Southern CaliforniaOn a wonderful middle-of-the-week venture, KT and I struck out for the Southern California Coast. Ventura, specifically, the home of (my cousin) Wally and (his wife) Heather Baker, and then Redondo Beach, where Katie's friend Julie (from Tanzania) lives with her husband (Jens) and new born baby (Katie). The visits to both friends were wonderful, but we were also fascinated by L.A.
We drove down I-5, the Magical Artery of Industrial Agriculture, where we saw irrigation canals the size of major rivers, feedlots where cows, packed in to dismal bare-ground pens stretch to the horizon, oil rigs amongst the grapes, and thankfully, a slew of windmills. Closer to Ventura we saw strawberry pickers, the same poor workers that people demonize as illegal immigrants. Katie though she recalled that her dad used to get paid by the flat when he picked strawberries in Walla Walla. These strawberry pickers probably do, too, because they were running.
We also saw a broccoli field that was abuzz with the activity of a full production chain. There were people picking the broccoli, and boxing it. Each box was then put in a crate, the crates were stacked into a 10 by 10 by 10 foot lot, then each lot was wrapped in plastic. Then each plastic-wrapped lot was then lifted by a heavy-duty tracked bulldozer forklift and carried to the waiting tractor trailers. The entire process, right before our eyes. It was something amazing to behold.
From Ventura, which has a year-round lovely climate of about 65, we drove south toward Redondo Beach. We passed "Malibu" and "Santa Monica," places whose names must be put in quotation marks due to their mythic nature. It turns out they aren't all that special, though. Malibu was kind of run down. Some neat houses, but a generally sloppy, poorly laid out town, with surfers. Santa Monica, from what I can tell, is just famous by chance.
LA is ugly. Small houses packed close together, concrete everywhere, but despite the hideous facade, we were still enthralled, if only for a while, by the diversity that it sports. We were boggled by the mix of wealth and poverty. Such a mix I had not encountered in the US before. A far cry from the highly segregated blocks of Philadelphia, for instance. The fact of this mix puzzled us for the rest of our trip, as we searched for explanations. Perhaps it is the proximity to Mexico, that habituates people to massive wealth differences, or perhaps it's because the landscape is so ugly to begin with. Scrawny hills are patchily covered by a few hardy shrubs. It's a harsh environment, naturally, and it shows. Maybe that's why rich people don't mind if their neighbors are disheveled, because the landscape always is. Or perhaps it's because there is no old architecture, and the distinction between old and new money has not solidified. We never really sorted it out, which is part of why another trip would be enlightening.
Venice BeachThe first truly "LA" experience we had was in Venice Beach - a blossoming strip of exhibitionism. The turn out was impressive for a Wednesday morning in early April. We saw a man strutting proudly in a leopard print thong, a municipal body-building club, and ferraris and lamborghinis were relatively common. Neither the large sandy beaches, nor the ocean itself were the focus, but the sidewalk strip, where all the displays occur. Sometimes it's hard to tell if people are performing, or if they are just crazy, or on drugs. But those distinctions blend together so quickly that we realized it didn't matter. There were also lots of bong shops selling nothing but "vaporizers." I rather liked the bicycles we saw, especially the low-slung three wheeled sport bikes, and a crazy man with a huge parrot ("Turquoise Macaw"). My personal highlight of Venice beach was my experience in the public men's restroom. I went in looking for a toilet, and found a few in alcoves built intentionally with no doors. Scanning for one with a little cover I happened upon a pair of homeless guys who'd taken over a shower stall, and set up a comfortable, if messy, living room. They had a VCR and a TV and were watching a movie. I greeted them, and they me. Then I used a toilet without a door watching men go by in front of me. As it turns out, it was a perfect introduction to LA. Right outside of this bathroom I asked a young man if I could take a picture of his chest-wide tattoo that said, among other things "LA" in big bold letters. He agreed, as long as I didn't include his face. I obliged.
