The Holy Barbarians

After dropping my brother off at LAX, my dad and I drove down to Venice Beach, one of the places in Southern California I've been wanting to visit for years.

We parked on one end of the Venice Canals, and while walking towards the boardwalk, a police officer pulled over and rudely berated us for stepping off the sidewalk prior to being shown a "walk" sign. Unnecessary.

The Venice Beach boardwalk is gloriously bohemian, artsy, trashy, and entertaining all at once:

Upon arriving, I sought out Small World Books, an independent bookstore which I'd heard of and wanted to visit.

My dad and I spent some time perusing the store, where I checked out staff recommendations, some of McSweeney's most recent publications, and just enjoyed being a nerd. My dad supported independent stores by purchasing a book on mathematics or the like.

And speaking of...

Nerd Alert:

The West Coast Beats spent a lot of time in Venice Beach during the fifties and sixties. The title of this post is the name of a book, written by Lawrence Lipton, that chronicles the stories and his observations of the Venice Beach beatniks, as well as essays on the Beat culture.

My dad had never been to Venice before either, so he enjoyed walking around with me, watching the skateboarders in their park, pointing out some of the more ridiculous t-shirts on display, and observing some of the performers.

Then the smell of marijuana got to be too much for him, and he immediately wanted to leave.

But we spent a little more time walking around so I could snap photographs and enjoy the warm (if slightly overcast) weather:


We left shortly afterwards, and briefly drove up the PCH before getting onto I-5, only to get stuck in rush hour traffic (which starts around 3pm in LA).

But of all the beaches I've been to in Southern California, I think Venice is my favorite, primarily because the landscape is so different from all the rest. You'll find Muscle Beach, the urban-looking basketball streetcourts, the skateboarders, the dog-walkers, and the unique stores, performers, and merchandise, all in one place. Oh, yeah, and there's some sand and water there, too.

It's fantastic.

Everything in Transit

I've been flying in and out of Southern California since I was a toddler, to visit my aunt and uncle (and eventually, my cousins).

But we usually fly into and out of John Wayne Airport, located in Orange County (Newport, to be exact).

The airport is small and clean, and going through security can take fewer than five minutes. I will lament that the restaurants and food leave little to be desired (I ate a bland cup of oatmeal after my flight was delayed last week), but otherwise, the airport's always treated me well.

On the Monday morning following New Year's Day, my dad and I took my brother to LAX so he could fly back to school (they have an insanely short winter break at Michigan).

The experience led me to arrive at the following conclusion: LAX sucks. And I'm not the only one who feels this way!

I'm sure that security was heightened (and therefore an even more time-consuming experience) due to the recent Christmas Day plot, even more so because LAX is such a high-traffic airport.

They began the process upon entry, randomly pulling over vehicles and thoroughly searching them.

The crowd at the airport was insane. After checking in, passengers stood in the security line, which was broken up into three parts, the last of which was upstairs and out of sight for those (like me) who were waiting on the (crowded) sidelines.

Even walking to the bathroom was an arduous journey—people were everywhere.

My brother waited in the security line for over an hour and a half—and he got there before the crowd grew so huge, passengers lined up for a quarter of a mile on the sidewalk outside. Crazy.

And, as my brother told me, once people got through security, they were searched further, as airport employees would randomly select passengers and go through their carry-ons by hand.

I cannot fathom how they are unable to create a more efficient way for people to go through security. Sure, it's the major airport for Los Angeles, so it will be crowded—why do the crowds for security have to be overlapping those of the check-in stations? How the heck is anybody supposed to tell these lines apart, let alone navigate through them to enter or exit the airport?

In addition to atrocious wait times and endless security lines, LAX also offers overly disgruntled TSA workers (who do nothing to alleviate the chaotic nature of the airport), a generally unclean environment, and outdated terminals.

I generally love airports, but being at LAX was such an overwhelming and stressful experience—and I wasn't even the one flying—that I couldn't be anything but agitated.

