The Bay vs. LA

I can hardly believe that my stint in the Bay is over! No sooner did I arrive, I found myself leaving! Over the course of six weeks, I had an awesome time of urban exploration and hanging out with friends.

Throughout the summer, people asked me a common question: What’s the difference between the Bay and LA? Ah, what a loaded topic! Since it’s hard to make one general statement, I’ll divide my response into the following categories:

Food – I had some pretty phenomenal meals over the summer. The Bay, along with Napa and Sonoma, is known for leading the country in organic, sustainable, and locally grown produce. And believe me, I could taste the difference. This movement has also led to the growth of a pretentious population subset: the foodie.

Along with foodies comes snobbery. On one occasion, I went to a hipster bakery in Oakland’s Temescal neighborhood. My GPS directed me to the correct intersection, but once I parked, I couldn’t find the store. There was no sign, street number, or any indication of “bakery”. I later found the shop, but only after I tentatively stuck my head in the door and asked a clerk. The clerk, while polite, expressed surprise that I had never been to their bakery before. I proved further appalling when she learned that I’D NEVER SAMPLED THEIR TREATS, EITHER! Eventually, I won her over with my immeasurable charms, and she provided me with two additional treats – for free. Still, I had the distinct impression that if I didn’t know where the shop was, then I didn’t belong!

Racial and Ethnic Diversity – LA wins this category, hands down. Even though I sublet on the Peninsula, I trekked to San Francisco and the East Bay fairly often. All the time, I kept wondering, “Where are the Latinos hiding?” In some communities, I also found myself wondering, “Heck, are my Asians?”

The other day, when I visited my ninety-six year old grandmother, she specifically asked me if the Bay was diverse, and I shared my observations. “That’s too bad,” she replied. “When I go to the Yorba Linda supermarket with your mother, I only see white people.” Grandma, I love you – at ninety-six, you are more thoughtful and observant than so many others I know!

Friendliness – One afternoon, I met a former roommate and his wife for boba. As we were comparing the Bay to LA, his wife noted, “Don’t you love how people here are friendlier?” And she was right.

I especially noticed this courtesy on the road. Yes, people rushed from place to place, but cars didn’t speed as often, and I when I merged into a lane, drivers would always grant me entry. If anyone’s ever been on the 405 in rush hour, they’ll appreciate my experience EVEN MORE!

Materialism – This is definitely a tie. Both the Bay and LA are materialistic, but the focus on money takes different forms. With the Peninsula, for example, friends were always talking about the up-and-coming start-up that was courting venture capitalists and preparing for its impending IPO. In addition, folks frequently boasted about their high-tech contacts at Google/Apple/Facebook.

LA’s materialism is about the ostentatious display of money. For women, it’s about carrying a designer handbag or wearing expensive sunglasses. For men, it’s about driving an expensive car. Yes, I observed these tendencies on the Peninsula, but Los Angeles is all about flaunting wealth.

Appearance – Yes, it’s a no-brainer, LA has more attractive residents. This is, after all, the center of the entertainment industry, and we’ve all been duly influenced. The Peninsula, by contrast, is mainly comprised of engineers and computer programmers, who don’t stereotypically go for plastic surgery or personal trainers.

That said, I did not notice any obese Bay Area residents, while I DO see overweight Angelenos. In general, the Silicon Valley appeared fit and in-shape. Countless uniformed cyclists rode down my street on a daily basis, and on the weekends, their numbers only increased. When I mentioned this to an SF biker, he wryly noted, “Well, it’s because LA’s air quality is so bad!” Thanks a lot, buddy.

* * *

Despite all the categories I’ve mentioned, the best contrast between the Bay and LA is captured in this anecdote:

This morning, I went to Ralphs in South Pasadena. I only had to pick-up one item, and I was at the check-out line within a few minutes. After greeting the clerk, she boldly asked me: “Are you an actor?”

And that, Gentle Readers, is the most significant contrast between the Bay and LA: obsession with celebrity!

For a split second, I thought of telling her that the pilot was going well, but I smiled and said “Sorry, I don’t act. But I do want to buy these paper napkins!”

* * *

Thanks to everyone for reading! It’s been fun to read your comments and receive your phone calls and e-mails. ‘Til next summer, my friends…

Don't Stop Believin'

Over the past two years, the band Journey has been stalking me. Or, to be more specific, their rock anthem “Don’t Stop Believin’” has stalked me.

