Animal Cruelty?

I just moved to a new place, and my new housemates have a few family members (cats and birds) that have their quirks. The finches usually wake up around 6:30 and starts chirping. It works during the weekdays when I have to be up at that hour, but on the weekends like today, it's not the most convenient. This morning, they were chirping a little bit more than usual, so I got up to see what the ruckus was about. Here is what I witnessed.

Hybrid vs. No Hybrid

I've been mulling over replacing my car for quite a while now. Serving for many years since 1997, my Honda Civic is still chugging forward despite showing some signs of aging. For a 10-year old car, it has held up pretty well. But I do think every now and then about getting something shinier and prettier.

Which is how I have come to eye the Toyota Prius. Yes, it makes a case for greenwashing the product to the point where it hides its environmental impact. At the end of its useful life, I doubt that the batteries can be recycled as well as metal can be. Then again, will the reduced consumption of gas over its lifetime offset the impact at the end? And will the product enjoy the longevity of a car that is far less complex? One of my coworkers had the 2000 Toyota Prius, and it died on her this past week. The repair cost: $8,000. A normal gas-powered vehicle would not go kaput after only 7 years in service, and even then the repair bill should not exceed the residual value of the car. Granted, the hybrid technology was still in its nascency back in 2000, and it is unfair to compare a brand new technology to an older one that has been improved upon for decades. Nonetheless, I wonder if I should just lease a hybrid for the sake of longevity.

Without a doubt, I'll be tossing and turning over this issue for another year. I may go and put myself on the waiting list for a new Honda Fit, slated to debut Stateside in fall 2008. Until then, my 1997 Honda Civic will still be moving along, albeit at a snail's pace.

Responsible Creativity

Corporate responsibility is back on the boardroom table for many companies, especially for those where public perception impacts the bottom line. Car makers, big-box retailers, and energy companies come to mind as those who fret about consumers' opinion of environmental and social responsibility. As a consequence of the latest trend to be a model corporate citizen, some companies have become greenwashed. As in, faking responsible practices for the sake of image.

The company I work for has recently announced 10 initiatives that are meant to establish the company as one of the most creative in the world by 2010. Admittedly, the objective is lofty and grandiose. However, one of the initiative has to do with improving social and environmental practices. The company has asked for volunteers at each of the locations around the world to take part in the 10 initiatives, and I think I know which one I would like to have a part in.

I'm hoping that this is not an empty promise, and I would like to see some or all of the objectives come to fruition in the next 2 years. In terms of the general goal of becoming the most creative company, I think it is doing pretty well. The company was just recognized as the most awarded agency in the world for 2007 by the Gunn Report. None too shabby.

Halloween Weekend

This past weekend was spent in Portland, my old haunt. The time was well spent from catching up with good friends. Part of the highlight, though, was the pumpkin carving. Unfortunately the store was out of medium-sized ones, but I found one that was just right. Richard got the white one with some pumpkin acne going on, but he made those weird patches into bullets. I, on the other hand, went a little bit more Internet-related.

Plastic Bags are Evil

Everyone's favorite Scandinavian furniture store has made some interesting changes in the past year to two that makes a Granola's heart flutter. Instead of piling goods into a gigantic plastic bag, Ikea started to charge money for the bags to discourage consumers from wasting bags. Genius. In fact, I've seen grocery stores in Europe that have the same practice.

I mentioned about a month ago that I've been looking for reusable grocery bags, and I think I've found them. Once I make the purchase, I'll report back on how they hold up. In the meantime, I'll continue to be the weirdo that brings back old bags from the grocery stores. I typically reuse the same bag 3-4 times from Whole Foods, and maybe about 10 times for the paper bags from Trader Joe's.

Now I need to get a coffee mug to stop using those paper cups I use at work. I've been reducing my green karma points lately, thanks to my recent tea-drinking habit. Oh forgive me... I swear I'll go get a fashionable mug that I can reuse and display on my desk.

Photo credit: Flickr Creative Commons

Update: Patched Tire

So the patch job is a good temporary fix. But I found out this morning that the patched tube will only hold air for about 48 hours. I'm not sure if my patching technique was bad, but at least I know now that I'll be able to get back home if I get a flat tire. Changing out the tube was much faster than patching, so I may just carry two tubes from now on.

Can you imagine roadside assistance for bikes? I think that'll be a great service in a city that has enough bike riders. Hmm, food for thought.

