Two Palm Trees Walk into a Bar...

So I've been living in Santa Monica since June, and I love it. Dry cleaners, coffee shops, craft stores, boutiques, and about a squillion Starbucks cover every acre not previously occupied by a Palm Tree or an overpriced home. People walk almost everywhere, and hundreds of joggers and park-Yoga enthusiasts can be seen from before Sunrise to long after Sundown (though I do admit, they are hard to avoid running over during the peak exercise hours of 7-10am).

Living on the Westside has many ups, and a few downs. Yet, even the downs are more like minor inconveniences that are completely forgotten after a 2 minute walk to a coffee shop or to TCBY. In fact, they are inconveniences you merely laugh away as you consider how nice it really is to live in a land of perpetual sunshine and a non-existent crime rate.

Let's Examine:

Probably what I love the most about Santa Monica is the food. The quality of food is actually pretty surprising given the size of the women you see walking around. Surely with food this good, someone must be eating it?

I live on Idaho and 7th, just a very small block south of Montana, which is perhaps less known than, say, the 3rd Street Promenade. Yet, on Montana, one could find everything they need to fill their every gluttonous whim. Spumoni is a small Italian cafe with an extensive Gnocchi menu and the best pasta dish you'll ever have (Rigatoni Siciliana...trust me).
The chicken caesar salad and the tapenade served with the bread are just stupid. Right next door is a TCBY that is open until 11pm, and in the event that you need to kill your carb-induced coma: a Starbucks on the other side. Down a few blocks on the corner of 10th and Montana is a really interesting Caribbean cafe called Babalu. I haven't really tried any signature dishes, but their breakfast can kill even the most persistent hangovers.

On this street there are probably a dozen small restaurants, positioned between the boutiques, delis and wine shops, that I have yet to visit. The place I frequent the most is positioned half a block away, on 7th and Montana: Pavilions. Surely, it is your ordinary small-to-medium Grocery store. Yet, being a 2 minute walk away and with a system that lets me take the shopping cart home and leave it in the alley, Pavilions is like the Mecca of weeknight eating. Any recipe I want to try, any wine impulse I have, and any desire for the latest People or US Weekly can be satiated immediately.

By far the best place in Santa Monica, and probably the entirety of Southern California for that matter, is Bay Cities Italian Deli and Bakery. You can get Sandwiches, Cheese, Wine, Spice, Olive Oil, Sausage, and bread that an Atheist would praise the sweet baby Jesus over. The line is long and its closed on Mondays, but besides this, Bay Cities is the best thing to happen to Santa Monica. Go there, and if you don't, lie to me and say that you did.

If you are in my area, and you don't know me well enough to call me, a few other places to try are Amici's, Guido's, or Makkai (if you're on a nice date); Barney's, South, The Parlor, or Father's Office (if you're trying to have a casual time and possibly get laid); and again, Bay Cities if you're going to cook an Italian meal and possibly propose (anyone?...no?).

Be careful if you go to Santa Monica to go Shopping. Boutiques like LF and Planet Blue are out of control with the prices. This being said, they do have great sales. My personal favorite is Zara, which you've heard of and you can find it on the Promenade. If you don't like it, there are 500 other places to try so there's no point in examining this. Moving on.

-If you like Yoga go to Power Yoga
-If you like Ballet go to Westside
-If you are going to the beach, walk there don't park. Better yet, ride a bike.
-Go to Helen's on 25th if you need to buy a bike.
-Make it over to Abbot Kinney in Venice at least once in awhile. Venice is a hip older sister to Santa Monica, or better yet, a 'Silverlake-by-the-Sea". You may have a really great time, or you may have a really boring time. Either way, its worth a shot.
-Stay away from Yankee Doodles. There is nothing in there for you. For that matter, avoid Johnny Rockets too. And CPK.

-This is a big one: After you visit Bay Cities in the morning, find a place to sit with a Mimosa around 4th and San Vicente. The men, they run/lift weights/walk dogs/do Yoga with no shirts on and they are in perfect shape. (Feel free to email me a thanks for this suggestion).