It started when my senior students voted to make “Don’t Stop Believin’” their class song. I figured that a ballad about a tawdry one night stand wasn’t necessarily the best selection to characterize high school, but everyone sang the chorus with such gusto, that I bit my tongue.

Later, my friend Susi noted that TV shows like Glee had resurrected the popularity of “Don’t Stop Believin’”.

“Oh, no!” I said. “Don’t kids know what the song’s about?!”

“You’re such an English teacher!” she laughed.

Yes, I am, Susi. Yes, I am.

My final battle with Journey came last week at Super-Duper.

Let me explain: In order to teach the principles of literary analysis, I designed a song analysis project. The assignment requires students to research their favorite song and present its meaning to the class. Everyone takes a turn, and it’s actually a lot of fun. Students unearth background information about the artist, provide the class with copies of the lyrics, and then we listen to the song. Later, the student presenter leads the class in discussion. For many students, it’s their favorite part of the course, and I’ve loved both the depth of discussion and the diversity of music.

You all know where this is going.

SOMEONE BROUGHT IN “DON’T STOP BELIEVIN’”.

When Tom (not his real name) started distributing the handouts, my eye landed on the title of the song. “Oh, Lord…” I muttered.

As students received their copy of the lyrics, a murmur of excitement buzzed across the room. “Oh, I LOVE this song!” a girl squealed. And from another: “This is my FAVORITE!”

Perhaps the best comment, however, came from Super-Duper’s all-star football player: “I say we all sing this song TOGETHER!” Everyone eagerly agreed, and I nearly died as thirty students in remedial English sang a rock ballad about anonymous sex: “A singer in a smoky room/ The smell of wine and cheap perfume/ For a smile they can share the night…”

Before long, however, the kids’ enthusiasm won me over, and after the first verse, I JOINED RIGHT IN.

“Look, Afram’s singing, too!”

Somehow, my participation encouraged them to sing even louder, and the chorus was practically deafening.

“Close the door!” I yelled. “I don’t want to disturb the other classes!”

In the midst of the earnest head-wagging and fist-pumping, someone shut the door.

Who says school has to be dull?

Back to Basics #3

Since arriving North, I’ve had some great runs. My sublet is literally steps away from the Stevens Creek Trail, which has some beautifully maintained paths. I’ve also ventured farther to San Antonio Park in Los Altos.

San Antonio is one of the larger nature preserves on the Peninsula, and in my opinion, one of the most beautiful. The first time I arrived, I literally believed I was in a promotional commercial for California. The park’s sylvan setting, with its dried golden grass and oak-studded hills, is perfect. And after every bend in the trail, I wanted to take a picture.

Not only did the scenery move me, but the diversity of animals impressed me, too. On my first run, I saw hawks, quail, rabbits, deer, and squirrels. The animals appeared quite used to visitors, and the fauna never flinched when I jogged by. At one point a bluebird even flew three feet in front of me.

After the bluebird incident, I literally asked myself “Where am I?” Everything appeared so idyllic that I wondered if I were in heaven. If I wasn’t in heaven, then I was in some sort of Disney feature, like Snow White. Maybe Disney can make a movie about me. We’ll call it Half White, and I’ll sing to woodland creatures as I jog.

I’m not sure I’m Disney appropriate, though. I love to blast my iPod on the trails, and my musical library isn’t exactly scrubbed and wholesome. I’ve decided to chronicle today’s run based upon my iPod’s shuffle feature. Please note that I’m just presenting highlights, and if a song doesn’t immediately move me, I skip it. (Today, for example, the only two Sarah MacLachlan songs I own popped up. FYI, Sarah MacLachlan is NOT music to run by. I only listen to her when I’m deeply depressed, longing for a time when I was young, innocent, and beautiful. Or at least young and innocent.)

Here are some highlights:

“TiK ToK” by Ke$ha – What a great beat, and what a catchy song! Of course, I fully admit that Ke$ha is ridiculous, and her lyrics are sloppy. I find it hard to believe, for example, that she will “kick [a guy] to the curb unless he looks like Mick Jagger.” Really? If Mick Jagger is her ideal, then perhaps she needs to aim a bit…higher.

