BeachHead

She said: Sometimes when I tell people I have a blog, they think it's a blog about media.  Or something otherwise big and societal.  No, I tell them.  It's a small blog, mostly for friends and family, about the move to California and our lives here.  I might look a little chagrined, and admit to not updating it as frequently as I'd like.  All this is true, and it probably doesn't change with this post.  But I have to make a plug for something I'm working on, and that I care about: Public Insight Journalism.

Over the last few years, Minnesota Public Radio's newsroom has developed this new approach to journalism that uses web-based tools  to interact with its audience and the public...learn what's important to people, what they're thinking about, what they know on various issues, where they have insight and expertise.  People sign up to be in the Public Insight Network and they get to help MPR cover the news by responding to queries.  How cool is that?  I got hired last fall to roll out PIJ to MPR's national shows based in LA: Marketplace, Marketplace Money & Weekend America.  We're definitely still figuring out how best to serve these shows' different styles and needs -- and one of the things I need to do is grow our network all across the country. 

So if you're reading this, check out PIJ.  If you think it's cool to interact more meaningfully with public media, and want what you know -- your insights, your direct experiences -- to inform our coverage, then sign the heck up!  You can find current MPR newsroom queries here, and find queries currently on deck for Marketplace here.

She said:  Eight-lane surface roads... fourteen-lane freeways... fortress-style construction where the grand entrance is through the parking garage and foot traffic enters through a side door... drive-time news that doesn't report on public transit breakdowns, but avidly details Sigalerts... vigilant jaywalk cops and cars that can and will run you down -- it's all part of Los Angeles car culture.  My most recent example: coming to work on the weekend only to discover that not only can I not enter without a parking garage access card, but the only way to leave our courtyard of buildings is through a dingy exit door in the parking garage stairwell.  Making me late for my bus, etc.  Argh.

He said: Since we're on the subject of cats...  We brought the cats to the vet this morning for some urinalysis.  That concluded, we went around the side of the office to receive the cats at the parking lot door.  The vet technician (?) mentioned that Milo's bladder was very very full, and that we should observe him carefully over the weekend.  If Milo didn't relieve himself, he said, we needed to take him to the ER.  Sigh.  Okay, we said, thanks for the info - we'll keep an eye on him.

What we should have said: Don't worry, Milo will empty his entire bladder in the cat carrier in the trunk of the car on the way home, and then poop on top of that.  Thanks anyhow.

He said: Max has this annoying tendency of waking us in the middle of the night.  Picking fights with Milo, pulling books out of shelves, knocking cellphones off tables, yanking CD's out of shelves, pulling pictures off walls, and yes - attacking sleeping humans (Also known as pink-fleshy-underlings in catspeak).  I suspect it's a mixture of hunger and boredom that causes this.  We've been quarantining Mr. Maxter of Disaster in the bathroom so that we can get some shut-eye that is uninterrupted by the Fanged Fury. 

Lo and behold, and through much loud experimentation, Max has now figured out how to open the bathroom door.  We are so screwed.

She said: This post comes two weeks late.  But it's important to do because it marks two auspicious occasions: 1) my mother got on a plane, and 2) my mom, my cousin Tracy and I got to hang.  Tracy lives near LA, and it's a family cluster that's never happened before. I hope we'll have many encores.  Mom flew out on a Friday and stayed through Tuesday, the weekend before Mother's Day.  We all ate as one should when family visits...a lot.  I took Mom for a (her first!) pedicure, Geir surprised her with a yoga mat present,Tracy came for a day, we walked around 2nd Street and the beach, had brunch with some friends in West LA, went for a hike, and Mom spent an entire day (!!) in the Long Beach Aquarium.  As they say in Minnesota, "good times!"

Picture is Mom and Tracy before dinner....jet lag hadn't yet set in.  More pix to be posted soon in the photo gallery.

She said: What's this?  Two posts right in a row?  Yes....we're battleshipping.  No, not battleshi**ing.  Anyway, I wanted to share with you a Boston blog I came across today that I think I might just start reading -- and it's probably the only way I'm going to read a Herald writer regularly.  It's called Hub Blog, and it might just round out my keep-the-line-tethered-in-Boston reading.  I also check in with Boston.com daily, and WBUR occasionally.

Anything else local I should be reading, oh fine Northeastern friends and family? 

(Photo credit: Bryan of Hitchhiking Across the Infinite.  He must mean corridor.) 

He said: The very same climate that gave us 90 degrees and scorching low sun in December is now gracing us with what Los Angelinos call June Gloom, or May Gray, depending on who you ask.  Dawn arrives grey and damp, giving way to a soupy and cool air with occasional drizzle.  By mid-afternoon, the stuff burns off, yielding to slightly higher temps and sunshine.  For Los Angelinos, this qualifies as crappy weather.  For someone who's grown up on the west coast of Norway, it seems perfectly pleasant.  It does put a tiny crimp in our style as we welcome guests from New England this spring and early summer, but it hardly bears complaining about and is easily countered by the presence of palm trees.  In fact, I quite like it.  It's the sort of weather that makes me think I would really dig the Pacific Northwest (don't worry, no more moves imminent).

He said:  We took Betsy (Jo's mom) to the Santa Monica farmer's market this morning, before brunch with Jeff and Kimber and a short hike on the Will Rogers Santa Monica Ranch.  Like most things in Santa Monica, the market is a scene first and a market second.  It's a funky mix of crunchy people and scenesters shopping for fresh fruit, produce, clothes, flowers and prepared foods to the tunes of a Django Reinhardt-esque band.  People get their tamales, rennaisance-style omelettes, freshly squeezed juices, crepes or other fine foods, and lounge around on the adjacent lawn.  There are even pony rides for the kids.

Fresh-faced teens wield the lids of impeccably clean composting and recycling bins, and left-leaning political points of view are tastefully and uncontroversially floated via buttons or advocacy tables.  Hip shades, sundresses, designer jeans and organic carrots.  

I'm torn here - as much as it's wonderful and tasty and comfortable and cultured and pinko-commie and totally comfortable to me, I am almost suspicious of how easy it seems.  Not quite sure why, but I think I actually like things a bit dirtier, a bit more broken, a little less friendly and a little less PC.  Or maybe I see myself in many of the people there and I'm a little uncomfortable in my own skin?

In any case, the Santa Monica market too far away to be practical for us, so I will happily take the market down the street on the LBC promenade which is more diverse, cheaper and dirtier - even though their music blows.

He said:  Hella.  Dope.  Rugged.  Right on.  That's hot.  Good times.  Jacked up.  Cuz'.  That's tight.

She said:  A month ago, I joined Gold's Gym (across the street).    I figured I'd work out at least once a week (check) and go to at least one yoga class a week (check).  The yoga instructor's name is Dex, and it's taken a bit for me to get used to his style.  He doesn't let us stay in poses for more than two exhales, the music could be anything from yoga-ashram-tones to Marvin Gaye to Tony Bennett, and he barks.  Yes, you read that right - he barks. 

Twice so far he's moved us from monkey to plank to crocodile to upward facing dog and then into downward facing dog...and then just as I'm settling my heels and feeling the pain in my calves, he calls "downward dog! Ruff!" 

Not to say I'm not enjoying myself and getting all stretched out (which for me isn't saying much), but does anyone else think that's odd?