First Time Flat Fix

Flat tires are inevitable in the life of a bike commuter. If you haven't pissed off the higher powers recently, you will be lucky enough to have the flat close to home. That was my case today, as I noticed a piece of rock lodged in my front tire when I got through the front door. When I picked it off, my tire hissed in protest, going from 100-ish psi to zero in less than a minute. Since I had been a wimp so far and had the bike shop fix my flats, I decided to orient myself in fixing a flat with a patch kit. I conceptually knew how to fix a flat, but had never done it before. Until now.

Thankfully, I had all the doohickey I needed for the job. Two tire levers, one patch kit, and a floor pump. I Googled how to fix a flat, quickly gave myself a crash course, took a swig from my bike water bottle (filled with water, of course), and proceeded with the project.

Aside from a few minor hiccups, I think it went well. The tire wasn't fully inflating at the first go, but then I realized that the nozzle of the pump wasn't fully seated. After feeling like a bit of a 'tard for a moment, I continued pumping tup to 100 psi. We'll see tomorrow if this patch job worked. The worst that will happen is that I'll have another flat. It's not like I'll have a massive Ford Explorer-style blowout.

Inadvertent Stalking

The moment was bound to happen. His office is near the Trader Joe's I shop at, and I go grocery shopping around the time he gets off work. We went on a few dates, but we were not really a match and things fizzed out between us like the bazillion Diet Cokes he would drink through the course of his day. I was pulling out of the garage of TJ and I saw him in his car exiting at the same time. I didn't really follow him because he was going in the same direction. Where he was going was not my concern, but then when I was about to make a turn to Venice Blvd., I saw that he made a pit-stop at Wendy's. I teased him often for having such a bad diet. He must've eaten there at least 2-3 times a week for dinner because he claimed to be too tired to cook when he got home. Hell, I don't really cook when I get home but I don't do fast food for dinner.

Seeing him at the Wendy's takeout window made me wonder: why was I so into him? And on the flip side, I'm not sure why he went out with me as many times as we did. I wasn't what he was looking for, and neither was he for me (though it was later that I realized this).

I do not have bad feelings for him, and I do hope that he will mend his Super Size Me ways before he actually becomes Super Sized. I already saw a little more flesh than is normally allowed for a healthy BMI.

For my own personal benefit, I made a mental note to be mindful of when someone might be watching me from the shadows. Better not be picking my nose when that happens.

Lemon Cookie: Nice N' Easy and Tasty

Cookie exchanges conjure up images of middle-aged women in the office trying to show off their wares. Tupperwares, that is. They compliment each other and ask for recipes, even though they may secretly despise each other and talk shit around the corner in the office kitchen. My company had one today, and while I cannot venture any guesses as to what sort of alliances there are between the women in our group, I had fun. Being the atypical company, the cookie exchange was combined with Happy Hour. While there was plenty of milk to be enjoyed with cookies, there were also White Russians and shots of Buttery Nipples available. Nothing quite like getting buzzed while eating cookies. I've never experienced such a sugar high, which might explain how the bike ride home was somewhat faster than normal.

I found recipes for Lemon Cookies on allrecipes.com, and once I saw "Easy" in the headline, I was sold. Because it is a cake mix cookie, almost everything that goes into the cookie comes in a box. All I had to do was crack some eggs, pour some vegetable oil, and squeeze lemon juice. The recipe calls for lemon essence, but none was available at the store. Being the procrastinator that I am, I went grocery shopping way too late to hit multiple locations in search of lemon essence, so I improvised by using lemon rinds and juice. While it worked in a pinch, I don't think the cookies were lemony enough. Regardless, I received lots of compliment from the crowd. I think I was one of two guys who baked. The other guy claims to be straight, but I have my doubts.

Perhaps I will make them again when the occasion calls for it.

Photo credit: Allrecipes.com

Adopted

I went to a lovely birthday party in downtown this past Sunday, celebrating the big 7-0 for Mrs. C. What baffles me is that she looks nothing like her age, and I'm convinced that she is lying about her age (though typically people lie to be younger, not older). If I look half as good as she does at 70, then everything will be splendid. Even cuter was when she danced with Mr. C. As jaded as I am, seeing those two shake their thang made me rethink the definition of longevity and happiness. On top of all the festivities, I was unofficially adopted by Mrs. C into the C clan, which to a lonely soul in a big city is a gift that is hard to match. The holidays are not particularly fun for me, as my family does not celebrate them. Hence, being accepted into a family that knows how to party is a big blessing. The party on Sunday was so loud that people who had rented the adjacent hall at the hotel was complaining. Somewhat ironic is that the people next door were bunch of old Japanese men. My peeps are so boring and sedated.