If you are thinking about moving to Santa Monica, here is what you need to know:

1) Get in touch with me. I'm fairly new here myself and I am still going through East-Side withdrawals.
2) Get used to not having a Target/Wal-Mart around. Many convenience-type places you didn't even realize you depended on are practically non-existent. Instead, you will find boutiques with $900 lamps.
3) Try not to drive on the weekends. Walk to the store, to the movies, to the beach, and to the restaurants. Browse the swap meets and farmers markets and garage sales. Walk to Michael's or Joanne's and make something. Cook something you've never cooked before (don't try a wine reduction. You'll only ruin your pan and make yourself cry).
4) Be careful where you park. The Santa Monica Parking people don't mess around. Tickets are like, 65 bones.
5) Know that Santa Monica is rent controlled. Further, rents are going down, and landlords are willing to drop even further if they're desperate. You may end up paying more at first, but the pricing wont really increase after that. Always use Westside Rentals.
6) Be aware of neighbors that have been there awhile. They are, for whatever reason, always a pain. Yet remember, they are rent controlled so they are probably paying half what you are. The landlord would love nothing more than to get them out and raise the rent to market. Don't take shit from these people.
7) Be happy. If you're not happy, Fake it 'till you make it. The streets are wide and uncongested, the palm trees and tall and pretty, and the beach is right there. It'll catch on.

I learned that in Rome, they have a term for overly fussy, public complainers: brutta figura. As for us Americans, it is more in all of our nature to complain to the managers or try to get an extra 20% off when the hem in frayed. However, you will find there is a certain easy-goingness in Santa Monica as well. It could be the beach, the Yoga, or the fact that many of these people don't work (for whatever reason). It could be the lack of noisy traffic or the ease of obtaining caffeine in the mornings. Hell, it could even be the jogging men. Whatever it is, it is not a bad place to visit, and certainly not to shabby a place to live.

Come on out.

I am in Europe!

And when I go places, I like to write about it so I have it forever. Also because it gives me something to write about and, as made evident by the rest of this blog, I often have a hard time with that. Alas, Enjoy! (links below)

Paris Pt. 1

Paris Pt. 2

Paris Pt. 3

Paris Pt. 4

Paris Pt. 5/Londontown Pt. 1

You did good guys. You did real good....

Vote for 'em here.

Chode Potato

Because I am bored.

Seven Days Without Facebook is Some Weak-ass Shit!

Facebook both sucks and is awesome.

Things that are AWESOME:

-Tagging every picture I can get my paws on. Even people in the background. Tag em. Tag em ALL.

-Having an instant fix for my pathological need for attention. All I have to do is have a witty headline for whatever the hell I am doing and behold! 15 comments from people I could just as easily call/see in person.

-Putting lots o' pictures up of all the fun and exciting things I do, complete with clever captions for entertainment value!

-Occasionally linking to my blog (something I actually care about and am trying to shape).

-Untagging ugly pictures of me because somehow it will cause people to think I am a shitty looking version of myself.

-Mindlessly clicking through a high school acquaintance's wedding/baby pictures for alot longer than I should.

-Harrassing my mother, sister, aunt, cousin, Alisa and Danny to no end.

-Poke around the site of a boy I met the day/night/weekend before. I am not ashamed to judge based on a history of frat-boy man-pile pictures with beer, sideways hats and hand signals. I simply leave dry-yet-disdainful comments and stick the poor bloke in the platonic friend category. Next!

Now, onto things that SUCK

-Knowing that you got up at 5am, you're fucking tired and "Ugh, it's Monday." On Thursday, you are "excited about the weekend" and "get to see (insert friend no one knows here)." Saturday you are hungover and Sunday you really hope your Team wins. Jesus at least Twitter is funny. The most guilty of this crap? Me.

-Being tagged in a photo where you look like a beast.

-Jackass people I work with/go to Kabbalah with/vaguely know making assumptions because my pictures involve my weekend outings. I yawn, and in reply I get a "Hey are you tired? Too much partyin' eh? Eh?" Oy!

-Emotional Cutting. In short, this is what you do when you go to the Facebook site of someone you know you shouldn't go to the Facebook site of and look at pictures you don't want to see and click on links you don't want to click on. People look at us, we look at them. What a negative shitshow.

