Love and Let Go.

2011 was a wonderful year for me. I experienced so many new things, in particular, living alone, exploring a new city, and I couldn't be happier with the little niche that I carved out for myself in Venice. 

Having said that, it's time for a new chapter. It's 2012, and the changes keep coming. I bought a new car, I'm trying out some new hobbies, pursuing some new goals, and part of this new growth involves moving out of Venice. It's hard, and it feels kind of like a break up. I keep reminding myself though that every time I've gone through a break up, I've experienced a little bit of relief. Relief, because everything happens for a reason, and the hope that nothing good can begin with out something else coming to an end. Relief at the idea that this experience has changed you somehow for the better.

This week I'm moving in a with a great group of girlfriends in LA, and I am so very excited. Excited for roommates, excited for having a full kitchen, excited for living in a neighborhood where people aren't digging through your garbage at 3AM. I am hopeful for new beginnings. Of course I'll miss Venice: the boardwalk, the beach, the farmer's market (that's a tough one to leave. I wish I could just live at a farmers market),  and my sweet studio that's so tiny I have to go in the bathroom to change my mind. 

The final change that I'm going through, is that this blog is coming to an end. I started it as a way to document my life in Venice, and it's been a great place to share my experiences, trials, and accomplishments, but since my time in Venice is ending, this blog has run it's course. Now before all ten of my followers freak out (that means you, Mom) I'm starting a new blog! It's a shorter format, but I'll be able to update it more often. Don't worry, I'm not abandoning the blogosphere. I'll post the link as soon as it's live. 

So farewell for now. Here's to 2012 and new beginnings. It's time to lose sight of the shore again.

Fall & Waiting

September has been great for me. I'm having fun at work (shocking, I know), I got to show my paintings in an art show (thanks everyone who came! I love you!) I sold two paintings, and started volunteering at a juvenile detention facility and helped throw a party for the Nautica Malibu Triathlon. To top it all off, it's finally, finally Fall and I am stoked.

In Southern California Fall means cloudy and drizzle, and shorter days, and call me crazy, but I have been pining for it. For a girl who's never lived away from the beach in the past 10 years, this is a kind of weird change of attitude. Normally I moan over sweater weather, and not being able to be fully dressed in bathing suits and cover ups, but these days, I absolutely welcome the wind, fog and soft greys that come with California autumn. Not to mention I love the holidays, and crispness, and scarves, and cuddling, and pies, and those are all synonymous with autumn.


I'm also weirdly...waiting for something. and I don't know what it is. It could be the change of season that's making me expectant for something. In the past, Fall meant school starting, and new friends, and possibilities, but now, those new possibilities aren't so easy to spot. What's also interesting is that I usually start to feel this kind of anticipation when I'm restless or unhappy, but that's not case right now. I was feeling a little blue and unmotivated in July and August, and then, faster than you can say, "art show and  community involvement" I snapped out of it.

I'm happy and everything is great. I just feel like something is missing and I can't put my finger on it. It's like when you leave your house, and you know you forgot something, but you have your phone and your car keys in your hand.

I don't know where I'm going with this post, and it's getting a little too diary-ish for my tastes, so here are some pictures of what I've been up to while I'm waiting for I don't know what. This is my summer photo wrap-up.

'Cause it's Fall y'all!

Annalise and me at the Bocce League Finals. Being hipster-y. 

My little garden of mint and african violets.

Remembering.

Bon Iver at Shrine Auditorium. If you haven't been listening to them, you should start.

Semler rose.

#Win(ne)ing!

 

 

Exploring abandoned cabins.

 

Abbot Kinney Festival.

Home, sweet home.

This is My Surprised Face. For Real.

My art show is tonight in Venice and I'm really, really excited. But I'm actually even more excited to talk about something I did earlier this week, and I mentioned in my last post: Monday night, I went to Camp Kilpatrick, a juvenile detention facility, to become a tutor.