On a side note, I was mesmerized by one woman who had the most outrageous sense of style at the party. Her gold-painted 3-inch nails captured my eyes, along with her gigantic Louis Vuitton bag. Her hair was did with a hair product that will not move even while standing fabulously amidst the eye of a hurricane. I desperately need a product like that. If I could've taken a picture with her, I would've done it faster than one could say "I'll show you attitude!" Snap SNAP! Oh Miss Beauty Shop, please take me as your style disciple.

And then there was the cake. Mmm, delicious cake. I was all over that Strawberry goodness until I felt sick in my stomach. Once my stomach was better, I broke into the piece I took home, and felt sick all over again. Had I taken the sheet home, I would've consumed it until I passed out.

Post-Ride Report

3 hours and 10 minutes.  Not too bad for someone to complete a 50 mile bike ride who hasn't trained at all for it and recovering from a bad fall 2 weeks ago.

The ride started with a few thousand people trying to squeeze through the start point in Rosarito.  I've never seen so many people with bikes.  It almost reminded me of Critical Mass, multiplied by 100.  Once we got through the stragglers, my group split up.  Tammy forgot her cycling shoes, so she was in the back.  Evan was on his "antique" Bianchi, which has been affectionately named Black Angus (by yours truly) for its all-steel brute heft.  If he managed to finish riding that behemoth faster than Marty, he's got legs.  I stuck with Marty and his Cannondale CAAD3, though he probably had the advantage of having longer legs.

The bike route was lined by people cheering and gawking. Traffic came to a dead halt around the start point, where they blocked off roads for the cyclists. Kudos to Rosarito and Ensenada for being supportive of such a ride, because I'm sure some people in cars wanted to mow us down. Kids lining the route extended out their hands, either to ask for candy or to get a high five from passing bikers. Some of them were bold and asked for money. The men on the side looked at all of us as though we were crazy for spending our weekend on our bikes to go 50 miles.

I was in a pretty good shape until half way through the course. The chart below depicts the beast in the middle that taught me a lesson in torture.  After the long hill, my legs were shot.  Since the crash 2 weeks ago, my legs have been cramping under heavy load.  My guess is that it hasn't been stretched enough and I've lost flexibility during the last 2 weeks while I was recovering. The hills weren't too bad until I was 3/4 of the way through the big incline. When I tried to pedal hard and got up from my seating position, my thighs felt a sharp muscle pain. I backed off immediately but still kept pedaling and switched to the granny gear.



The pain was forgotten when I reached the downhill. All the torture coming up the incline paid off marvelously, as we all went down at a thrilling 45 mph. Unfortunately, I didn't have the mass to accelerate down the hill. So all the fatties that I passed on the way up were zooming past me on the way down. Rest of the ride was supposed to be easy, but I struggled to the finish line because my of my leg cramps and loss of energy. After chomping furiously on an energy bar, I was able to hobble to the finish.

Once I crossed the line, I had to stand still for almost a minute to be able to walk. Even Pinocchio with his wooden leg could've walked more fluidly than me at that point. With no flexibility, I was able to walk like C3PO to find Marty, who had passed me 2 miles before the finish line. Both of us were somewhat relieved that neither of us would have to shave our legs, as we had betted that the last person to cross the finish line would say goodbye to shaggy legs. Just so it happens, the last person in our group was Tammy, so it wasn't really that big of a bet.

As painful as it was towards the end, the ride was fun overall. Even though I probably would've been able to finish the ride with less pain had I taken a long break in the middle, I felt accomplished. The lesson was learned and will be applied for the next ride. Maybe I'll have a new bike by then. There's a carbon frame out there with my name (and money) written on it.

Not Speedy Gonzalez

My sick fascination with pain is being put to the test on Saturday.  Not even 2 weeks since my spill on the bike path, I will be joining my friends to do a 50-mile ride in Mexico.  The ride starts off in Rosarito and ends in Ensenada.  Rosarito seems to be another name for Tijuana, which I'm not sure they did it intentionally.  Perhaps "Tijuana to Ensenada" doesn't quite have the same cachet.  Regardless, the event is touted as a "Fun Ride," so while there are avid cyclists who will be in it, the course is meant to accommodate the casual and recreational riders as well.

