Sadly, not my neighborhood, but one of the historic zones down behind the Orange Curtain. "Sadly" only due to the part where there were chickens wandering around. I love chickens, and was allowed to care for a small flock owned by somebody else back when I lived in Klan country. They were batshit insane, but lovely. The most amazing chickens I have ever seen in my life live out here, over in Altadena, owned by Tim Dundon, who didn't think there was anything strange at all about somebody showing up with garbage bags and a Jetta. I had originally planned to just pick up the compost and leave, but ended up staying for a few hours listening to him (big deal for me; normally I don't react well to hippies), heading up to the stables and wandering around his jungle-in-the-city paradise with my jaw on the ground. He's an interesting guy (note...this is a better video). His chickens are for the most part feral, have the run of the place (along with bunnies and other creatures), and are the most lustrous chickens in the universe. Even the show chickens at the LA County Fair don't look as good as these wild things of his.
My understanding is many of his neighbors would like for him to Go Away Now, especially after the fire incident, but he's not gonna. He's been there for decades, he enjoys giving compost away to home city gardeners like me & selling it cheaply to bigger operations. Mostly he likes to evangalize about growing things in a natural way. I attribute much of the success of what I've been able to do to the front yard to his compost, which he calls "craptonite". Shane,*** of course, knew all about Tim. I think it's possible that Shane was impressed that I hunted Tim down all by myself, but it's possible he's not. Shane's kinda hard to read.
So anyways, couple of weeks ago I was down in the OC for a thing. When the chickens crossed the road in front of my car as I was looking for parking, I was so pleased I had the good camera in hand.
Here's the rooster. Isn't he gorgeous?
Here's the rooster with his companion. She's such a cutie!
I happened to have some cat food in hand and tried to lure the pair over so I could get good shots. One thing that's unwise to do is run after a chicken. 98% of the time it will just run off in a panic, but there's that 2% chance that it might fling itself right at your fucking face. Even if it knows you it might do this, because chickens are crazy.
The cat food wasn't working. An elder came out of the house next door to see what was going on, we communicate via gesture & smile, he watches me try to sneak up on the chickens for a few minutes. Then he calls into the house, a younger guy pops his head out, they speak, younger guy goes back in.
A few beats later, the younger guy comes back with a tortilla! The chickens make a beeline for him, and we chat while I'm shooting. (The shots above were post-tortilla.) He tells me the chickens around there like tortillas. Of course. I can't stop laughing, they're laughing at me not being able to stop laughing.
That was a good day, except for the part where it took 2.5 hours to get back up the 5.
And thanks to Rachel, to whom I forgot I sent this last week, further context with the latest minority report, which goes along with all of the other minority reports, like this one or yeah this one fits...and there's tons more down through the ages but in print and thus unlinkable. Because this story *never* changes.
I don't know if you've ever noticed, but working the phrase "racially degenerate wildlife" casually into everyday conversation is really, really hard.
Attempt 1 (coffee spot):
Two people in line were talking about raising chickens and something about balancing a home flock. By the time I fully realized what they were talking about, they had moved on to another topic and it was too late.
It was possibly too early in the morning to try, what with coffee having not yet been attained.
Attempt 2 (parking lot):
This was at the lot of Ralph's on the hipster zone border. On the ground was a seriously squashed pigeon; the bone remnants of its broken wing were sticking straight up out of its side. A guy also walking across the lot said "Looks like that thing got shanked." By the time I stopped laughing, it was too late. That was the best missed opportunity of the day.
Actually I don't remember what this one was.
Attempt 4 (on the phone):
Talking with somebody about a thing. Let's just say many tortured attempts to steer the conversation to something that might give me an opening resulted in her 1: noticing and 2: asking (with deadly seriousness) if I was feeling feverish after I kept denying any knowledge of what she was getting at.
All adding up to no hits the first day out. Six more left!
But on the other hand, today involved an epic battle with the copier, the server and a 700-piece run &. I won.
Catnip is an all-female improv group, which, based on what I've seen so far, is not all that common.*** They are phenomenal. Around here they can often be seen in performance at IO West and Second City LA; they also perform elsewhere. If you have a chance to see them anywhere, you should go!
*** Also not common? Predominately pigmented improv groups. What's cool is at least two of the prime training outlets on this coast will talk about this fact without fear.
Three counter-protests are already in the works, one organized by the students, one by the ADL and one by what appears to be an anarchist group of some kind. The OCR didn't mention the anarchist group. Hmmm. heh.
Yes, I know we all have jobs. But we also have lunch hours! Hell, these days lots of us don't have jobs and are looking for things to do to fill the time between job hunting!
That story reminds me of a similar, but slightly better and definitely funnier interview in the NYT from last year. One of my fave parts:“A lot of people are bored of all the political correctness,” he said. “You’re showing a guy from a different generation. Show the way he talks. The country has come a long way in race relations, but the pendulum swings so far back. Everyone wants to be so” — here he paused and narrowed his eyes, like Dirty Harry drawing a bead on a perp — “sensitive.”
I wasn't gonna go see Changeling until I found out he directed it. Though based on a favored LA true story, the writer and the female star turned me off. Eastwood's involvement is the only thing that pushed me into the theater.
Eastwood is one of the bonding points with the Official Dad of BGF Central. And by 'bonding points' I of course mean Shared Love Combined With Occasional Extreme Arguments. I so hope to one day be able to afford to take the Parental Units to his eatery in Carmel, where Mom and I can sip wine and pick at whatever is on our plates while Dad ever so Manly lords over a giant steak and a basket piled with fresh rolls.*** I don't know if that will ever happen, but it's on The List. They're still raving about the night at the Magic Castle, so I can make this happen, too.