-Facebook Chat. I'll hit you up. Otherwise, leave me alone.

-Facebook in General: My life has no ambiguity. There is no mystery. No "I wonder what he/she is like" or "I'm curious about..." Nope. Its all there. Described in detail on a newsfeed and laid out in pictures. Everyone is connected and dependent and enslaved. It causes you to not function without having to pause and share every thought and gather the thoughts of others. Had a great day in (Insert City Here)? Post it on Facebook, because it didn't really happen unless everyone is envious/entertained by it.

So what to do?

Well, I am a proud/ashamed Facebook addict. Thus, I have decided against getting rid of my Facebook and instead decided to abstain for one week. I will take note of the effect this has on my life in general. At the end of the week, I will probably post a link on my Facebook linking to this blog where people can read about what I did while NOT on Facebook.

Or...maybe I won't. Let see what I learn.

For now, Goodbye Facebook. You have left me in a tired, bored, trance for too long. You have caused me to hold on to things I should let go of and let go of everything else but you. You have fried my brain and worn out my laptop battery. I have missed dance classes and TV shows and sleep. I am done for one week.


...because I don't think I could give it up for longer than that.

I went to Italy!

And if you want to read my long, narcissistic ramblings about it, you've come to the right place.

Day 0 - Chess in the Airport and the resulting Madness

Day 1 - Train Station Hysteria and the Beauty of Firenze

Day 2 - David, what a Man!

Day 3 - Trains, Skulls, and a Forgotten Stumbling Home

Day 4 - Confusion in the Sistine Chapel, Wikipedia Tour Guides, and Italian Crazy People

Day 5 - Euro Extortion and the Danger of Being Alone

Day 6 - Chain of Screaming and the Venice Alternative

Day 7 - Executions, Flying Rats, and Kissing Italian Boys

A Day from Mama Sue's June Visit

A little late, but worth a post.

I should have known that my mother, a heavy packer under normal circumstances, was going to greet me with 4 suitcases holding no less than 850lbs of shit. She had been in Brooklyn for 2 weeks prior visiting East Coast family. This being said, I ask you - I BEG you - to tell me why this woman felt the need to travel with 6 cookbooks.

I arrived at my cousin Amanda's house where my Ma was babysitting Dominic, Amanda's newborn baby (of course that's his name, right?) "Nanny Fanny Pudding n' Pie!" - I hear shouted as soon as I walk in.

Enter Mama Sue. Buckle up, its gonna be one hell of a ride.

Amanda was due to be home in an hour, so until then, we were on nanny duty. I had never met Baby Dom. I should take this moment to enthusiastically proclaim that Dom is the most beautiful baby I have ever seen. Olive skinned, big brown eyes, and a smile that takes up his whole face. I love that little man more than anything. I will also point out that it is an amazing thing watching your mother be, well, a parent. It has been, presumably, twenty years since Mama Sue had to change a shitty diaper or burp an infant yet she was able to revert back to newborn mother status like it was nothing. Warming the bottle, putting the kid in the carrier thing, bouncing it in her lap (you know, whatever it is people do with babies). She had it down like it was a routine. Come to think of it...this dog-and-pony show was probably nothing compared to raising me.

We headed off to dinner after that. It is at this point that I should mention that there are a few things, as a Destefano woman, that you would rather have a root canal than deal with. A notable one is being in a situation that may require another Destafano woman to shout an an innocent bystander. To put it plainly: my mother HATES being interrupted by strangers trying to sell or tell us something. She hates random chatty people, Academy Award acceptance speeches, poorly behaved children, and all other humans that contribute to social awkwardness. Someone in a shopping mall is freaking out? You'd rather die than deal with the already icky situation in the presence of my mother.