“Let ‘Em In” by Billy Paul – After Ke$ha’s hedonism, Billy Paul’s ‘70s social commentary filled my headphones. Ironically, a high school track team left me in their wake, and I found myself wishing that I could keep up with them! Let ME in, guys!

“You Rock My World” by Michael Jackson – At this point, I passed Dear Hollow, a small farm operated by the City of Mountain View. The farm supports a surprising number of goats. Contrary to MJ’s tune, the goats did NOT rock my world, but the babies were pretty darn cute.

“Step Into Christmas” by Elton John – I love that even Christmas music pops up in my random shuffle! How completely fun and unexpected!

“Empire State of Mind” by Jay-Z and Alicia Keys – One of my favorite songs – ever. Last summer, my brother and I were obsessed with this song, and we’d randomly sing key verses to each other. This time, when the song played, I said a little prayer for Andrew.

“Show Me What I’m Looking For” by Carolina Liar – The lyrics are so heartbreaking and poignant: “Save me/ I’m lost/ Oh Lord, I’ve been looking for you.” I have no idea what these guys are looking for, but I hope they find it. (And pass that memo to U2!)

“Whatcha See is Whatcha Get” by the Dramatics – I especially love this line: “Baby, I’m for real/ I’m as real as real can get.” At this point, my shirt was sopping, my breathing was heavy and rhythmic, and I was feeling pretty real!

“Misery” by Maroon 5 – When Maroon 5 came on, I was definitely enjoying the runner’s high. “Misery” has such a great, upbeat tempo, that even though the lyrics chronicle an obsessive heartbreak, I was FEELIN’ this song on Rogue Valley Trail.

“Girls on the Dance Floor” by Far East Movement – I’m embarrassed to admit I even own this song. The lyrics are hilarious. At this point, however, I realized that I had passed the high school track team, and I felt a sweet sense of victory. Here’s to old guys everywhere!

“Stronger” by Kanye West – Say what you will about Kanye, but he’s brilliant. Anyone who can sing about Nietzsche, Klondike Bars, and unrequited love gets my vote. A great cool-down song.

Back to Basics #2

Today I ventured to the land of my alma mater, Berkeley. As the day progressed, I joined some friends for lunch in the hills of Tilden Park. Despite my love of Tilden, I can never figure out how to get there. The roads leading to the park are narrow and circuitous, and even though I’ve visited Tilden a million times, I’m always surprised when I find the entrance. This is not a criticism of the park’s general location; rather, this is a reflection of my absentmindedness and complete lack of directional sense.

Lunch was an enjoyable affair until my friend’s three year-old declared that I am NOT his favorite adult. Thank you, Johnny. Now I’ve experienced rejection on so many fronts that I can now add Alienation from Toddlers to the list.

The criticisms continued on the Berkeley campus.

As I passed the picturesque Wheeler Hall, I asked three girls to take my photograph. The girls were very conscientious, and in broken English they inquired about the appropriate angle at which to hold the camera, as well as the amount of sky I desired above the roofline. I was impressed; clearly, English was not their first language, yet they asked many thoughtful questions about taking a nice picture. When people ask me for a photograph, they’re just lucky if I remember to remove the lens cover.

Later, as I wandered the campus, I saw the girls again. This time, however, the trio quickened their pace toward me. The leader, hereafter named Spinach – she had some salad in between her teeth – stopped short an inch from my face. As I stared at the glistening remainder of a salad, she boldly stated, “You do not speak English like a native!”

“Yes, that’s right!” said Glasses, her earnest friend. “You do not speak English like the other Americans!”

Meanwhile, Backpack remained in the distance, glowering. She scared me the most. With Spinach and Glasses, I knew where I stood. Backpack, however, was an unknown quantity. Who knew what treacherous thoughts she was thinking!

Ever the coward, I used humor to deflect the situation. “Well,” I laughed, “I was born here!”

Spinach and Glasses exchanged glances of disbelief while Backpack continued to stare.

In the midst of our icy standoff, I noted the irony of the situation: the Language Police was accosting me at the institution that had granted me a degree in ENGLISH LIT!