Living in Los Angeles, and Venice especially, has desensitized me to a lot of things. I can turn a blind eye to the homeless guy who's climbing out of my dumpster as a I leave for work in the morning, I'm unfazed by the couple who are having a screaming match at 3PM outside my window (unless they start hitting each other, then I go break it up. Seriously.) and as for things like groups of delinquent teenagers roaming the boardwalk at all hours and throwing rocks at each other, well, this is my surprise face (see below).

It's easy to forget that the things I so easily chalk up to "living in LA" are actually people, and they have lives and stories, just like I do. And that kid roaming around the boardwalk, he's somebody's kid, and hopefully, somebody cares if he turns out okay.

So long story-long, that's why I signed up to tutor at Camp Kilpatrick. Because somebody should care what happens to these kids, and why not me?

That said, I didn't know what to expect when I got there. I had been given minimal advice from our volunteer group leader, and it was pretty much the following:

1. Don't dress provocatively ( you're in a room with eight 17-year old boys who haven't seen a female in months).
2. Don't ask the kids what the did to land in juvie.
3. Don't give them your phone number.
4. Don't promise to bring them snacks/money/cellphones/anything.

I was on board with all of those rules, especially #'s 1 and 3, but I still don't think that fully prepared me for walking into a little classroom and meeting a 17-year old boy who said his name was "Skillz". Yep. Ya heard.
Skillz is a skinny, light-skinned kid who kind of reminds me of one of my little brothers' friends. Except that he's covered in two full tattoo sleeves, he lives in Inglewood, and he's been locked up for the past 8 months for illegal possession of a firearm (he volunteered that info. I didn't break a rule).

Since it was the first day, the kids didn't know they were supposed to bring homework, and it ended up just being a 'get to know you time'. This turned out to be one of the most interesting and rewarding conversations I've had in months.

Right off the bat he told me that he was getting out of juvie in 14 days. After I congratulated him, he told me that he was trying to make a plan to finish school and join the Navy. I told him that I thought that was a great choice, and that he could get his college tuition paid for through the Navy. Making eye contact with me for the first time, he turned to me excitedly and said, "I know! and I'm going to go culinary arts school!"

That caught me totally off guard, but that's when I realized this kid and I had a lot in common: He's bright, he likes to cook, and he's clearly artistic (as showcased by his tattoos of Chuckie from Rugrats and the Louis Vuitton logo) he doesn't like to play sports, and he misses his mom.  We spent the rest of the afternoon making plans for how he was going to get back on track after being incarcerated. At the end of our time together, I told him that he had a great life ahead of him, and that if he stayed focused, I was sure he could achieve all of the goals that we had discussed. He looked up at me and said, "Thanks. I mean, I know that. But it's nice to hear someone else say it. Cause it means you don't think I'm a f*ck up."

That stuck with me. I realized, that this isn't at all about correcting spelling and grammar, or getting a kid to read on 11th grade level.

It's about being the person who tells a kid who's made a mistake, that his life isn't ruined, and he can still have a great future, and that just because you're in a bad situation doesn't mean you have to stay there.

It's about being someone who cares one way or the other.

I can't wait to go back next week.

Open Letter to the Person Who Broke Into My Car.

Dear Would-be-Car Burglar,

I'm sorry you didn't find whatever it was you were looking for this morning when you went into my parking garage and proceeded to break into my car and dump everything out all over the place. I'm assuming the contents of my car weren't quite what you wanted, because you declined to take any of the following items:

- orange yoga mat
- Starbucks napkins and Jack in the Box straws
- left-handed baseball glove
- tire pressure gauge
- a note my grandpa wrote to me
- 2 parking access cards
- 9 shiny parking tokens
- parking pass (have you ever tried to park in Santa Monica?! or Pepperdine? All this stuff is like gold. Clearly, you're an idiot.)
- various sets of printed directions and lists
- blue beach blanket
- 8 years worth of mix CD's (including Lauryn Hill, Shakira, Paul Simon, and some embarrassing collections from my electronica phase in highschool) I would've given you some of these if you'd asked.
- my registration (I thought you would've taken this, but then I realized it wouldn't do you much good, unless you also planned to steal my hoopty. Alas, you are a petty car burglar not a grand theft auto wizard.)
- [clean] work out clothes
- two of my paintings (one watercolor, one oil. You didn't want to hang those up in your Den of Thieves? I'm insulted.)
- two pairs of black high heels (probably not your size)
- file folder containing records of my car's repairs (this is probably what deterred you from stealing my car.)
 - my stereo

