Observe and Report

Once, in my first couple of weeks here, I needed to complete some work at the local library. I wrapped this up, and headed outside. There, a gentleman who looked like the lovechild of James Hetfield and The Dude (from Metallica and The Big Lebowski, respectively) was carrying a conversation on his cell phone.

"Yeah, I don't know what to-- Hold on a second." He looked to the sky. "I'll be damned. It's raining! No, I'm not kidding, it's actually raining!"

It was hardly raining. I've been in humidity that has been wetter than that sprinkle. I decided that Dude Hetfield was over-reacting and kept walking.

Continuing down the street, I gave a "good day" smile to a pleasant looking middle-aged African American woman. Pleasant as she was, she smiled back. Her smile seemed broader-- more cheerful than the traditional "good day" smile. It was the smile that we Midwesterners only dust off for special occasions: Christmas, birthdays, asking to borrow money, etc.

"Rain in the Summertime, huh?" she chuckled.

In the hours to follow, I discovered that I had witnessed the kind of phenomenon that Southern Californians evidently ask for as a sign that God exists. It really, actually, truly never does rain in Southern California. So people here need sprinkler systems, and car washes. [Author's Aside: At this point, it is unfortunately evident that I still need to get a handle on "the need for a car wash" part.]

Just like the Great Summer Downpour of 2011 (which lasted all of six minutes), there have been a number of little things in my neighborhood that had caught me off guard. Happily, though, they have just make my transition a little more adventurous. These things include:

Parrots. Real, live, feral parrots roam the hills of LA. Especially when one is trying to sleep. Somehow. I first discovered this when I heard a pair of parrots screeching from the telephone wires that run by my house during a morning workout routine. I stared wide-eyed at them, grinning from ear to ear, and thought to myself, "I bet this won't seem quite as enchanting if I hear them screech like this every morning." It isn't.

Actors. Los Angeles doesn't have any horrible cockroach problems that I've heard of so far. However, there are neighborhoods where, if you turn on the kitchen light, you will see five thespians scramble under the fridge. In some clubs and bars toward Hollywood, Studio City, et cetera, people don't ask "What do you do for a living?" Rather, they cut to the chase: "Are you an actor?" My response is typically, "No. Are you?" Then they get all excited that you figured them out. It's kind of cute.

Immigrants. From all over the country, and the world. This is an authentically nice thing to have going for me since I am, in my own right, an immigrant. Making friends in Los Angeles is easy, because nobody is from Los Angeles; nobody has a preexisting social circle that you won't fit into. The diversity also gives you something to talk about with everybody you meet: where they are from, what kind of food they miss, how much they wish they were a Packers fan, and so forth. It's also a great opportunity for me to broaden my own horizons. In my little, mostly-Asian side of town, I've been able to experience excellent, authentic Chinese and Japanese food. While dining at one Chinese restaurant, I got to experience pictures of seabirds, deep-fried, head and all, in the menu. (I ended up getting the barbecued ribs.) Of course, when there are large populations centralized in specific locales, diversity is a given, but assimilation is not. I couldn't even order at one Chinese restaurant because it was a freaking CHINESE restaurant. The sauteed jellyfish smelled really good, though.

Palm Trees, Beaches, and Mountains. Occasionally, I find myself looking back nostalgically on my times camping in Wisconsin. From the bluffs to the lake, and all the hills, forests, lakes, and prairies in-between, outdoor enthusiasts have it made in the Dairy State. But then, at the end of the weekend, I would leave these places, and I would go home. Unlike home, the scenery in Los Angeles sticks with a guy. If you leave the mountains, they're still towering over you in the distance. The palm trees and cacti intermingle as if the shore to the West were shaking hands with the deserts of the East. Every moment of scenery is as radically characterizing to the area as a post card, while being as comfortably familiar as wall paper.

It has been a terrific journey so far. Every day has been filled with one little adventure or another. Every morning, I am able to wake up excited to begin.

Viva, Wisconsin!

God bless LA.