After a few more idiotic assurances – “Yes, I was born here,” and “Yes, I graduated from here,” – I extricated myself from the girls. As I left campus I wondered if I had misinterpreted their comments. Perhaps I had overreacted? What if they meant it as a compliment? Maybe they mistook my speech for that of William Shakespeare! Or possibly I mimic the sophisticated stylings of Snoop Doggy Dogg!

After all, even three year-olds have stuff to say about me!

Back to Basics #1

I'm writing a rather unconventional travel blog in that I've failed to mention much, if any, of the stuff I'm DOING. While no one’s expressed complaint, I do feel that a mid-blog correction is necessary, and I hereby dedicate the next THREE – count ‘em, 3 – entries to my travel ventures. I cannot promise that these excursions will be dramatic, but they will be uniquely Mark.

At the encouragement of my friend, Albert, I decided to head into San Francisco and bike across the Golden Gate Bridge. Once upon a time, when I was a young, virile man, I cycled religiously. I’d like to attribute this activity to my deep love for the sport, but this was primarily due to my lack of a motor vehicle. However, after I obtained said vehicle, I continued to ride the trails. Especially if they were flat, paved, and easy to access. I admit it: I was a fair weather cyclist.

But I didn’t find biking loathsome. If nothing else, it was a good workout! (Did I mention that I’m exceedingly practical?) For example, other sports, like basketball, only provide a workout. Cycling, however, provides a workout AND moves the rider from Point A to Point B!

Anyway, after a little research, I found a bike shop in North Beach, San Francisco’s Little Italy. The location was smaller and slightly farther from the other bicycle rentals, but it was CHEAPER! (Did I also mention that I love a bargain?) Even though I saved five dollars on the rental, I failed to consider where I would park my car. Since I couldn’t park on the side streets for more than two hours, I ended up paying ten dollars for admission to a parking lot. So much for my brilliant scheming…

The staff at Bike ‘N Roll were friendly and super-helpful. My only complaint, however, is with the name of their shop. The only time I connect “biking” with “rolling” is WHEN I ROLL OFF MY BIKE AND FALL ON MY FACE. And that, Dear Reader, is NOT a pleasant association. (I would make an amazing business consultant.)

Regardless of their questionable business name, Bike ‘N Roll quickly allayed my fears of biking eight miles, and I was off. No sooner had I hopped on my bike, I was sold on the experience. San Francisco is a beautiful city, and biking to Sausalito allowed me to pass numerous landmarks. En route, I passed the Palace of Fine Arts, Fisherman’s Wharf, Crissy Field, and the Presidio. My practical, aka cheapskate, side was pleased that the bike tour provided me with so much “bang for my buck.”

I wish I could brag about my athleticism and skills as an experienced cyclist, but the ride is mostly flat and very easy. There were a few inclines, but they were mercifully brief.

When I reached the entrance to the Golden Gate, I couldn’t pass my bike through the throngs of tourists, so I actually walked my bike for a third of the bridge length. Once the crowds thinned, I cycled the remainder of the trip.

Sausalito was, in a word, idyllic. One of the Bike ‘N Roll employees said it was nice, but a bit “yuppie.” I did not mention that I was raised in Orange County, and “yuppie” is my middle name. And, having visited Sausalito several times, I would say that it’s infinitely more charming than any OC subdivision.

Ain't No Bed of Roses

I know the best people, and I could write about them all day. However, I’ve recently been impressed by a new quality that several of my friends exhibit: marital fidelity.

I recognize, of course, that this is a peculiar topic on which to blog. However, over the past two years, I’ve realized the tenuous nature of marriage. Statistically, this observation isn’t newsworthy. Everyone knows the facts about the marriage failure rate. Given this reality, healthy, intact marriages maintain a certain mystique. How do the marrieds do it?

I naively thought my friends were impervious to divorce. After all, I know such quality, upstanding people! Or, I reasoned that if divorce did happen, it occurred amongst the older folks – fifty and above. It was something that happened after the kids had grown, maybe prompted by a midlife crisis. Whatever the reason, I never imagined that it would happen to young adults in their 20s and 30s.

I was sorely wrong.

Before I continue, I must remind the reader that I’m single, with no marriage experience. Unlike other singles, however, I don’t romanticize wedded status. Marriage is tough, especially since both individuals have separate opinions, desires, and struggles. It’s a rough go.