It's apparent that when LAX was built, it was not done so with the intention that it would become as highly frequented as it is today. The airport is pretty poorly structured, both inside and out. There isn't enough space for the large crowds, and the proper terminals are not easy to locate when you're driving around in your car. LAX has a renovation planned; I believe it's scheduled to be finished some time in 2013, but that's still a long time away—and who knows how much those changes will even help?

In the meantime, I will (happily) stick to John Wayne. It's all the fun of an airport without the stress.

When the Water Reached the West Coast

Over the years, I've seen a fair amount of California, particularly in the southern portion of the state. I've been to Disneyland (back when I actually enjoyed roller coasters), Sea World San Diego, Palm Springs (though I remember none of it except the drive back), and several other places, including many of the region's beaches.

I last visited Laguna Beach in 2000. My brother was pretty young at the time, so we drove him out on this trip so he could (re-)experience the California coastline prior to returning to a Michigan winter.

Check it out:

The shoreline seems shorter than it did 10 years ago (and likely is, due to the El Niño Effect), but overall, nothing appears to have changed.

On our walk back to the car, we stopped in at some of the stores that line the streets. There were a lot of fun, artsy, and cutesy places, many of which my mom really liked, but I'm pretty sure I'd go broke if I routinely shopped in the area. Plus, in being somewhat of a tourist attraction, it gets more and more crowded as you get closer to the water. I like a little personal space at the beach.

But the area is definitely beautiful, and I can never resist a good photo opportunity.

As Our December Sun Is Setting

After grabbing a quick bite to eat (in my case, a fantastic walnut chicken salad sandwich from Paradise Bakery*), I requested that my dad drive us to Lookout Mountain, yet another section of the Phoenix Mountains Preserve.

There, we watched the sun set over Phoenix and Scottsdale, while a full (and new) moon rose on the other side of the peak.

The New Moon rising on New Year's Eve.

I love how the moon looks in this picture.

I've witnessed some fantastic sunsets (at Rick's Cafe in Jamaica, for one), so this was by no means the best ever. Still, I'm a sucker for any kind of sunrise/sunset/moon rising, and if my camera's on hand, I tend to get a little photo-happy over the occasion. Some things never get old.

* Paradise Bakery is primarily a West Coast chain, but if you ever visit one, please try one of their cookies. I dislike dessert/sweet baked goods, but had one of their chocolate chip cookies (my only dessert weakness besides funfetti cake), and it was a truly fantastic experience.

I See Arizona Stars from Here

On New Year's Eve, I dragged my parents and my brother out to Camelback Mountain, the highest point in Phoenix.

The view from about one-third of the way

to the top.

There's some nice hiking to be done here; if I lived nearby I imagine I'd spend a lot of time here. Forewarning, though: the path is rather steep. My brother and I walked up a fair amount, but didn't want to abandon our parents down at the bottom for too long. Plus, we weren't there to hike (I sure would have dressed differently if we were), but rather just to see the mountains and the surrounding area.

People have the option of doing some rock climbing here, too. In some of my pictures, there are people in the background being belayed, one of whom is a four-year-old child. Horrifying.

Also, rock climbing makes me hark back to my sophomore year of high school; gym class that year focused primarily on rock climbing, belaying, and various ropes courses. In hindsight, this was a little fun, but at the time I remember being far too focused on my extreme fear and general failure to make it to the top of the rock wall. Given the opportunity to try again, I think I'd do the same.

I'll stick to hiking.

There's No Sun Up in the Sky

This was my dad's first trip to Arizona for leisure, so he wanted to see the Grand Canyon while he was in the area. Although the rest of my family had already been, we indulged my father's wishes to make the (fairly lengthy) drive up to the Park.

As I mentioned earlier, temperatures in Arizona vary greatly in the winter, so we anticipated that the mountains would likely be covered by a dusting of snow, much like they'd been in Sedona.

We couldn't have been more wrong.

Prior to our departure, we checked the temperatures for the area repeatedly, and upon being assured by weather.com that the region would be snow-free but extremely cold, we hit the road. A few hours into the drive, the snow started falling, lightly at first, but then increasing in intensity as we continued on. As we drew closer to our destination, conditions worsened to the point where we considered turning the car around. But with only a half hour left to go... we didn't.