To be honest, this ride would've been pretty easy had I not been injured.  I'm about 75-80% recovered, but I will have to take it easy for most of the ride.  Despite the challenges, I am looking forward to it and I'm thinking that this could be something to get me into thinking about doing a century ride some time next year.  But maybe I'll upgrade my bike before starting training for a century.  Anyone feel particularly magnanimous to buy me a Bianchi or a Cannondale?

Cars: Objects imitating life

The health impact of obesity is so obvious that it really doesn't require any discussion.  But what really irks me is how it is affecting sizes of an average vehicle on the market in the United States.  The new Honda Accord is now a large full-size vehicle, which casts an obscenely huge shadow on its smaller predecessors.  The current Honda Civic is bigger than the first-generation Accord.  Sadly, the trend is seen in many cars and trucks, with each new generation putting on the pounds and inches like Anna Nicole Smith, circa 1994 to 2003 (may she rest in peace).  I hope that car manufacturers will put some sort of a brake on the ballooning of cars between model changes.  Bigger cars are hardly in vogue now, and keeping them at their current size seems perfectly fine.  Even more of a revolutionary thought is to downsize cars.  Mazda did so with their new 2, which is unfortunately not available this side of the pond.

American consumers also need to realize that maybe 3rd-row seating in an SUV is not necessary to haul around family and friends once every couple of months.  Rent a fucking SUV or sign up for a car-sharing service that will give you the options of driving something more substantial on that occasional basis.  If all you need is something for a commute, buy a subcompact.  For the love of everything green and righteous, just don't buy into that Hummer H2. 

Recovery Update: Open Wounds Suck

Today is 7 days post-accident.  While my physical recuperation is progressing, I found out that open wounds take far longer to heal than a mere week.  I switched from wound dressing to regular bandage yesterday.  The wound appeared to be okay, but today I found weird stains popping up on my jeans in the right knee area.  At first I thought I spilled something, but then I realized that the stain's source was inside my jeans.  Sure enough, there was drainage from my Band-Aid.  LOVELY.

I didn't have any spare bandage with me, so for the rest of the day I was relegated to leaving my jeans in a biohazard state.  All I hoped was that people would think I spilled cranberry juice on my knee.  Good thing the company that took us out to lunch today only saw me from the knee up.  Otherwise it would've been pretty embarrassing.  "Oh that?  It's just a little spotting.  You know, THAT time of the month."  MmmmHmm...

I'm also having a hard time scrubbing off the adhesives from the tape I used over the last week to hold together the wound dressing.  So all those fuzzies you see on the photo above are not dust bunnies that decided to make themselves home on my leg.  Also, those bandages are only a placeholder until I can find something more substantial.  I'm guessing that these small bandages will only be able to absorb 2 hours' worth of drainage.  The pads on the bandage are barely covering the wounds.

"This Might Hurt"

Karma must be one helluva bitch.  Here I am trying to be health-conscious and environmentally-aware by biking to work, and I crash on my bike.  On my way home last Wednesday, I rode through a swarm of insects that covered my face and shirt.  As I tried to swat them off of me, I hit an uneven patch on the road, lost control, and hit my right shoulder directly on a pole lining the bike path.  My knee hit the bottom part of the pole, along with the cable tied between adjacent poles.  There was a dime-sized patch on my knee where the top layer of skin was sheared off, along with a small gash.  Four more small patches on my shoulder are also without skin, and most of it turned into a lovely shade of blue, red, and purple.

Instead of asking for help, I picked up my tattered self, shook the remaining bugs off of my shirt, and rode 2 miles back to my house.  Blood streamed down my leg, abrasions covered my right arm, and dull pain spread across my right shoulder.  Initial assessment of the damages didn't seem that bad, but the pain got worse to the point of tears.  I got a ride to the ER, and spent the rest of the evening in pain.  Thankfully, the physicians found no dislocation or fracture.

My bike survived for the most part.  The wheels might need to be trued, but otherwise just small scratches.  Thank goodness, because I will be going to Mexico this next weekend for a 50-mile bike ride.  Let's hope the gigantic bruise on my butt is going to heal by then.  The bruise back there is entirely black.  Not a shade of gray or blue, but black.  I'd take a photo of it, but then I think that is outside the bounds of decency.

