Arcade Ragamuffins

I went mini-golfing yesterday, and it was fabulous as mini-golf tends to be. After the main event, we stuck around to play games at the castle-themed arcade (sidebar, why are mini-golf places always shaped like castles? Did they used to play mini-golf in medieval times? Were knights lining up to put brightly colored balls into holes in astroturf?). I was never big on video games, but I loves me some skeeball. Skeeball is, as they say, The Shit.

Castles and mini-golf. What's the connection?

But the point of this story is not to recount our nostalgic evening trying recapture our childhood. I bring this up because I witnessed something very disturbing at Sherman Oaks Castle Park. Not one child, but TWO children came up to us and asked us for spare tokens! Like friggin' orphans from Oliver Twist all strung out on Dance Dance Revolution and Cruisin' USA (that's a thing, right?). "Please sir, I'd like some more...tokens!!!!" The nerve of these children! One of which couldn't have been more than five or six. Who taught him that it was ok to go up to total strangers, looking all cute and pathetic and panhandle for another round of Buckshot Something-or-Other?

Ya greedy bastard!

My first thought was, where are their parents? Did they just dump them off at the arcade so they could go have grown-up time (meaning intravenous drug abuse and unprotected sex?) But then it occurred to me that if they had such parents, these children were probably never taught that it was wrong to beg. I just wanted to shake this poor little boy and say, "You want tokens? Get a job and buy your own damn tokens! Because this is Amer'ca, goddammit!" But then I would be the one kicked out and not this charming little vagrant.

I just really love skeeball.

One kid even tried to get into our good graces by offering color commentary as we played a very confusing safari game consisting of shooting at giant spiders and flies (for no particular reason). I was like, dude, occupado! After the game was over, he asked for spare tokens again! This just went against everything I stood for! Especially because those tokens were not cheap. (Even though we got a half-off coupon...)

So the point is, this could potentially be an epidemic! Are America's youth being taught that if you bat your eyes and stick out your lower lip, people will just drop hours of free video game play in your lap? I say NO! Not in my backyard!

Snow Can Suck It

I hate snow. I hate it more than the Lakers, more than grammatical errors online, more than Asian food of any kind. And that's a lot. It's fun when you're a kid, and you can spend hours making giant snowballs named Big Bob Pataki (true story), or make four-foot deep snow angels during freak snowstorms. It's pretty if you get to stay home and watch it turn the world around you into a magical, sparkly wonderland. But if you have somewhere to go, or someone is coming to visit, snow turns into this dark, dangerous, diabolical entity disguised as a natural phenomenon. It turns a normally blissful twenty-minute drive on the beautiful pine-tree covered Foresthill Road into an exercise in terror. Especially if you drive a car like Stan who has only one sad headlight that does little to illuminate the pitch black forest from which deer, raccoons, and other creatures could sprint out at any second.



The 450ish mile trip from L.A. to my tiny hometown halfway between Sacramento and Reno went fantastically, if only because one of my best friends, Kelly-Bean hitched a ride with me. We jibber-jabbered like lady chickens, rocking out to my cheesy girl power playlist (Pat B., Kelly C., Aretha, and the Spice Girls mostly), planning our future weddings like the super girlie girls we so aren't. So even though it was dark and raining most of the way, the hours seemed to fly by, driving into the abyss. But once I dropped Kelly off at her house, I immediately started to panic. My mom had called to warn me that it was snowing on the Hill. I could have crashed (bad choice of words) at Kelly's, which probably would have been smart. But you know how it is when you just want to get where you're going and sleep in your own bed. So I forged on into the wilderness.



Luckily the roads weren't icy and treacherous yet, but there was a half-inch of snow and Stan does not carry chains. I had to drop my speed from the 55mph limit to about 30, but eventually made it home alive. I just had to trust that Stan would deliver me home safely to my mommy, and he came through big time. I could barely see a thing between the one headlight and the thick snow flying at me, reminding me of Star Wars light speed. It's been a long time since I've driven in the snow (having lived in So-Cal for the past five years), but I forgot how cool that aspect is. I was pretty much driving blind, but imagining that I was co-captain of the Millennium Falcon alongside Han Solo helped with the fear. Yep. Major nerd moment, but at least I survived.



So now that I'm back in Foresthill for Thanksgiving, I've decided to make a list of everything I like about being home:



1. TV!!! I actually get to watch television! What a concept! Specifically, What Not to Wear, which is my biggest guilty pleasure and one of the few shows I love that I can't watch online (believe me, I've tried) And it's on a screen that is actually bigger than my laptop unlike my own TV.



2. My dog, Jesus (don't be offended, I named him that because he's gentle, loyal and friendly and protects us from burglars, bears, and squirrels and loves everyone unconditionally)



3. My cats, Piccolo and Peter. Though they can be little bitches sometimes. Like most cats I suppose.



4. This probably shouldn't be this low, but seeing my family, obviously. Especially my baby nephew Ayvind who is pretty much the cutest little boy alive. I have proof.



5. My dad gives Stan a check-up to make sure everything is all right. Currently the back windows are stuck open which isn't a problem in balmy L.A., but when it's snowing outside, that's probably not a good thing.



6. Foresthill really is beautiful. It's a crappy town to live in, with an extremely sparse population of rednecks (imagine all Southern stereotypes without the accent), and an even sparser (?) selection of food and entertainment venues. But with the trees and the canyons and rivers, and wildlife, it's what a lot of people would call paradise. Not me. But you know, if you like that sort of thing.