When we finally arrived, the Park was relatively desolate at first; as we drove closer to the South Rim, there were a fair number of people trekking towards the Canyons. But due to the snow, the gorge was barely visible. The snow wasn't coming down terribly hard at this point, but the fog created by the snow was so thick that, standing at the edge, we could barely make out even the sharpest contours below us. I took some really terrible pictures, too, that I will spare you from looking at. The ones taken of the Canyon at large best resemble white clouds with gray lines where the fog was a little thinner. The shots of some of the nearby rocks are nice, but still a little too foggy to be attractive.

Cue my second round of disgruntlement on this trip, although this round was tinged by a general anger at fate for being so unkind.

My little cousins, having lived in Southern California their whole lives, ignored the disappointment of our failed plans in favor of traipsing around excitedly in the snow. The rest of us could not have been less enthused.

But my dad was the real loser in this situation, and although he took this in stride, I felt so bad for him.

Thanks, weather, for being completely lame.

Mountains Sit in a Line

There is a level of difficulty presented by traveling with people, as enjoyable as their presence may be. Unless you're really lucky, everyone has different priorities, different interests, different concepts of time; the list goes on.

I love the idea of creating a list of places to hit while on a trip, and creating somewhat of a loose schedule by which to adhere. But I am also a realist and know that the odds of this ever happening on a trip are slim to none, particularly because I generally concede to others in the interest of not creating friction on a vacation.

So Arizona was no different. We took a day trip to Sedona, a city I'd last visited during the summer of 2000 and was excited to see again, as an older, more appreciative traveler.

Since I am a nerd, I read the silly pamphlets and brochures the hotel had handed out to us, and envisioned various things we could do in Sedona, some of which I shared with my family, albeit in an offhanded manner. Of these things, the item I most wanted to cross off my list was a drive down Oak Creek Canyon, a deep and stunningly beautiful gorge that runs through the center of Sedona. This never happened, and while I certainly didn't complain about it, I'm sincerely disappointed.

My thought process (on any trip) generally remains the same: this may be the only time I come here, and even if it's not, I want to capitalize on my surroundings. Why make the effort of traveling somewhere new and exciting, just to spend the days holed up in a hotel room watching TV, or generally dawdling around? To me, time is of the essence, and while I understand that this isn't a sentiment shared by all, it's still frustrating. It's tough to get two people on the same page sometimes, and out the door in a timely manner - forget about eight.

But I digress. Sedona itself was wonderful, even though it was far colder than I anticipated it would be. I'm so grateful I packed some winter attire. The weather variances in Arizona are crazy; in Scottsdale, the temperatures were in the mid-60s during the day, while two hours away in Sedona, temperatures were in the thirties, and there was even some snow lingering up in the mountains.

I appreciated the opportunity to see Sedona in the winter. While the stark redness of the rocks is unchanging no matter what the season, the experience itself (not to mention the pictures) was different under the winter sun. Climbing up the rocks was a lot more treacherous, for one thing. Sure, I feared that I might face plant while crunching through the ice, but it never happened. And even if it had, I still think I would have had fun.

So disappointment aside, I loved visiting Sedona again.

But if there's ever a third time, Oak Creek Canyon must be a part of the equation.

So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright

Within an hour of arriving in Arizona, my mother announced that she wanted to move there. Even though we were driving around at night, I could easily see what attracted her to the area.

For starters, the temperature was about fifty degrees in December. This rarely happens back home, and if it does, is clearly indicative of a larger problem, i.e. global warming.

But more striking to both my mom and me was Arizona's architecture.

The Native American and Hispanic influence on Southwestern architecture is seen in several ways: the earthy tones of the buildings and homes, the materials (such as adobe) used to build, and the artwork decorating either the building's walls or surrounding areas.

My family and I further explored this architecture by visiting Taliesin West, Frank Lloyd Wright's winter retreat, located right in Scottsdale, just miles from where we stayed.

I've previously visited only one other house of Wright's, the Darwin D. Martin House in Buffalo, New York, back when I was fifteen, and a little (okay, a lot) less interested in creatively designed homes. I retained nearly no information from my tour, and remember very little about the house itself; my only memories are in the form of a few photographs taken on a disposable camera (and with a pretty unseasoned eye).

