chic (make that recession-ick) with their monochrome uninteresting dresses.

Mickey Rourke rocks out the Jean-Paul Gaultier.

Tina Fey and Steve Martin give us a barrel of laughs, and more laughs, and more laughs.
Quote: "someone once said to write is to live forever. the man who said that is now dead."

The elegant brand-spanking-new Oscar set.

God bless the Japanese, they can't speak English, but they can make films. And are oh so thankful. Arigato.

Heath Ledger's family give an eloquent and articulate trio of acceptance remarks.

Queen Latifah comes out with a surprise: a beautiful ballad to accompany the industry's fallen.

Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt are officially the hottest losers ever.

Angelina keeps it simple with a sleek black dress and dazzling emerald jewelry.

Will Smith flubs (outSOUNDing...) and throws out a "stick of dynamite that goes boom"

Slumdog cutiepies make it from India and share their infectious smiles (along with Director Danny Boyle's) on the stage at the conclusion of the evening.

Those movie montages (except for documentary) were just a waste of my time.

Sarah Jessica Parker and Daniel Craig should have gone over the script before presenting their trio of awards. Train wreck.

Previews of the films for 2009, nice ending touch.

Sean Penn addressing Hollywood for what they are: commy homo-loving son-of-a-guns

NYC Business: A Visual Sample

Feelin' Blue

a moment of transfixion in yoga class

Fold your thumb and press it to the face of your palm
wrap your other fingers, from index to pinkie, around it
close, compress, and press into line

reverse, and let your fingers blossom for your palm to breathe

power of pop

lately, i've come to realize more and more how much individual is subsumed in a larger body. let me try and explain. each of us walks around leading our lives, writing our stories, spinning at the center of our own universes. we believe ourselves to be special, unique. and we are. that is fact. no one has lived our lives, no one has our network of connections, no one has our exact mixture of personality traits and pitfalls.

at the same time though, your opinions, whether they be about TV shows, political decisions, current events or red-carpet attire, are invariably shared by others. Others will have witty, hilarious, wry or clever comments. Who is heard depends on who is listening (your friends on facebook...), or who is holding your soapbox (...or the NYT, perhaps?).

beyond the fact of individual fame depending on networks, there is also a power in the masses, the devotees of pop culture. last night, i went to a So You Think You Can Dance Canada concert, showcasing the top ten favorite dancers of the Canadian people. I was part of a mass of people, spread across a number of demographic groups (although predominantly young and female).

What I appreciated most about the night was the fact that when dances of strong emotional value or high technical finesse concluded, the crowd knew it had seen a great display of honesty or talent. And they stood, and they clapped. And I stood and I clapped. And I realized a certain complicity. And then and there, I realized the power of pop culture.

turn around

last night, a return, Toronto to Montreal.
today, a departure, Montreal to New York.
can you say turnaround?

part of my vow for 2009, besides putting myself in more social situations that make me feel uncomfortable, was to travel more. here we have a crash coincidence of a short weekend jaunt and a 4-day business trip.

it's strange to unpack and repack in less than 24-hours.

your roots don't sink down, your roots are always in you.

Toronto surprised me. Since birth, being a Montrealer, it was accepted that I just did not like Toronto.

A long history of rivalry told me so.

But I found Toronto buzzing with life, fun and funky, and terribly efficient.

I caught up with old friends from 2, 3, and 7 years passed. I found some new faces, I discovered new places.

I was charmed by the funky artsy life that exists along Queen Street West. Toronto's edgy architecture, from the new addition of the ROM devouring the old building, to the playful design of Frank Gehry's AGO, to the positively wild OCAD (black and white, up in the sky).

Everywhere I traveled there was a woman's voice, automated, a constant guide. Next stop Spadina. I think I fell in love with the font in the subway.

And now, a wrestling match with suitcases
[wrestling matching suit cases].


Excitement simmers.

spill

i feel like i am reaching in to the drain. first plunging my hand into the opaque water. then grabbing at mass of hair (etc.) to just get the words out.

i have moments, just before sleeping, when wisps of poetry appear, like the first strands of cotton candy. but i fall asleep before i can get a pen and collect.

lately it's been apathy. it's been thinking "but who cares?" and "who will read and know?" and tonight i stepped back and brushed those questions aside.

or started sweeping.

as crude and crass and asinine as it sounds, it was 19-year-old Taylor Swift's words from her interview tonight with Katie Couric plucked a chord with me: "i think I fell in love with words first..."

i've always loved words. rested on a phrase, savored a poem.

and time goes on.

and i need to stop looking for timeless and, instead, look for ephemeral, find words that dissolve, holding just a moment, enough to mirror life.

and so i resolve, once again, to keep writing.