pedestrian saga

This morning I dreamed that the clock radio was telling me to allow for a longer-than-usual commute to class today because throngs of Reagan’s mourners were choking the 118 westbound to Moorpark…silly brain to think that so many people would descend on Moorpark of all places…oh, wait a minute…

We interrupt this broadcast with news from Bob that I in fact was not dreaming. Apparently the Reagan library is located over there in the Simi Valley. Well, there goes my plan to lament how much of my mental energy is wasted on nassssty car commutes, even in REM sleep.

On Friday evening I made another feeble attempt to be a more active Sierra Club member by participating in a regular outing. In this case we did the monthly moonlight hike from the Merry-Go-Round to the top of Mount Hollywood in Griffith Park. Except there wasn’t any moonlight. And it turns out Mount Hollywood isn’t the one with the Hollywood sign (but you can see the sign on the hill just adjacent, Mount Lee). The view from the top is pretty trippy - hazy streaks of light and smog stretching forever to the south, the scarred mountains away across the valley to the north, and bird’s eye view of the Observatory and the Greek Theater straight below.

Problem was I took the steep first part of the trail way too fast, and for the millionth time I caught myself feeling awfully miserable for someone supposed to be enjoying recreation and mentally whining ‘but I walk Gordon twice a day! so why is my face beet red and my heart ready to explode on this hike?!’ Plenty of general aching and puffy exhaustion lasting through the weekend. I’m clearly a far cry from living up to the proud Pedestrian Saga name.

So I missed what would’ve been my second River Ride the past weekend, but I did make it to my second Congress of Neighborhoods as a delegate for the fledgling East Hollywood Neighborhood Council. My neighbors and I dragged ourselves out of the house by 8:00 on Saturday morning and carpooled to the convention center downtown. After some serious queuing outside the parking complex (should’ve taken the Red Line to the Blue Line!) we checked in to the Congress, grabbed some Krispy Kreme donuts and Starbucks coffee, and split up for the morning session. I wasn’t feeling motivated enough to join a workshop 30 minutes late, so I wandered the city department exhibits, chatting up the Los Angeles World Airports rep, the city police officers, the housing department staff, and declaring myself a "big fan" to the folks at the 311 booth (One Call to City Hall). I also met Lois of the Los Angeles Eco-Village, a fascinating community tucked into two city blocks between my neighborhood and Wilshire Boulevard. And right across from Lois I met Susan Kent, the city librarian, at the LAPL booth! I nervously told her that I’m curious about entering the profession.

All the while I was greedily collecting tickets for the afternoon raffle contest. I tell ya, there’s nothing like Krispy Kreme donuts and raffle prizes to get me civically engaged! They were offering Dodgers tickets, a visit to the LAX control tower, dinner at a fire station, cruises on city boats in Santa Monica Bay and LA Harbor, but I put all my tickets in the drawings for the behind-the-scenes trip through Central Library and the Board of Public Works‘ sewer tour! And would you believe it - I won both of them! I was so visibly excited as I claimed my prizes at the podium, because I never win drawings, no matter how hard I cross my fingers and will it to happen. Despite being a little, not-yet-certified Neighborhood Council, EHo sure won big that day - our main man Elson walked away with the 4 Dodgers tix!

Overall this Congress wasn’t quite as vivacious as last year’s. Mayor Jim Hahn showed up this year and spoke to us about the tough budget, but I kinda zoned out and became mesmerized by the sign language translators working just below the stage (I think I figured out the sign for NC by the end of that speech). His sister Janice was a livelier speaker last year, though I don’t remember what she said really (typical political spectator! absorb the form but not the content…) I missed last year’s energetic roll caller from South LA, but I enjoyed Don Garza’s Town Crier (whom we originally mistook for a pirate! Oops.)

I chose to attend the Neighborhood Improvement Projects workshop in the afternoon, since they’re what attracted me to this NC business in the first place (I just wanted to pick up trash and otherwise beautify). It was mostly geared toward certified NCs, but I got some contact information for Operation Clean Sweep and a booklet with pretty color photos of successful projects citywide. (Look for my own gallery of neighborhood murals - forthcoming.)

And look for field trip reports from this book-worm/sewer-rat!

Salon’s comics this week have been dead on - today’s Tom the Dancing Bug frightens me with its insight into our presidential contest.

Also interesting to discover that Waylay is born in my neck of the woods (well, there aren’t so many trees as all that). An affectionate tribute to Silver Lake.

The second article on this week’s featured front page of The Onion in History is very dear to that jaded, despairing, dystopia-inhabiting, soul-sucked and crushed-spirit part of my psyche.

Today Gordon and I met the chaos on Effie before we even got to the base of the hill. There were three average cars crumpled like aluminum cans in a neat pack at the side of the street. A pair of police officers was calmly taking notes, and 8 or so people had gathered on the sidewalk and were smiling and chatting placidly about exchanging insurance information as if they were passing around business cards at a party, or even as though they already knew one another. The scene looked carefully constructed, like an installation of contemporary art with museum patrons milling about the exhibit on opening day. Or maybe all the people were part of the exhibit themselves?

Or maybe my casual studies of car culture’s dark side are getting to me.

This morning I was doing the hill on Effie, a residential Silver Lake street, focusing on working my sleepy limbs while Gordon sniffed about with even more devotion than usual, given the lovely petrichor. Suddenly, just a few meters away, I saw an average, humble squirrel collide silently with an anonymous, black SUV. It was tossed into the air acrobatically and its tail trailed its body like a rhythmic gymnast’s ribbon. It landed like cats and squirrels do, easily on the feet, and scampered over to the parkway on the opposite side of the street to die in the vine-y groundcover. It was shocking to witness this creature’s violent death - I almost felt I was intruding on a very private moment. It also awakened memories of two childhood traumas when I saw our pet cats get run over by slow-moving vehicles. The squirrel was uncomplaining and went so quietly that Gordon and the SUV didn’t notice.