This time around, I paid significantly more attention to my surroundings and learned quite a bit of information. Taliesin West is home to the Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation, an organization that conducts programs, owns The Archives, and operates the Frank Lloyd Wright School of Architecture.

All of Wright's buildings are constructed by his students, a fact that I found extremely impressive and fascinating. In all my years as a student, no matter how great my love for writing, or singing, or anything else, I doubt I was ever ready to tackle a project of that magnitude. Writing a thesis was painful enough.

Take a look at some of their work:

Some other fun facts I learned:

- Frank Lloyd Wright was quite the ladies' man, and his romantic life involved many tumultuous and tragic stories, some of which are detailed in T.C. Boyle's The Women. Coincidentally, I stumbled upon this book a week later, sitting on the shelf of Venice Beach's Small World Books, where it was listed as a staff recommendation.

- John Lloyd Wright (one of FLW's sons) invented Lincoln Logs, which were my favorite childhood toy (I've clearly always been a huge nerd). I still have a Rubbermaid box full sitting in my parents' basement.

Despite my love for building things out of wooden logs and Legos, I've never particularly been interested in the finer details of architecture. But I'm completely taken in by Wright's work - the beauty, the individuality of each structure, and the sheer number of places he's designed over his life. And what I like most about his work is the manner in which the styles of his buildings reflect their location. I now really want to explore more of his constructions, primarily the Guggenheim (which I'm a little appalled that I've never visited, given my proximity to New York) and Fallingwater, easily the most gorgeous of his works.

Scenes from an Italian Restaurant

Happy New Year!

I've finally returned to the East Coast, and while I miss the Arizona and California sunshine, it's nice to be home. Especially because I am currently nursing a particularly bad cold. Our flights home can best be described as an abysmal experience.

But wait. California? Yes, although my last entry had me in Scottsdale, my journey to the west also included a few days in Southern California, where my mom's sister and her family live.

But for all my California fun, Arizona was the main event of the trip. I hadn't been there in almost ten years, during a weekend stay that included a visit to the Grand Canyon and Sedona. This time around, we stayed for a week, and since our location bordered the city of Phoenix, there was a greater number of places to explore.

There's a lot to discuss from the trip, but for now, I'm going to focus on one of my favorite parts: the food. We (and by this I mean my mom and my aunt) did a fair amount of cooking in the rooms in which we stayed, but there were a few afternoons and evenings when we took over a portion of a nearby restaurant.

We ate at some chain restaurants, including a very late dinner at P.F. Chang's, and my cousin's birthday dinner at The Cheesecake Factory. Although I've eaten at both before, I particularly enjoyed both these meals since I was with such a large party, and therefore got to sample dishes I might not ordinarily try on my own. Yummy. I am now much better prepared for next time. Also, I'm going to be so bold as to say that at The Cheesecake Factory, we had the best waiter I have ever had in my entire life. Ever. It's the little things that make me really happy.

Equally enjoyable, but for very different reasons, were some of the independent restaurants at which we dined. On my first full night in Scottsdale, one of my college roommates (a nearly life-long Arizona resident), took me to Pasta Primo, a quaint Italian restaurant located in one of Scottsdale's many shopping plazas. We shared a walnut and spinach salad (sans pancetta, per my request), and I enjoyed a savory plate of spinach ravioli with a glass of pinot noir.

A few days later, my family and I spent an afternoon in Downtown Scottsdale, where we enjoyed some delicious Mexican food at Los Olivos, a family-owned and operated establishment. As I've mentioned before, I pay attention to ambience; the influence of the southwestern culture and architecture was evident in the earthy tones and Native-American influenced decorations that adorned the walls. I liked the soft chicken tacos I ordered, but for me, the best part of the meal was the fresh salsa they brought to the table. It was incredibly spicy, but in a very appetizing way.

All this talk of food makes me a little depressed, since in being sick, I have a lower appetite. Plus, I've now returned to home-cooked meals, which are decidedly less attractive, if only because I am a failure in the kitchen. And although my taste buds may not always agree, my body sincerely appreciates the detoxification.