Will this experience prevent me from biking to work?  Probably not, as I'm debating whether I will get back on the saddle tomorrow or Tuesday.  We'll see how my ass feels in the morning.

What Horrible Traffic?

My coworkers have been complaining nonstop about how bad traffic has been over the past few weeks, thanks largely to LAUSD.  Boys and girls of LA county in K - 12 are back in classrooms, unless you happen to be in one of those rougher neighborhoods, then it's more likely to be K - 8.  Regardless, parents across the urban wasteland are busy shuttling their kids between the hours of 7 and 9 a.m.  I noticed that school buses are a rare occurrence in LA, probably because there is no tax money to support it.  This means parents are shoving their kids off their moving vehicles in front of schools and race to the office.  Somehow, every parent loses their collective minds and their ability to drive, creating mass chaos across Southern California.

How does this affect me?  Not a smidge, and it tickles me to say that.  My commute still takes only 30 minutes, and burning a little over 220 calories.  Aside from the cars stopped in traffic on Venice Blvd, I'm cruising at a lovely 15 mph to work.  Which, ironically, is what most cars in LA average during commuting hours. 

Just to make my commute to work a little more entertaining, I'm thinking about buying the iHome Cycler iPod speakers.  I'm sure people stuck in traffic will wonder where that trance/house music is coming from.

Website to Scare Yourself Sh*tless

LAPD has fueled my paranoia for the day.  I have been looking for an apartment recently (more blog posts to come on that topic), and I have been randomly checking up on neighborhoods that I'm interested in setting up an abode.  Because I tend to be thorough in my research, I found a crime map from LAPD.  After mapping an address of an apartment I'm checking out tomorrow, I'm rethinking the desirability of this location.  I guess when the person posted "Miracle Mile," I think he meant "Miracle Mile adjacent."  That's like saying "Beverly Hills adjacent" to mask that it's in Palms.  False advertising much?  Let's be honest, people.  I don't want to end up a blipping cyan/blue dot on the COMPSTAT map (which I think is for violent homicide).

The Dan Band

I've had quite a musical week, and tonight's outing put an interesting finish to it. Holy goodness, Dan is a crooner if I've ever seen one.  The Dan Band makes a name for itself by doing cover of songs that are originally performed by women.  If you hear them sober, maybe they're not quite as amusing.  Drink some Absolut Mandarin with Cranberry juice, and they become downright entertaining.  Hell, I was screaming "I love you DAN!!!" from the top balcony before I was finished with the second glass of spiked juice.  This was when it dawned on me that they should sell Absolut Mandarin with Cranberry juice in one of those juice boxes that I had as a child.  How wonderful would it be to throw one into the lunch box for a mid-morning break?  My personal favorite song from this evening goes to "I'm a Slave 4U."  Whether or not I like it because Britney is such a mess, I'm not certain.  One of the backup singer was pretty cute though.  

On another musical note, my company hosted Calvin Harris for a small show in our building yesterday.  KCRW was playing one of his songs the other day, and I've also uploaded a few tracks on my iPod.  He sounded decent live, but he sounds better in his album.  Some artists are great in the studio, and even greater live (see last post about El Ten Eleven), but Calvin Harris was not quite satisfying to listen to in-person.  Perhaps it was because the office wasn't jam-packed with fans, but a good entertainer can still get the crowd going with his stellar character.  Maybe he did better tonight at his performance at The Echo.  Regardless, "Merrymaking at my Place," "Vegas," and "Acceptable in the 80's" are notable highlights from his most recent album.  Granola approves.

I "Heart" El Ten Eleven

Kristian Dunn and Tim Fogarty rocked my evening tonight. The LA duo has released their second album this summer, and I've checked out their show a few times since May. After hearing one of their tracks on a podcast I listen to, I was hooked. Spin refers to them as a Silverlake-style Sigur Ros, which is a pretty apt description. Some artists tend to change their style so drastically that I do not tend to like their follow-up album, but Every Direction Is North did not fail to impress me after their self-titled debut album.

Their music is excellent, but it goes without saying that I also find them irresistibly cute. I'm torn between who I like better; Kristian or Tim? Tim the drummer is nothing short of amazing with those drumsticks, and he has the boy next door look that is worth seeing on a Tuesday night. And then there is Kristian, with his guitar/base doubleneck. Don't get me started on his lovely arms.