That said, I cannot count how many marriages have ended after only a few years. And each union has dissolved in the most dramatic, heartbreaking ways possible. Torrid affairs that started within a few months of tying the knot. Or cheating that began during engagement and continued into the marriage. Or, after two years together, both partners realized that they had separate interests and goals. (Never mind that they’d dated for nearly ten years!)

In other words, there’s no guarantee that things will work out.

Please don’t misunderstand me: I am not judging my friends who divorce. Quite the contrary. If anything, I am struck by the obstacles and challenges the marrieds face. I also believe that most spouses don’t start a relationship with the desire to divorce: people want lasting, successful marriages.

Despite earnest desires and the best intentions, so few marriages actually last. Which makes intact marriages so precious. And my respect deepens for couples who prioritize their union and attempt to resolve conflicts as they arise.

Even though I’m single, their perseverance motivates me. Thanks, guys.

Marley and Me

When I signed-up to teach at Super-Duper High School, I was fortunate enough to find an apartment in neighboring Mountain View. The location is perfect: there’s a jogging trail outside my door, and I’m within walking distance of a charming downtown. There was only one hitch when I took this apartment.

I would have to reside with Oreo.

Oreo is a 20 pound bulldog-spaniel mix. Passersby consider her cute, but I personally haven’t made up my mind. Frankly, her underbite freaks me out. When she snuggles next to me, I instinctively pull my head away. I can’t shake the fear that she’s only drawing near to bite my face.

Of course, there were moments when I wanted to bite Oreo’s face! Our first week has been rocky, to say the least. The night I arrived, she repeatedly woke me up with her insane barking fits. The Hound of Hell, Oreo, must have sensed my extreme fatigue and decided to test the limits of my patience. At 12:30, 1:32, 4:35, and 6:30 she woke me with prolonged bouts of barking.

All I could think was, “What have I gotten myself into?”

After my first night, I decided to take action. I remembered an article I’d read about how baby animals “imprint” themselves, and I decided to spend some quality time with Oreo. All she needed, I reasoned, was to love me. And I would make her love me! I’d exercise her, pet her, and just love her to death. If that didn’t work, I feared that I would meet my own death!

I also worked to consistently reprimand her barking. Whenever she’d yelp, I’d scold her, and then I’d immediately come to her level and comfort her. I remember studying this strategy in credential school. Ironically, there are many similarities to teacher education and animal training. But I digress…

As bedtime approached, I nervously crossed my fingers and hoped for the best. Oreo wouldn’t have any of my New Age bonding, however, and she was just as raucous the following night. Perhaps the worst moment was when she pounced on the bed and ran in circles over my body. After her ritualistic dance, she curled up between my legs and went to sleep.

As she nestled in my crotch, I fearfully pondered my next move. Oreo’s labored snoring suggested sleep, but maybe it was a ruse. Perhaps the nefarious beast was planning to desecrate my Nether Region. (I am aware that I sound irrational, but sleep deprivation promotes insanity.)

On the third day, Oreo decided to sulk. She wouldn’t touch her food, and she was moody. She isolated herself and remained separate all day. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have minded the sulks – I formerly taught middle school – but I secretly feared that Oreo was plotting a nocturnal attack. Thankfully, there was only one barking fit at night, and she quickly responded to my reprimands.

After one week as roommates, Oreo and I have a tenuous détente. She enjoys sitting next to me as I watch TV, and she cheerfully greets me when I enter the apartment. She’s even letting me sleep through the night.

Take that, Cesar Millan!

Champagne Wishes and Caviar Dreams

Remember “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous”? (Don’t worry if you never saw the show – it was ridiculous, anyway.) At the conclusion of every episode, Robin Leach drolly uttered his signature phrase: “Champagne wishes and caviar dreams!”

Well, now that I’ve arrived in the Bay, I feel as though I’m living in the lap of educational luxury. First of all, the school where I teach – hereafter referred to as Super-Duper High School – is very affluent. The scions of Silicon Valley have been generous to my campus, and the facilities are state-of-the-art. Today, for example, when I showed a video excerpt, I struggled to decipher the surround sound feature of the multimedia apparatus.

When I first started teaching at Super-Duper, my friend Jason jokingly asked, “So, will you be enjoying caviar during lunch?” At the time, I laughed, but now I’m beginning to wonder if Steve Jobs will be serving choice Beluga any time soon.