To provide an example, I will use the dinner we had that night at a brewery in Burbank. Me, my sister, our closest friends, and Mama Sue had an amazing dinner and probably a few too many cock-a-ma-tails on the back patio of the restaurant. 10 feet away, there was another large party that finished and left as we were still ordering dessert. The busboy proceeded to clear the tables that were pushed together, and then the waiter came to separate them back to their original locations. I should remind you that this is patio furnature on a concrete-like surface. Therefore, this waiter's determination to reorganize everything in a frenzy created no much noise we couldn't hear eachother to order dessert. There would be 5 seconds of silence, and as soon as Ma began, "how about the tiramisu?' He would begin dragging another metal table with a deafening screech.

Finally she stopped mid-sentence, glared over at the poor guy, threw her arms in the air and shouted, "REALLY?!? Really?...."

I hung my head and took slow breaths in an effort to slow my pulse down.

Besides Ma's quick (and implied) verbal thrashing at the waiter, who totally deserved it might I add, the night was uneventful after that. I hadn't slept in days because, apparently, making sure you see someone off to the middle east for two months is a week long bar hopping event with 20 other people. Needless to say, I needed to get some sleep.

A great day with Mama Sue.

Dear Jackass.

If I could write letters to various versions of myself, I imagine they would say something like this:

6-year old Danielle: "Even though Mom warned you never to interrupt her when she's blow drying her hair, this doesn't mean you should awkwardly beat around the bush when you need to run in to tell her your 2 year old sister badly busted her head open while running full on into the corner of a wall."

8-year old Danielle: "Don't worry. Your unexplained paranoia about not getting to bed by 8pm and thus not getting enough sleep causing you to wake up stupid will go away. It will, in time, be replaced by other anxieties that will take years to friggin' sort through. In the meantime, stop crying to Mom and Dad about it every single night. You're freaking them out."

10-Year old Danielle: "Okay. When you start 5th grade, be ready for your teacher to humiliate you in front of 5 of other kids because she is going to take offense to something harmless you said. Three days later, when angrily yelling at the whole class,  she will use you as an example and actually re-tell your story from the days before, thus royally embarrassing you and scarring you for life. Make sure you're ready so you can tell her to fuck off."

12-Year old Danielle: "Go to a Kabbalah class. All hell is going to break loose and you are about to start feeling really ugly. This'll help, I promise. In the meantime, practice your toe-touches now. You are supposed to be captain of the 8th Grade Cheerleading Squad, not Ashley. If you let her get it, she's going to treat you like shit all year long and make you feel even more awkward."

13-Year old Danielle: "Stop being so competitive with the new neighbor girl, Kirsten. And for the love of god, stop bossing her around and yelling at her. She's going to end up being one of your best friends so you're just wasting time and pissing her off."

14-Year old Danielle: "Dude, Lance Bass is gay. Either get over it or keep your mouth shut and keep the *Nsync posters off your wall. Otherwise, your family and friends will never let you hear the end of it. Not even 10 years later."

15-Year old Danielle: "Don't worry, your boobs will grow. In fact they'll be a good deal bigger in college when you put on 10lbs."

16-Year old Danielle: "Don't get a speeding ticket two days after you get your license. Jackass."

18-Year old Danielle: "Don't mix tequila and beer, even if they make you. You will barf on a scary girl's bed in the sorority house and she will be really mad. Don't worry, you and Alisa will still end up being best friends, but you should probably go ahead and shoot for an early start. Stop mixing your alcohol. Seriously." 

19-Year old Danielle: "Remember not to park your car in the Golds Gym lot next door. They'll tow and it'll cost you hundreds of dollars and several frantic hours in a junkyard to get it back. Apparently cars being registered to your parents makes a damn shit show of the paperwork."

20/21-Year old Danielle: "I can't really remember what you're doing but I'm guessing you are having a blast and still scoring good grades..like a boss. Carry on, carry on."

22-Year old Danielle: "I know you're bored at your new job, but you're gonna love it and it will do amazing things for your life. In the meantime, I should warn you that the company can read your emails. That guy you've been shit-talking to? Yeah, he's about to get fired and then they are going to go through his emails. Along with his unfinished business they will find an archive of your verbal diarrhea. Although you will discover, and later appreciate, your boss' tough-love mentoring style, everyone else will just think you're a jackass. Stick your head in those insurance books and keep it there."

