Couchsurfing
I’ve been itching to try couchsurfing since three years ago. I happen to think it’s a brilliant, innovative idea that plays on the age-old theme of hospitality. I created a profile some time ago, but only recently added a photo of me and information that I thought other people might want to know when they’re considering my request to stay with them.
Since I’ll be couchsurfing alone in the south of france, I’ve been trying to stick with females, but they are seriously outnumbered by males for that region. I have no idea why, except to think that these men are really expectant of some action with their guests. Some men write that they prefer girls. Some men include the winking smiley face on their profiles. Some men say that they live in a quiet (read: no one will come to help if i scream for some reason) neighborhood. Besides simply being men, these are all automatic NOs. But once, I admit, I really had be talked out of requesting a couchsurf with a guy who lives in the middle of a fabulous resort town, is a cook and a pastry chef, and writes on his profile that “cooking/eating will not be a problem. ;)” I imagined all the good meals I would have with him. Plus, his photo looked normal.
I thought this guy could be the exception to my No Guys rule, until a male friend looked at me askance and said, “if i was a weird man who wanted to get girls in my home i would say that i was a cook and a pastry chef.”
A good cynical point there.
Still, I really want to believe in the philosophy of couchsurfing, even if it does seem creepy and slightly suspicious the disproportionate number of males who are seeking to invite people into their homes. Maybe it’s all those papers I wrote dissecting this very topic in medieval literature, but I am of the school of hospitality that places the guest/host relationship on a very high, almost sacred, level. It’s no easy thing to invite a stranger into your home, and it goes against most people’s comfort zones to trust someone to provide shelter, no questions asked. At the most fundamental level, the activity of couchsurfing requires all participants involved to suspend their distrust of others.
Not to say that everyone on Couchsurfing.org is normal or knows how to communicate. Just look at this message I received yesterday from Perssy/perscy:
hi,
how are you doing, i hope you are fine,how is your family? how is in holly wood, i know you are doing good, i will love to come and pay you a visit and for you to show me round but the thing is that i am in africa, but i will like to be your friend for life , i know i will be there with time to hang around with you,
i am looking forward to hear from you
greetings
perscy
I love the old movie palaces on Broadway. Wish there could be a revival.
Two of the weirdest neighborhood transformations to witness in LA:
- Driving Sunset from the coast to Echo Park
- Driving Wilshire from the coast to Downtown
If you’re car-less, the first can be done on the #2 or the #702 bus. The second can be done on the #20 or the #720 bus.
This photo was taken a minute after I got off the 702 on broadway and 6th.
Is it lame that I am so attracted to buying ordinary items at this grocery store only because it was built by John Lautner and being inside it and looking out through those long, angled windows makes me feel a little bit like how I imagine the great architect must have felt when commissioned with the task of building a market in the hills? Only then, those windows would have provided a spectacular panorama of the Hollywood Hills and the sign. Before the houses came one by one and gobbled up the view. The windows look like they don’t get cleaned all too often now. Still, I can’t help but pop in for a bottle of water or a basket of figs whenever I’m in the area for a hike/run.
Last fall, I was walking on Hilgard in Westwood to get to my dinner appointment (because I almost always refuse to pay for parking in the village) when i noticed, for the very first time, the Italian Culture Institute. The Istituto Italiano di Cultura.
What? When? Why didn’t I know about this during my four years at UCLA?
I was sure that I knew every brick and stone of Westwood! So sure, in fact, that I went home and googled how long the IIC had been in that location; I thought perhaps they just moved in?
But no, it’s been there.
Now that I am out of college and have no easy access to as many cool classes as I want, I suddenly have a hankering to take every language class under the sun. Lucky for me, the institute offers Italian lessons — at not too bad a price either: $320 for 20 hours.
They also have a conversation club, cooking classes, and exhibits like the current one showcasing Maria Callas and Richard Wagner.
Again, I wish I knew about this when I actually lived in Westwood, not 45 miles away. I’m still considering the Italian classes, but in the meantime, I’m checking out their Learn Italian Online links. For free!
Today…
I finally went into that Venokado store on Fountain I blogged about earlier. It was full of charming, quirky, wonderful things and I really wanted to scoop up every little violet scented lip balm and hugging ghosts salt/pepper shakers and elephant bottle opener to take home with me. Instead I spent 30 minutes browsing their wines, chatting with one of the owners, and left with a cute card. Boring, I know.
Then I went to Yamashiro. The restaurant that I swore I had no interest in going to turned out to be OK, though the view was pretty special. It took me 45 minutes from 6:45 to 7:30 to drive the two miles from La Brea + Sunset to Franklin and Sycamore because of Paul McCartney’s concert at the Hollywood Bowl. It was maddening except for the fact that Roxana Saberi was Terri Gross’s guest on Fresh Air, and I was totally engrossed in the radio for 30 minutes, except to yell out THIS IS BULLSHIT! every once in a while when the light turned green but not one car moved an inch.
Hello, Gorgeous.
Yes, you!
Even though sometimes you act so-o trendy and overcute because of all the hippie dippies slash yuppies that flock to you during the weekends on their adorable beach cruisers, you really are kinda special. Especially on a spring weekday.
Santa Monica Beach
I visited this delightful shopping center called The Camp in Costa Mesa last week and was TICKLED by these captions in the parking spaces. I would like to get to know the person behind this awesome idea. Can you imagine if these maxims were painted onto parking lots in Los Angeles? No joke, I think that would be an incredibly interesting social experiment. Would people be friendlier? Less honking? More smiles? Maybe someone would even say hello? I swear sometimes these all seem like novel ideas in the cutthroat world of LA Parking Lots.
Valentine’s Day Leftover?
If you use Fountain as a shortcut in lieu of Sunset, you have passed by this tiny little wine store a bazillion times without ever going inside. I am so one of those people. Every single time I drive by, i always tell myself, “oh! gotta remember to go in there next time.” HOWEVER, the parking situation seems seriously atrocious. And it has a forgettable name - Venokado. I had to google “wine store on fountain” just to find it out.
But I wholeheartedly agree that wine can have a generous influence on love. Gifts aren’t harmful either.
Definitely on my LA-stores-to-patronize list.
I do not think this is an unreasonable question. Why do the backs of these chairs have to be so tall?
I had a meeting over on Main Street yesterday, and all morning the beach was taunting me mercilessly. “i DARE you not to come see how gorgeous i am today.”
and i had to pull over. The walk towards the santa monica pier is so different on a weekday. so muted. Oh, the rollerskating girls wearing bikini tops and short shorts were still there, but did they seem a little subdued to me?
it was just … lovely. Afterward, I crawled through Santa Monica blvd back to Hollywood. 60 minutes. hooray!
