In the last five days, I've finished up my Christmas shopping, cleaned the apartment (with a big assist from MG), rounded up some groceries, called back a friend I'd been trading voicemails with for over a month, and last night, did some laundry. The mind boggles to think how I could have gone from working on my thesis to packing for a trip to Chicago to boarding a plane--I think I would have had a breakdown. So just from a sanity point of view, I'm relieved we're in Santa Monica this week. But that's not to say I don't miss the folks in the midwest. If I were two separate people, I definitely would have sent one of me back to Chicago for the holidays. But alas, I am as constrained by the laws of space and time as everyone else.
This is not our first major holiday in Southern California. We've already spent two Thanksgivings and an Easter, but somehow, this feels more serious. In Greek mythology, Persephone was reportedly condemned to spend half her days in hell after eating a Pomegranate of the Damned. Spending Christmas in Santa Monica feels a little bit like eating the Pomegranate of Southern California. No matter what, we'll be entangled with this city for years to come.
The number one thing I've learned thus far: If you want to leave Santa Monica, get out of town before 3 p.m. After 3 p.m., you're basically trapped west of the 405 until traffic lightens up again after 7 p.m. You think I'm kidding. I'm not kidding. Back in October, Michael and I drove to a bakery located, no joke, 12 miles from our front door. We left our house at 3:30 on a Friday afternoon. We stayed off the freeways, which in any event were blocked up in every direction. We stepped inside the bakery at 6:15 p.m.
Other lessons learned:
* Never, never, never go on the 405, except between 10 a.m. and 2:30 p.m. and even then, only if no other route suggests itself.
* Of all things, never, never, never take the 405 to LAX. Get off and take Lincoln.
* The best mall: the Grove.
* The most fun 10 minutes that cost nothing: The twice-nightly fake snow at the Grove.
* Bad times to visit the Grove: Friday nights, Saturdays, Sundays, Black Friday, the day after Christmas, days that end in Y.
* Worst parking lot: Westside Shopping Pavillion. It's like the set of a horror movie that's been converted into a parking lot. Dark, cramped, ramshackle, terrifying. In the event of an earthquake, I can only assume everyone inside will be killed instantly.
* Worst reason to visit the Westside Shopping Pavillion: The Bad Times Nordstrom. The saddest, darkest, dingiest version of the nicest department store I've ever seen. Like Communist Russia Nordstrom.
* Best sandwich: Roast Beef on Ciabatta at Clementine's.
* Best chocolate milkshake: Fatburger
* Best creme brulee: Ocean Ave
* Best tuna burger: Gulfstream
* Most annoying bar/restaurant that is really, really good: Father's Office. Recently busted by the fire marshal, they now make everyone wait in line outside until someone leaves. Is this better than the insane Hobbesian fight for tables that *used* to be the standard operating procedure? Unclear. Yes, the steak frites are awesome, but they're not *that* awesome.
* Least annoying bar/restaurant that's pretty good: Houston's. I'm embarrassed to say that Michael and I are borderline regulars at this chain restaurant. I feel a little bad about it, but in fairness, the locally owned options just don't measure up.
* What the Hell? situation of the year: Why are the desserts in this town so craptastic? Houston's more or less phones it in with a brownie and a warm apple crumble. I haven't had a decent tiramisu in months--MONTHS! I'm afraid to even try to find a cannoli. I was warned by my in-laws, but I thought they just hadn't looked hard enough. I stand corrected. This town has a puritanical aversion to high-fat dairy the likes of which you seldom see outside of an eating disorder support group.
*Best thing about 2006? Feast your eyes on this vision:
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