Life is Funny

Every once in a while, we get on a roll with funny things to tell. This was one of those weeks.

This weekend, we went to Los Angeles and made a day of it. We started at the Getty Center (yes, I know--this is NOT funny. Just hold your horses.) Here is the view from the top. . . sort of. My make-shift panorama is a little bit blurrier than I anticipated.

The Getty Center is a big art museum. I liked this one. This is bad; I can't remember what it's called or who it's by, and every day I preach to my students about citing their sources. So, it's at the Getty Center. There. I cited it. Sort of. Anyway, I liked it because it's supposed to show the paradox between the elegance of the tea dishes and the messiness of it all at the same time. (The little card explained it much better, I'm sure, but you get the gist... right?) :)

One of the fountains at the Getty--all the stuff outside, from the architecture to the fountains to the gardens, are supposed to be art, too. What makes "art" art, anyway? We saw a photograph of a cut open avacado in the museum, and Michael said, "Let's go home and take a picture of an avacado so we can make a million bucks." Ha. :)

It's the real deal--a Monet. Michael and I have our theories about Monet. I think we decided that the reason he is so famous as an artist is because he made such a mess of paint--a bunch of random splotches--look like something. :) (If anyone out there is an artist and/or knows a lot about art, please don't be offended; we still appreciate it, even if we don't totally love it.) :)

Love Michael's expression in this one. (I just had to put a caption--I can't remember what the painting was on this one, either. I planned to look it up on the website, but I am just not feeling that ambitious right now. Sorry.)

A Van Gogh! Look at the fun colors!

My brother welds really well. I think he should strike it rich by making funky tree braces for people's lawns like this.

The garden

***We should have taken a picture of the HUGE candlesticks they had inside. By HUGE I mean almost as tall as me. They were part of a collection of the French decorative arts. When Michael saw them, he said, "Can you image getting hit in the head with one of those by Professor Plum?" I didn't get it, but apparently Michael played a lot of CLUE as a child.*** :)

Under an archway in the little garden area--pretty, huh?

This makes me laugh--it looks like onions going to seed, though I'm not sure that's what it is.

We were kind of surprised--this was the traffic in L.A. on a Saturday afternoon around 3:00 p.m. going south towards San Diego. We're not sure where everyone was going, but we sure are glad that we don't live this close to downtown! Yikes.

Rollerblading at Venice Beach

Okay, here is one of the funny stories.

Yesterday, we went to L.A. We started at the Getty Center (the art museum). At around 2:30 or 3 p.m. we headed to Venice Beach. We were pretty surprised—well, not TOO surprised, but sort of—when we got on the freeway and it was stop and go traffic almost the whole way. It was kind of cloudy and very windy, not the ideal day for a beach trip. But we got there and finally found a place to park. (TIP: The public parking places have by-the-hour fees of $1/hour for up to 2 hours, so if that’s all the longer you want to be there, do that instead of the full day for $7.) We had packed a picnic lunch, so we made our sandwiches and had our fruit salad and then we put on our blades (rollerblades, that is) and cruised down the boardwalk. J Well, Michael cruised; I struggled. Luckily, Michael has attributed it to my wheels, so I guess I don’t have to feel like a total moron for breaking a sweat at rollerblading while this old man jogged, barely faster than walking, right past me. Ha! (Okay, just try to visualize this. An average-height, thin elderly guy in neon green track shorts and a sleeveless shirt jogging at 2 MPH, his feet barely moving more than two feet forward at a time. Got the picture? Now picture me leaning forward, grunting, red-faced, sweating, swinging my arms and the whole bit, being passed by that older gentleman. Can we say EMBARRASSING? ‘Cause it was. Also, it was funny. And painful—I have two huge blisters to prove it. Ha!)

Anyway, Venice Beach is…different. There are street vendors and performers everywhere. No one was there for the actual beach; sand was blowing everywhere. There was one sailboat out on the water, a few kids running on the sand, absolutely NO ONE in the water, and tons of people on the boardwalk. Michael thinks he saw a place to get a bong. So, like I said, it was…different.