Perhaps the above makes me sound like a groupie, and I will gladly admit to that. I do not tend to be loyal to very many bands, but El Ten Eleven is just one of those that makes it worthwhile to go out on a weekday evening.

Some favorite tracks from their latest album are: Hot Cakes, Estrella, Keep, and Living On Credit Blues. But in all honesty, I find all of their tracks suitable for a good soundtrack.

Photo credit: omar_chatriwala on Flickr

Maybe Valet Next Time?

Something happened that was almost quintessentially Cher from Clueless: I lost my car in the parking lot of Century City Westfield mall. After deciding to go shopping at 8 p.m. before the mall closes at 9 p.m., I drove in madly to the lot and parked at the first spot I found. Jumped on the escalator and made a bee-line to BR. Got what I wanted, flirted with the shopguy, and headed over to J. Crew for 5 minutes before the mall closed. As I stepped into the parking garage, I inexplicably lost all senses and didn't know where my car was. One row up, not there. One row down, nada. Circle my way around, zilch. Sh*t.

Yes, I have an alarm on my car and I do have a remote. But the battery died on it a week ago, and haven't gotten around to replacing it. So of course I can't use it to locate my damn car. This brought back memories of when I had to look for my car when it got towed away in Northwest Portland.

The gas fumes and the heat inside the garage got to me, and I got slightly dizzy. Just when I was about to go on the second loop around the garage, I was all of a sudden reunited with my car. I was relieved that I didn't have to go seek help from the guards and drive me around in a golf cart. Some day, when I have a disposable income with cash to burn, I will valet. Until then, I will keep fresh batteries in my car alarm remote at all times. After I got back into my car, I remembered the following quote from "Clueless".

Joe: You want to practice parking?
Cher: What's the point? Everywhere you go has valet.

Preach on, Cher. You're my hero.

Admittedly, the true Granola way is to bike to the mall. But when the urge to shop hits, and the mall is only open for another hour, one must break some moral rules to go satisfy the ravenous consumer within.

Fire Hazard PSA

Smokey Bear must've been pissed on Sunday. My friends and I decided on Saturday night that we should get our lazy asses out and go on a hike Sunday morning. Last time my friends and I went on this particular trail, we ran into Mountain Lions. They didn't attack us, but we were couple of yards away from the mother and her cub. Despite my friend's insistence to go closer to see the young mountain lion, we decided to haul our ass away from becoming lion lunch. Hence, we never got very far during our previous attempt. This time around, we encountered a different sort of hazard. The hike was uneventful until we were making our way down. I was cursing the pavement, as it was killing my thighs and butt with each impact.



Just as we made our way down, we were stretching our poor abused legs when I noticed a plume of smoke. All of us were captured in awe by the smoke that we stuck around for much longer than we should've. Once we heard the sirens of approaching fire trucks, it occurred to us that perhaps we should stop being rubberneckers and get moving.



Two hours later, the fire was on the news. Good thing we turned around when we did, or else we might have been in trouble that was just as unpleasant as getting mauled by a mountain lion.

Something tells me that we just have bad karma when it comes to this particular trail. After mountain lions and a wildfire, I'll think twice about returning there. What next? Being struck by lightning? Boulders falling? Ravenous birds carrying West Nile Virus? The possibilities are endless.

I'm a Brand Whore

Move over, Birkin. The "It" bag of the year title now goes to the humble bag designed by Anya Hindmarch and her "I'm Not a Plastic Bag" bag. Patent leather is so last year, honey; now it's all about organic cotton. Time to heal your consumerist guilt by indulging in fair trade and labor! While there is no crime in the bag's intention, I'm in awe of how this bag that costs less than $20 has ignited a whole population to become fake environmentalist. Will the real Granola please stand up? Because I know there are plenty of people that will pay upwards of $60+ for this canvas bag, and yet don't give a second thought to using a plastic bag at the checkout line. And even if they bought this canvas bag, will they actually use it to go fetch groceries? I'm willing to bet that there are people out there who will clobber me with their Prada clutches for even proposing such a blunder against the "It" bag. Such bags are not meant for everyday purposes, even if the bag was designed for it.

