absolut olivier
I took this photo about one year ago in Mexico.
10.08.2008
9.30.2008
9.29.2008
9.22.2008
8.18.2008
6.07.2008
swing of things
Yesterday was the end of the first week at the new job. Leaving City Hall on my first Friday and making my way through the maze of hallways and back entrances - I quickly made my way to the Civic Center Metro stop, intent on meeting Alex and Sylvia at Fat Fish in K-Town, and tired from walking in overpriced outlet Ferragamos. Crossing Main Street, I quickly realized that I wasn't exactly sure where the metro stop was. "Perdon," I asked this woman, who I sized up to be a transit user, from the hanging wallet on a strap that was hanging from her neck, and mini lunch cooler in tow. She turned around and looked at me. "Where is the nearest metro station?" I said, quickly shifting my language to English, not wanting to assume/offend her for thinking that she didn't speak English. "Second and Grand," she casually spoke with a soft accent of a Spanish speaker who had been speaking English for the past 30 years. I thanked her with a slight up and down nod, not too different from a bow that I would give my exgirlfriends Korean parents, and strided towards my new destination. I exited Vermont and Wilshire, experiencing the TOD recently built within the past year as a way to increase density and ridership along tranit routes. Unfortunatley, a quick glance left much to be desired. Perhaps not enough seating area - maybe a water fountain would have worked - maybe not enough cafes. I noticed two miserable benches that were fixed - unable to provide choice and flexibility in where people gathered. Oh well, I thought. Fat Fish Sushi was my priority. Again, I asked for directions. This time, in Spanish, and definitely because this woman looked more Latina, indigenous even. "Quieres ir al West," she told me. She was right I was looking for West Sixth Street. I took off, passing the bacon wrapped hot dog vendor, zipping down Wilshire, right on New Hampshire and left on Sixth Street. Alex had said that it was right next to Pink Berry. Of course. I passed Berendo and then this great Old Fashioned Hamburger Sign and storefront. Closed. It was one of those places that you could imagine foodies writing about on food blogs. Shit, I wanted to discover this place and tell all my friends about it. Out foodie those of my friends not that into hunting for new places, like I tend to do. Oh well. Fat Fish. Sylvia and Alex were seated at the bar staring at the tiny plates of sushi on the conveyor belt, and trying to hold off their appetites. Sylvia couldn't. As I walked up she was biting into a spicy tuna avocado dish. Perfect. 2 hours later, 40 tiny sushi plates, and 3 empty tea cups of beer, we took off back to echo park, to lay like the fat fish that we now were on the couch and not so casually be amazed by Cesar Millan as he trained humans and counciled dogs.
5.22.2008
Being Away
So, being away means, really being away. At least, thats how I think people really see it. Living abroad for 10 months really made me understand what being away means. Being away means not being able to run home real quick for some of my mom's cooking, or to catch a movie with my dad. Being away means not being able to eat a nacho bellgrande from taco bell. Being away means not being totally familiar with everything. Being away has meant missing your friends and missing everything you are used to doing.
So, here's the other thing about being away. Not only are you away in terms of what you experience, but you're away in terms of the way that people experience your friendship and love. Once you're home, you're accessible again, you are less scarce. There is the availability of you. YOu are less in demand, because you are closer. So now, being in LA, rather than in Mexico, makes me less scarce than X's friend who lives in Santa Barbara. Thanks. I feel better.
So, I decided to go away, because being back in Los Angeles means that I am missed and desired in mexico city. Here I come guys. your desires will last a week. trust me. i know.
4.22.2008
4.17.2008
Almost Gone
So, Im almost out of Mexico City for good. I´ve been here for almost 10 months, not counting the trips that I´ve taken to go back home, and out to the East Coast. 10 months is a long time. But short as well.
You´re reminded how long, when that Mexico City sewage smells hits you.
When you get tired of tacos - too long.
When, you´ve been here long enough to experience a no smoking in doors rule go into effect.
When you start complaining about tipping 10%.
When you start haggling old ladies at the fruit market to save 50 cents.
When you get too lazy to buy $1 bootleg DVDs.
Ten months is too long when a friend of yours tells you they got robbed by a guy on a motorcycle.
10 months is too long when you can´t wait to get out of the fuckin city. Anywhere. Just out.
On the other hand. It can be to soon. The ten months seem to have flown by when you consider things like:
Never having gone to eat at the best restaurant in the City. Damn.
Its too short when you haven´t had enough time to get back into tacos.
Its too short when you haven´t been able to win your rec league champíonship.
Its too soon to go home when you´re leaving people you really care about.
Its too soon to go home when you have to move back in with your parents.
Its too soon to leave Mexico when you havent had the chance to travel everywhere. I still need Chiapas, Puerto Escondido, more beaches, more people, more experiences. Too soon.
At the end of the day though. Sometimes its time to go. Be it too soon, or about time, sometimes its not up to you. Play the cards your dealt.
So, at least I´ll be home, eating moms cooking, having good beer with friends, breathing less smelly air, playing in a new league, and having conversations with people who can relate once again. My friends.
Peace Mexico. About time. Too soon.
PS. My girlfriend was in her second bus accident of the week. A fellow passenger fell out of the bus while hanging in the door. Definitely time to go home. Fuck unsafe transportation in this City.
4.08.2008
4.05.2008
3.03.2008
old vs. new
Metrobus Line. Organized. Bus Rapid Transit. Standards. Efficient
Pesero. Dangerous. Polluters. Add to traffic. Poor standards.
Inside View of a Pesero Bus. Bucket of water next to battery? WTF?
Lastly, in peseros, drivers handle the money and drive, at the same time. This is so dangerous. Drivers of Metrobus don't handle money, because fare is prepaid like in metro systyems.
2.29.2008
2.28.2008
2.27.2008
2.26.2008
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