Goodbye, Venice Beach!

So, can anyone read this stuff? Honestly. I don't get it.

Sunset on Sunset Boulevard

After Venice Beach, we went to Griffith Park and enjoyed the scenery—ha! I mean, the graffiti—on the way. Again. Going. Ten. Miles. Per. Hour. Almost. The. Whole. Way. We got to Griffith Park and drove all the way up the hill to the Observatory, got tickets to the final planetarium show that night at 8:45 (it was about 7:00 at that time), saw the Hollywood sign on the way down the hill, drove down Sunset Boulevard, stopped at a donut shop with a “B” rating (California even gives grades to their restaurants) on the window—NEVER again—turned onto Hollywood Boulevard, didn’t see anything great to eat so we went back to Sunset Boulevard, went to good old Mickey D’s, and headed back up the hill to the Observatory. It’s beautiful up there! AMAZING!! You can see forever, and it’s all city—a lot better than the hill here in Rancho. We went to the planetarium show about how the stars were formed and astronomy, etc. It was pretty cool. We had a good discussion about it all on the way home to stay awake. I ALMOST made it the whole way without falling asleep—but I didn’t. Darn.

Video: Los Angeles from the Griffith Observatory



My classroom wall: The Writing Process. Ain't it great? :)

Here’s another funny story. This week in class, one of my students said, “Mrs. D, you are the cutest teacher at Cajon.”

“Uh, that’s awkward. But thanks?”

Another student: “That’s sexual harassment!”

First student: “No, it’s not!”

Other student: “Yes, it is… Well, actually, it could be. It just depends on how she takes it.”

Me: blushing.

My “kids” crack me up sometimes.



On Friday after school and working out, we went out to dinner at El Torito; we got a coupon in the mail for $10 off your purchase of $30 or more. So, we being the tight-wads we are, planned to spend about 30 bucks and then get the $10 off so really we’d only spend $20, plus a tip, of course. We’d never been to this place before, but we just tried another Mexican restaurant, Chevy’s, and liked it a lot, so we figured maybe we should try this Mexican place out, too. I ordered carne asada and Michael got these milanesa fajitas. They were both DELICIOUS! I mean AMAZING! No, really—these were “Oooh!” and “Aaah!” and “MmmmMMmmMMmm!” dishes! We were ranting and raving about the food the whole way through the meal—and we still are, obviously. With the carne asada, it was like I just wanted to suck on it like candy. Oh man, it was good. I’m excited to tell my students tomorrow that I tried carne asada for the first time, and it was awesome. Anyway, so you know how Red Robin is our stand-by restaurant? I always say it’s my favorite—and I still like it a ton. Michael says, “We would defend it to the end.” Ha! It was funny because I think we have some sort of weird emotional attachment to Red Robin or something, because after dinner as we were driving away, we were still crazy about the food at El Torito, and it was like we both wanted to say it was a new favorite, but we felt like we would be stabbing Red Robin in the back or something. Ha. Our conversation went something like this.

Michael: Oh man. That carne asada was so good!
Anita: Yeah. So were the fajitas. I think I might… (pause… oh no! Am I really going to say this? In a whisper) I think I might like that place better than Red Robin.
Michael (also in a whisper): Me, too! And I’m not a favorite floozy! I don’t take that title (of “favorite”) lightly.
Anita: Oh man. It’s hard to say that. I’ve stuck with Red Robin for so long. I always say it’s my favorite. (Pause for a few moments.) Man, even the aftertaste is good.
Michael: I know. I can’t wait ‘til I burp!
Anita (laughing): Gross!
Michael: They probably have cockroaches.
Anita: Eww.
Micahel: I wouldn’t even care if they had cockroaches—they flavor it perfectly. Estoy muy satisfecho—the perfect definition of satisfecho.

Ha. My favorite line was “I’m not a favorite floozy.” We got to WINCO and I thought the whole conversation was so funny, I started writing down all the funniest lines. It makes me laugh that we are so attached to “our” restaurant that we feel badly for liking another one more. What is wrong with us?! (That is a rhetorical question; no response is necessary.)