I would actually sincerely like to thank you for not stealing the last item, even though it appears you may have tried. Honestly, this would've bummed me out more than anything else. I need that stereo. And the tape deck adapter.

Clearly, you must be very disappointed with the lack of gold bullion, crack cocaine, and Rolex watches in my car, but really, what did you expect? You broke into a 2003 Honda Civic, for pete's sake!!! For future reference, I keep all the good stuff in my Bentley, which is in the 6-car garage at my Malibu Estate. You're welcome.   


Part of me also wants to thank you for making me take stock of how rich I am in intangibles and things that I don't keep in my car. Things like, friends and family, love, happiness, and sense of humor.

It might appear from this letter that I am very unfazed by this whole thing where you violated my personal space and touched all of my stuff (even though you didn't take anything), but you would be mistaken to think that. Let me be clear: I am pissed. But guess what? There are surveillance cameras in the parking garage. Idiot. I'm mostly annoyed because I love my neighborhood because it's quirky and fun, but it's people like you who give Venice a bad name and screw it up. You're the reason my mother wants me to move the suburbs. You scare nice families and their kids away.

Basically, you suck and I'm glad I didn't have anything worthwhile in my car for you to steal. You can't get me down.

Sincerely,

The girl you tried (and failed) to rob.

P.S. I noticed that you did steal my last piece of gum and leave the wrapper. Rude. You also left my interior lights on, Jerk.

Weekend Stroll

Since moving to Venice, I've been trying to immerse myself in new experiences as often as possible; even if they're a little bit out of the way. This has ranged from going to a speakeasy in Downtown LA, to being invited to the annual Polo Opening Day at Will Rogers State Park. I keep telling myself that most of the time the overall experience will outweigh the hassle of traveling (usually in some traffic). For the most part, I've found this to hold true, but sometimes I get lucky, and find amazing new experiences right in my neighborhood, and such was the case with my visit to the Venice Canals.

I've been wanting to visit the canals for a while now, but due to un-California like rain, a busy work schedule, and several trips out of town, I had to postpone this particular adventure.

Finally, last Saturday, the rain let up, and I was able to convince my friend Bryana to come check it out with me. We were pleasantly surprised when we got there.

I know I'm prone to hyperbole, but this was seriously so cool. The canals are on South Venice Blvd. and you could literally blink and miss them if you were driving down the street; it's like being in an entirely different world.  These tiny, shallow waterways run next to the most beautiful and eclectic mix of houses, and each house comes equipped with its own little boat.


There are foot paths and bridges going from one side to the other, and walking through them, it's easy to forget that Santa Monica is a nine-minute drive away and the beach is even closer.

 I did a little research (because, yes, I'm nerdy), and apparently, the Canals were the idea of Abott Kinney, the eccentric visionary who founded most of Venice in 1905. When they were first completed they were fully functional water ways for several miles, complete with gondoliers. Unfortunately, by the early 1930's with the popularity of the automobile, the canals fell into disrepair and were  mostly filled in by 1940. In the early nineties, some extensive renovation was done, and now the canals are not only a popular attraction, but multi-million dollar real estate as well.

Venice Canals in 1909. Photo courtesy of LA Public Library Photo Collection

Anyhow, enough with my history spiel. I'm happy to say that this is destined to become one of my favorite new spots for a quiet afternoon walk or bike ride, complete with fantasies about owning a $3 million waterfront home, a dog, and a gondola.

Hey, a girl can dream.