Blogging in L.A.
Yesterday, I tried unsuccessfully to write my blog on my I-Phone while heading North on Highway 5. No, I wasn't driving. People really shouldn't blog while driving, especially on these fourteen lane montrosities here in the City of Angels. I got as far to the actually web page "new post" page and that is where it came to an end. For some reason, I couldn't get the keyboard to materialize. I thought it would be cool to do my travelogue in transit, commenting smartly in a stream of traffic consciousness on all things L.A.
Just for the heck of it, here is the "Walking in L.A." video from Missing Person's which sounds dated but still strangely hip. Be assured that no one still walks in L.A., although I just read this morning in the L.A. Times that the murder rate is way down.
Our host for the day, my buddy Todd (who I know from his earlier incarnation as a Central Pa. resident) typically dials up a creative retinue of events to delight and amaze the tourist in me. Since my wife travels worldwide for her job, she is hardly as sheltered as I. Yet, for me, this is yearly chance to experience something outside of my typical day-to-day.
We started out first at The Breury in Placentia, California. I am not sure what the point is of these stupid "YES or "NO" are you 21? webpages...like an under 21 kid who wants to check out the beers is going to be stymied by this ineffective rampart. While at The Breury, nestled in a non-descript industrial park (The Breury has another more decidedly upscale retail operation), we went to the nuts and bolts location where the beer is actually brewed. I had a flight of interesting brews with my favorite being the Three French Hens Belgian Ale. Yet, it tasted as if it was still a little raw, having a yogurty profile, suggesting that the brewers had pulled the tap too soon. But, at 10% ABV, my tastebuds were narcoticized into affirmation. I also sampled the Saison Lente, Orchard White Wit, Saison Rue, and the Rugbrod (a beer made from Rye Wheat, unique taste, which I really liked).
We headed up to Malibu where we posed as interested parties in a 14.9 million dollar beach house for sale. The real estate agent hosting the Open House treated us cordially. Apparently, according to Todd and Lina's cousin Angie who joined our travels, slacker children of very wealthy and famous people often show up at events like this dressed slummy and bummy--which gave us a suitable alibi for our proletarian garb. The house was quite impressive...all windows in the back with three levels. Literally, aqua-panes.
Next, we strolled the Malibu beach with high cliffs, where a large sailboat had run aground after ripping away from its mooring many miles away. It looked like the S.S. Minnow from Gilligan's Island. It was cast into the sea from the recent storms and was not manned when it was tossed, turned, and deposited on (actually body-slammed into) the beach sand.
Further down the beach was the location for that iconic scene from the Planet of the Apes where the arm and upper half of the Statue of Liberty in a post-Apocalyptic world juts out of the sand and Charlton Heston's character utters these memorable lines, "You maniacs....damn you all to hell" or something to that effect.
We caught dinner at some restaurant and grounds which was the setting for the TV series The Rockford Files. The food was suprisingly good (kobe beef tacos for me), then we strolled the promenades in Santa Monica, where we mingled with other shoppers and listened and watched street performers. The middle of the carless streets operated as a stage of sorts where performers did their acts. Some drew a crowd, some sang or danced alone without an audience...and that was kind of sad. Darwinian survival of the most entertaining.
There was a Chinese man playing haunting songs on an ehru, a Chinese stringed instrument, and his music pierced the night. Santa Monica was chilly and cheery, bittersweet, much like the Pink Berry desert that we enjoyed at the end of the evening.
Just for the heck of it, here is the "Walking in L.A." video from Missing Person's which sounds dated but still strangely hip. Be assured that no one still walks in L.A., although I just read this morning in the L.A. Times that the murder rate is way down.
Our host for the day, my buddy Todd (who I know from his earlier incarnation as a Central Pa. resident) typically dials up a creative retinue of events to delight and amaze the tourist in me. Since my wife travels worldwide for her job, she is hardly as sheltered as I. Yet, for me, this is yearly chance to experience something outside of my typical day-to-day.
We started out first at The Breury in Placentia, California. I am not sure what the point is of these stupid "YES or "NO" are you 21? webpages...like an under 21 kid who wants to check out the beers is going to be stymied by this ineffective rampart. While at The Breury, nestled in a non-descript industrial park (The Breury has another more decidedly upscale retail operation), we went to the nuts and bolts location where the beer is actually brewed. I had a flight of interesting brews with my favorite being the Three French Hens Belgian Ale. Yet, it tasted as if it was still a little raw, having a yogurty profile, suggesting that the brewers had pulled the tap too soon. But, at 10% ABV, my tastebuds were narcoticized into affirmation. I also sampled the Saison Lente, Orchard White Wit, Saison Rue, and the Rugbrod (a beer made from Rye Wheat, unique taste, which I really liked).
We headed up to Malibu where we posed as interested parties in a 14.9 million dollar beach house for sale. The real estate agent hosting the Open House treated us cordially. Apparently, according to Todd and Lina's cousin Angie who joined our travels, slacker children of very wealthy and famous people often show up at events like this dressed slummy and bummy--which gave us a suitable alibi for our proletarian garb. The house was quite impressive...all windows in the back with three levels. Literally, aqua-panes.
Next, we strolled the Malibu beach with high cliffs, where a large sailboat had run aground after ripping away from its mooring many miles away. It looked like the S.S. Minnow from Gilligan's Island. It was cast into the sea from the recent storms and was not manned when it was tossed, turned, and deposited on (actually body-slammed into) the beach sand.
Further down the beach was the location for that iconic scene from the Planet of the Apes where the arm and upper half of the Statue of Liberty in a post-Apocalyptic world juts out of the sand and Charlton Heston's character utters these memorable lines, "You maniacs....damn you all to hell" or something to that effect.
We caught dinner at some restaurant and grounds which was the setting for the TV series The Rockford Files. The food was suprisingly good (kobe beef tacos for me), then we strolled the promenades in Santa Monica, where we mingled with other shoppers and listened and watched street performers. The middle of the carless streets operated as a stage of sorts where performers did their acts. Some drew a crowd, some sang or danced alone without an audience...and that was kind of sad. Darwinian survival of the most entertaining.
There was a Chinese man playing haunting songs on an ehru, a Chinese stringed instrument, and his music pierced the night. Santa Monica was chilly and cheery, bittersweet, much like the Pink Berry desert that we enjoyed at the end of the evening.
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