annals of canals and strangers

I canal-walked yesterday. The canals, though gondola-free and smaller than those of the real life Venice, Italy, are peaceful and quiet in this California winter season. The sidewalk is flanked on one side by still, somewhat murky water and on the other by fences and flora. Lone row boats float unmoving, tied to little handmade docks that tilt slightly to one side or the other. The male ducks fight for the females and the birds stand like statues until they are spooked by an unleashed pug scampering along with a high-pitched yap. If anything about these simple streams could be considered striking, it is their distinct contrast to the ocean. Quiet, controlled, murky, and still, while even on the most still of days just blocks away the ocean roars against the shore with crashing waves. The canals reveal the pebbles on their floor while the ocean keeps its creatures secret. In one I see serenity and simplicity. In the other I see intimidating vastness and excitement.


The people here remind me of Minnesotans in their attitude (very nice until they enter a vehicle and start to drive), but unlike the stolid Midwesterners I know and love and am, they continually confront me. Apparently, my dislike for humankind does not come across when I am wearing shorts in February. I have met two fascinating men and conversed with several other interesting people. The first I encountered while waiting at a bus stop. William is an office worker who moved to LA from North Carolina. He enjoys playing paddle tennis, biking, and "smoking a bowl." He got very excited about discussing American literature with a recent BA in English grad, and kept saying "Way cool, man. Way cool." I considered offering to buy him some Doritos.

The second man I met this morning at the Cow's End, my daily (as of yesterday and today) morning coffee stop. Seeing no available outside seats, I sat with my latte and granola on a makeshift wooden box. Right when I was settled in, a nice man in a black baseball hat told me to come sit across from him. Eric is a surfer who recently bought a skateboard, and works in development and sales. He is helping his friend Aloric start a business selling Brazilian fruit in LA. His life philosophy is that we all need to get back to our nomadic values. "Eat, sleep, and breathe," he kept saying. "That's all we truly need. But," he added as he gestured at the array of coffee cups and plates that he and his kids had used, "it adds up fast. We take advantage of what we can have and forget what we really need." I met his teenage daughter, Ocean, and realized I wanted to name my child Ocean, though I am fairly certain it would be more appropriate to name her Lake or Puddle. I also met his second grade son. His name is Esa, which Eric informed me later means Jesus. "It's better than naming your kid Jesus, ya know." The three of us took a walk down to the pier, met a man who teaches kids about the ocean every Sunday, peered at a squid, talked about what is really important in life (raising your kids to love and be kind), and then went on our separate ways. I wish I had a picture.

Two good days or running, walking, biking, shopping, and relaxing. Tomorrow? To the Getty!