To be totally honest, I wanted one of these bags couple of months ago when I first learned about them. Now I'm not sure if carrying this bag has the same impact as it was originally intended. The other day, I was at Trader Joe's with my trusty Timbuk2 bag, and it was far more functional than a hyped-up bag that will never see action in a market other than being a pretty accessory for LiLo or Paris-wannabe.

However, I was thinking about buying a Zabar's canvas bag to show these trendy bitches the true Granola ways. Unfortunately, I'm not in love with Zabar's design, so I might look for a giant tote bag to start my own trend. Just because you're doing something beneficial for the environment, it doesn't mean that you can't be fashionable doing the deed.

Photo credit: www.dailymail.co.uk

LA Highways = Atherosclerosis

One of the most granola thing I do is that I bike to work.  The ride is 7 miles each way, and majority of it is on the Ballona Creek bike path.  Not the most scenic route, but it sure beats going along traffic.  My coworkers are always baffled by my choice of two-wheeled transportation.  To me, I'm more baffled by how they spend more than an hour each way on clogged LA highway traffic just to get to work.  Three coworkers come in from OC, and one commutes from SGV.  I already spent a good couple of months commuting from South Bay to Westwood, which was painful enough.  And I was even carpooling at the time, so imagine how disgruntled I would've been had I commuted solo.

In other parts of the country, people talk about the weather when the conversation runs dry.  In LA, commuting is ice breaker topic-of-choice.  Why?  Because weather is so constant here that you can't possibly talk about the weather for very long before the crickets start to take over.  So my coworkers often talk about the traffic.  "Never take the 110 to the 10."  Or "you'll get there so much faster on the 210."  People seem to talk in code when discussing the labyrinth of LA freeways.  Almost all of my team members have a hybrid with a carpool sticker.  Sad thing is that the carpool lanes are even backed up these days, so it doesn't really help.

City Hall has many problems it needs to deal with in the near term.  However, the whole traffic madness needs some attention from Mr. Villaraigosa.  That is, when he's not too preoccupied with his girlfriend.  In the meantime, I'll continue to bike to work and aim to build my leg muscles.

Photo credit: LA Times

Maiden Post

Endless sprawl, bad traffic, smog, and celeb-wannabes come to mind when speaking of Los Angeles.  While there is much to complain about LA, the city's virtues are not completely lost on yours truly.  After spending a year down here, I feel as though I have gained valuable perspective that I would've missed had I stayed where I was previously.  There have been things that I've seen, read, or heard that I wished I had written down somewhere.  The purpose of this blog is still unclear to me, but I'm hoping that things that are expanding my perspective will be conveyed through the ranting, bitching, and complaining that will occur on this blog.

---

Today's post will be about my thoughts about humane mouse traps.  They are absolutely asinine, because these traps are anything but humane.  When I had to dispose a little furry friend last Friday night, I was left with some undesirable options.  One was to bash it with a broom mercilessly.  This was not so tasteful, as it would've left rather ugly blood smears on the wall that I'd have to clean up after.  Second was to drown it.  But did I really want to hear it gurgling for dear life, its soul fading away in small bubbles?  Not exactly my idea of a fabulous Friday night.  The third options was to double bag the sucker and tally ho out to the garbage can.  I went with the last option.

For the next 24 hours, the mouse sat in a doubled-up plastic bag inside a garbage can, with its head stuck in the trap.  I kept going back to poke at the bag, because I'm a masochist that way, but could never muster the energy to deliver a quick death.  Fortunately, the trap that is now set in the same place is the kind that can kill instantly.  The thing is ferocious looking and it makes me hopeful that it will do the job expeditiously.

As for the goldfish that passed yesterday, I do not know how speedily deliverance came.  I hope Richardson didn't suffer a slow death, though I did change its water 8 hours prior to the time of doom.  Perhaps it didn't sense the physiological changes and went into a coma.  If I had a choice in the matter, I'd like to go quickly.  And if it can't happen quickly, I'd like to be completely clueless that the inevitable is coming by way of a federal government agency.

Speaking about death in my first blog post might not be the most appropriate, but it's the Item of the Day on the menu, and this is how it goes.  Maybe talking about the finish line is a juxtaposition to the start of something new and entertaining.

Edit: The picture above was not taken by me.  It is only for visual purposes only.  In my case, picture a crazed mouse flopping madly to get the trap off its head while sh*tting away.

Photo credit: All4Humor.com