Second, the principal at Super-Duper has a breezy, refreshed manner. Never, and I repeat, NEVER, have I met a relaxed administrator. Tom appears so carefree that, frankly, it’s almost maddening. He’s a witty conversationalist, and he’d triumph at any cocktail party. Not only that, but he’s worldly and sophisticated, as are his wife and kids. My favorite Tom anecdote, however, is this: at the conclusion of the school day, he packs his attaché, lowers the top of his convertible, and barrels down the boulevard. If ever a man embodied the principles of joie de vivre, Tom does. The other day, as his sports car roared past me, I wondered, “What am I doing wrong?”

Finally, the students at SDHS are phenomenal. Granted, I’m teaching remedial English, but I must sadly acknowledge that what constitutes remedial at Super-Duper would be “advanced” in other districts. On the first day of school, I initiated a discussion about the book we were reading. (Honestly, I feared the conversation would tank, and I didn’t know if students would grasp the complexities of the text.) Instead, I was floored by the articulate insight of these so-called “struggling” students. At the end of the seminar I remember telling the class, “I’m in Never Never Land. That was amazing.”

Granted, I’m still in the honeymoon phase, but I could get used to this!

A Total Eclipse of the Heart

I know virtually nothing about Twilight. And I’d like to keep it that way.

What little I do know, I’ve learned from my students. And that’s enough.

My first introduction to Twilight came when my sophomores were studying Shakespeare. One of their assignments was to write a sonnet. While sonnets typically develop the many facets of romantic love, I told kids they could write about anything they liked: a hamburger, a video game, or their mother.

Several girls wrote about Twilight.

Here’s my favorite line: “Though you are a vampire, I love you, too.”

At least it was written in iambic pentameter!

Well, my drive to the Bay provided another Twilight encounter. When I stopped for lunch at Burger King, I realized the franchise was promoting Twilight gear. Had I purchased a children’s meal, I could have received an amulet, wrist cuff, or other item of Gothic paraphernalia. Apparently, Burger King is now in the business of warding off the undead.

Upon entering Burger King, I passed through the Taylor Lautner door. It only got worse when I noticed the cardboard display in front of the line. Wherever I turned, bloodthirsty vampires – who apparently enjoy whoppers – surrounded me. The irony, of course, was that it was the DAYTIME, yet the vampires appeared curiously unharmed.

As I placed my order, I realized that a busload of (Chinese?) tourists was eating lunch. I had to resist the urge to run over and apologize on behalf of sane Americans everywhere. I wanted to cry, “We’re not all like this, I promise!”

But then my amulet arrived.

Adventure!

Tonight, over shaved ice, my friends suggested I maintain a summer blog. I had secretly nurtured the idea of chronicling my life, so their encouragement was all I needed.

This is my summer of adventure, but it’s not adventure in the dramatic, life-threatening sense. I will, after all, be living in the suburbs. However, given the humdrum nature of my life, spending a summer in the Bay Area feels pretty adventurous. Currently, I live in Alhambra, a typical LA suburb. Granted, Alhambra has better Chinese food than the average city, but it’s typical nonetheless.

For awhile, I’ve been itching for something different. Because, truth be told, my life is rather staid. I work a traditional job, carefully save my money, and try to be a responsible citizen. This isn’t to say that I’m repressed and I harbor latent desires to become a freak. No, I’m sincerely boring. More recently, however, I’ve wanted, in my own careful way, to “shake things up.” I’ve always loved the Bay Area, so a trip north sounded like just the ticket. While in the Bay, I’ll be teaching high school English.

It was almost scary how easy it was to obtain the job. Effortless, in fact. I saw the online posting, submitted an application, and within a few weeks, I was asked to meet at the district office. I promptly flew up for an interview, and within a few days, I was gainfully employed. Shocking, really. After accepting the position, I focused on searching for housing. Craigslist eventually came to the rescue, and I’m subletting an apartment from another teacher.

I’m not sure what the summer holds, but I’m excited. I look forward to rekindling old friendships, exploring new neighborhoods, and trying new things. My first new thing? This blog. If nothing else, it’s an attempt to record my efforts at change.

Stay tuned…