24-Year old Danielle: "Remind Alisa that she needs to be careful where she parks outside your apartment. Otherwise, a dreadlock party is going to cost her $325 in towing and tickets, and she is not going to be happy about that one either.  Oh, and regarding that one thing: Hang in there. You'll totally get it when your 25."

25-Year old Danielle: "Get your ass to sleep. You have an early day tomorrow."

Goodnight!

Blame it on Neptune

I've been reading about my generation lately. It seems like every economist, psychiatrist, mentor, parent and politician has us figured out. Or rather, they seem to understand why it is that we cannot be figured out. See, we are not lazy, but we can be loath to move until ready. We desire both success and wisdom, but are mystified as to how to get there. Most importantly, we are dependent, yet we do not know how to ask for help. Our generation seems excessively idealistic, but without a plan.  

Apparently, its a Neptune thing. I recently heard that the astrological placement of this slow-moving planet has somehow shaped our dreams, ideals, and intuition, and may explain our similar confusions and disillusionments.

Whether or not this is true I do not know, but it did get me thinking. 

Our generation really does over idealize everything. We have deep feelings and beliefs about our life's purpose and we all know we want to reach the top. We all know we want to be happy. What we don't know, however, is how to get there, and who we want to be when we arrive. We fantasize in pictures about achieving our goals and living the worry-free life of an accomplished person with all the time in the world to help others. Yet these dreams do not include clear pictures of ourselves. What has this ideal version of ourselves learned? What paralyzing struggles built us up to this point of success and fulfillment? If fantasies come from the ego, are we likely imagining ourselves humble? Wise? Peaceful? I doubt it. 

The Facebook-era has caused us to become little more than a picture of ourselves. We fool ourselves into thinking we are who we choose to portray at any given moment. Yet, on the other end of this, we truly do have ideas and inspirations and a desire to share. 

I think what gets us all so down, though, is the extreme lack of clarity on what to do next. Work a little harder on tomorrow's to-do list? Make 15 more phone calls? Save money? I get the feeling that isn't it. 

I wonder if this universe, which we are all apparently trying to conquer, is trying to show us how it operates so that we might actually have a shot. Ever the idealists, we think we can build our vehicle and rise to the top alone. If it takes longer than we want, we work harder and harder until the eventual disillusionment sets in. Disillusionment, that horrible, relationship-ending, impulsive, self-defeating low. It makes you just want to move far away so you can shake things up (and re-build your little fantasy). 

Little. That is what my dreams of success and accomplishment are. They are nothing more than a Facebook album or an episode of Entourage. The times I ask for help and appreciate the wisdom of others are the times I get closer to seeing how big the world really is. Oddly, it has only been in this humility that I have ever tasted any success. We have to let go of the things we think we desperately want and embrace that which we are terribly afraid of. Embrace the confusion and instability as an opportunity to test our spiritual certainty that if we let go, ask for help, and worry about the well-being of others, this universe may just worry about the well being of ourselves. 

For now, we will continue the symptoms of our generation's quarter-life confusion, but I think we should do so with a little bit of the idealism we are known for. However, this time, instead of imagining ourselves as the ones who will come up with all of the answers, let's have a little faith that the world itself has the answers and, by law, we will find them if we open up, ask the right questions, and change our nature every day. That path will light up for us soon, I'm sure of it.

This one doesn't need to go on the Bucket List

I ate chicken feet today. Chicken Feet.

Let me back up. Today, I went on a business lunch with a few of my co-workers and some underwriters. We decided to eat Dim Sum, which is like a kooky Chinese drive-by buffet. You sit down, and a bajillion waitresses with carts come out offering already-prepared dishes consisting of anything you can imagine. Its a feeding frenzy. Potstickers, bau, dumplings, congee (look it up) and lotus leaf rice filled the table within minutes. The talk of the table, however, was the oft-mentioned but never actually confirmed menu item: Chicken Feet ("Phoenix Talons").

Of course there is always the jackass that has to place the order to keep things interesting.

For whatever reason (boredom, curiosity, pathalogical need for attention, etc.), I decided to try me some real chicken fingers.