7. While there is never any food in my parents' house, there is a current pool and hot tub in the renovated garage with a tv so you can swim and watch movies at the same time. Sweeeeeet.



8. Getting to see old friends, going out to breakfast at Awful Annies, Waffle Barn, or 2AM sausage and applesauce at Denny's (keep your fancy restaurants, give me Denny's any time)



9. Playing a real piano. Especially since I have to practice my solo of Rufus Wainwright's "Hallelujah" for the Sally Tomatoes winter concert. Ack! I must apologize to Rufus in advance.



10. This might sound really trivial, but the water here is frickin' delicious. Especially if you suffer from the floater-ridden off-clear murky suspect crap they pass of as H2O in L.A. I was dying of thirst the whole way home, but a) I don't believe in paying for water if I can help it. And b) I look forward to a glass of ice cold, crystal clear mountain spring tap water whenever I make the trip up to Nor-Cal.



In short, Foresthill is the kind of town you can't wait to leave, but love to come home to. As long as it's not bloody snowing.

UPDATE: Naturally as soon as I finished this post, the power went out all night which was just difficult and annoying. It is awfully pretty outside and today I'm going to the Mandarin (as in oranges not Chinese) Festival. I just hope Stan will forgive me for having the windows open and subjecting him to this frightful weather.

Adventures with the Homeless So Far

Tonight is when I go out and count the homeless for the Census. It might rain too. Should be super fun. Anyway, I've been encountering some unusual homeless people lately and I thought I would share my experiences in anticipation of tonight's madness.

A few days ago I was driving to Hollywood to visit my friend Eric and I must have looked super miserable in my car. People always assume that just because I'm not smiling at the moment, I look like I want to kill myself. Anyway, I got stopped at a stoplight, way too close for comfort to a relatively normal-looking homeless guy flipping his sign around like one of those guys who advertise Mr. Pickle's Sandwiches or Instant Tax Returns dressed like the Statue of Liberty. He saw me, dropped his sign and started pointing at the corners of his mouth, indicating that I should smile. I just looked blankly at him, praying for the light to change. Then he started dancing crazy, which did make me laugh and then he shouted through my window "You owe me a tip for that smile!" I was just like uh...sorry. And I drove off.

It reminded me of a time in Prague when I was absolutely miserable, walking back to my hostel, half-drunk at 2 in the morning, having had one of the worst nights of my life. I stopped in Wenceslas Square and sat on a bench, crying. A Czech homeless man came up to me, asking for money (I assume) but I really didn't have any. He saw that I was crying though took my hand and shook it, smiling at me as if he was trying to make me feel better. Then he walked away. It actually worked. He was so nice to a total stranger who had nothing to offer him.

I was driving again to Hollywood last night, and once more got stopped at a stoplight. A girl was standing there, wearing nice jeans and a cute Forever 21-type top. She was holding a sign that said "22 years old and homeless, please help." The person in the car next to me gave her money. I felt really bad, being 22 myself and very poor. But then I wondered if she really was homeless, or just running a scam. She seemed very nicely dressed for someone who was homeless. It got me thinking that does someone have to look like crap in order for you to really feel sorry for them? Or at least believe their situation enough to give them your hard-earned money?

I think one of the reasons I feel so uncomfortable around homeless people is because once when I was about seven, I was eating dinner with my family at a KFC in Albuquerque and a homeless man came up to us and asked us for money. We had an extra sandwich that we tried to give him, but he wouldn't take it. He just wanted money. This seemed so bizarre to me that if you were starving and to the point of asking others for charity, you would take what you could get. I know this was just one person, and is in no way representative of an entire subculture of people all with their own stories and personalities, but it really had an effect on the way I view the homeless.

Now I sound super-judgmental and harsh, but hopefully this will explain my hesitation about tonight. I'm also worried because it's supposed to rain. In Los Angeles. The one night I have to be out and about doing paperwork. But at least it's something, and so many of these people have nothing. So I'll quit whining, at least for now.

Targeted Nonsheltered Outdoor Location Enumerator

This is my new official job title. I will be working for the 2010 Census, at least for a few days next week counting the homeless in soup kitchens, shelters, and by the freeway. It's basically a trial run to see if you qualify to be a regular Census taker. I heard back from my last interview finally and although they decided to go with someone else, they genuinely seemed to like me and wanted me to keep calling back to see if they had a position available. This gives me hope. And at least for now I'm getting paid so I'm not quite as freaked out as I would be without the Census. But when the following instructions are included in your training, one has to ask oneself if it's worth it:

1. Be sure to check under your car to see if there is someone hiding, waiting to charge your ankles.

2. Do not wear anything around your neck that could be used to strangle you.

3. If you witness any illegal activities, ie drug use, prostitution, gang activity, use a secret code you've developed with your team members and walk away.

4. Wear clothes you don't mind getting dirty and comfortable athletic shoes in case you have to run (!)

5. Assume that a "person experiencing homelessness"'s dog is not friendly.

6. Do not carry a pocketknife, or any kind of weapon even if the other guy is probably packing.

At first, I was nervous and very uncomfortable with the thought of initiating conversation with people I'd always been taught to avoid. Yes they are human beings who have fallen through the cracks of the system and suffered countless and unfathomable hardships. But it still doesn't make one anxious to go out in the middle of the night by the freeway and ask them their name, sex, and race.

After my training sessions the past few days, however, I'm kind of looking forward to this assignment. I'm still scared, but kind of curious to see what will happen. If nothing else, it will be fascinating fodder for my writing, not to mention a much-needed paycheck. I just would prefer not to get shanked in pursuit of either though.