Next was HollywoodHollywood can be typified by the lunch that I ate on Hollywood Boulevard. It was a BLT, complete with a complementary side of macaroni salad and two hot peppers from a sushi joint that was playing Cher on a massive flat-screen TV. Hollywood was also less glamorous than we'd expected, despite the stars on the sidewalk. Lots of smoke and tatto shops, plenty of skank and surprisingly little gleam. Granted there was a movie theatre that appeared to be a highly accurate reconstruction of a medieval Mongolian fortress, and a couple of huge sphinx-like gates adorning another, but there was also lots of normal stuff. At one point Katie pointed up and said "is that the sun?" What a silly question I thought, and looked to where she was pointing. But then I saw it, a fuzzy, blurry, slightly brighter area of the sky, and wondered if indeed it was the sun. We scanned the sky for other such bright spots and determined that indeed it must be. That was a first. Then we saw a man drive by with a cat on this dashboard. "Okay," I thought "I get it. You can get away with all sorts of random shit here."
As we drove back north on I-5, trying to make sense of our last few days, we came to a bit of clarity. We knew we'd learned something. Even if we can't explain why, having been to LA, it is much easier to understand why Arnold Schwarzenegger is the Governor of California.
The Replete Monker
The Hungry Monker
Early this morning reporters were called to the scene when a young couple in Martinez, California, discovered that a tumorous growth developing on the woman's stomach was actually moving.
Interestingly these hills are rather gorgeous. Although no other alien growths have been reported from the area, some wonder if such a prolonged exposure to the outdoors might be the cause of this awful condition. 
Still others speculate that the mad scientist himself is to blame. Perhaps the lump is a result of more complex, and dangerous experiments that he has undertaken on his own wife.
The Babento has more than doubled in size since the end of March!
The two of us outside of our front door. People who haven't seen our glorified studio ask if we've prepared the baby's room yet. People who have seen the apartment ask if we've cleared out a drawer for the baby to sleep in.
Side by side one in front of the other. We knew from experience that the kid is a dancer, but this must clearly be part of its moves. A shuffle. At least that's a more fun-sounding interpretation compared with the alternative: the kid was squished with the pressure of the ultrasound wand, which is probably more likely.
You can see the little hand in front of the face, there. I'm not sure if this was the time, but we actually witnessed the tiny person open their jaw, bring the hand up, and close the jaw again a bit. A thumb-sucking at only 18 weeks!
This is just a neat slice because it shows a very adult-like gesture, the whole shoulder and arm together. You can imagine that the little one is pissed from the recent lack of space, and is actively pushing back. Indeed it seems to be.
My absolute favorite! Look at that evil little thing! What little devil-creature! So naughty! A little conniver. You see the ribcage below, and shoulder bones? Just before this picture was taken, the wee one had it' hands in front of its face, after which it moved them to either side, in what appeared to be a peak-a-boo game. Terrific. I'm happy to announce that in utero our child looks like either a velociraptor or a baby Darth Vader.
Katie and I are of two minds on what this picture looks like. Katie says "It's the Angel Baber," but I think it looks like Homer Simpson. What to say, our child is not just Darth Vader, but also a small Homer Simpson. What a proud heritage!
Yes, here we come down to the naked, if blurry, truth. We've got a child, and that child has a sex, as evidenced in this picture. Katie and I were equally happy for either, and to be honest, it doesn't really matter much, we're more than happy to just have a healthy child. (More results coming, so send good energy!) So, back to gender. See if you can figure out what it is. Can you see the rib cage on the left? On either side of the rib cage are two knees, connected to two shins, which pass down to a couple of little feetsies. In the middle of all that gargantuan cuteness, is the evidence. A little point. According to our technician lady, that's definitive - we've got a little boy. This is a relief, (not that it's a boy) but that it's one or the other, because now our name choosing task is half of what it used to be.