Well, let me just say that the look exactly like they do in the picture above, except breaded and fried. As you would imagine, there is no meat on them so you are essentially eating the breading, sauce, and underlying boiled skin of poultry feets.

I respect other cultures, I really do. All jokes aside, the feet weren't that bad. This being said, I cannot figure out for the life of me WHY THE HELL a part of the chicken with no meat is a delicacy? What next, the browbone of swine?

I should point out, however, that Chicken Feet are also eaten in Jamacian, Peruvian, and South African Cultures. I am pleased to report that in Durban, South Africa, chicken feet, served with the damn head, comprises a dish known as "walkie talkies." Clever.

In closing, I will say that I left that B-Rated dim sum restaurant today a little more worldly, a little less cynical, and a lot more nauseas than I had entered.

Where is a dollar-menu Crispy McChicken when you need one?

Coffee Talk

Guy Friend of Mine: "Hey, wanna grab dinner, or a drink, or coffee sometime?"

Idiot Girl: "OMG I'd loooove to grab coffee! Let's do it!"

Chances are, what pisses you off about the exchange above is the girl's grammar. Perhaps its the fact that it occurred over Facebook.

Nope. Not me. You know what gets me steamed? The fact that she wants to grab coffee.

Everyone has pet peeves. Hell, I have about 30. I hate when girls stand in a corner and pose for pictures for the entire party, I loathe people who begin a sentence with, "I'm the kind of person who," and I really abhor when people ask, "where abouts?" when inquiring as to the specific neighborhood of Los Angeles that I live. My pet peeve with coffee dates, however, is perhaps one of my weirder-yet-stronger ones.

Why is it that many people think walking up to a Starbucks counter passes as a date worthy activity? What is this, high school? Stopping by the mall after? I heard friggin Pacific Sunwear is having a sale on Hurley. Gimme a break.

We are urban twenty-somethings in the throes of a Quarter Life Crisis. The last thing we need is self-inflicted awkwardness brought on by the inherent 20 minute time limitation of a coffee date. The idea of grabbing a cup of coffee for a date is just weird. Its like asking someone to come pump gas with you.

Ladies (especially you Silverlake "artists/waitresses)," put your big girl panties on and grab a drink, one with alcohol, if you don't want to commit to a meal of food (and for heaven's sake, put on a damn pair of high heels).

Discuss...

Outstanding

My Friends are Geniuses

So I was surfing PerezHilton.com today and he did a post on our friend Adam Harvey! Adam is the significant other of our dear friend Heather Knight, who is a smokin' hot social roboticist, artist, and current employee of Jet Propulsion Lab in Los Angeles.

Adam invented a purse that flashes when it senses other camera flashes (using technology that cameras with flashes already use), thus destroying paparazzi photos. It has been getting more and more press lately, and this morning, the Queen of All Media himself gave a shout out.

Check out the Perez post here

Why can't I think of this shit? Best I'll ever do is come up with an insurance policy, um, offers some really good coverage? Damn.

Speaking of other genius things I wish I had thought of, Harry Potter was absolutely, #$@#! amazing. Best one so far. The actors have finally rose to the occasion and for the first time, become the Harry, Ron and Hermione I envision when reading my favorite books. What the hell am I gonna do until the 7th movie comes out?!?

Heather will probably put a robot on the moon by then.

Harry Potter e il Principe Mezzosangue?

To commmemorate opening day for Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, I'm posting what is likely the greatest picture of Danny Celentano EVER.

Blog Faux pas?

Shit. Maybe I'm not that original after all.

Actually, I'm not original at all. Danny was the one who tried to help me come up with a name for my blog. He thought of Blog Cabin, and a few other honorable mentions:

1 - Blogwarts, which, despite the totally awesome Harry Potter reference, I neglected to choose because it sounds icky.

2 - Blogustus Gloop, which is genius, but might fly over the heads of those who do not immediately connect it with the beloved Willy Wonka character.

So, I decided on "Danielle's Blog Cabin."

I just found out "Blog Cabin" is being used. Adding insult to injury, I should point out that it is being shamelessy wasted by these clowns. Yes, the group comprised primarily of gay republicans (which is like saying evangelical democrat) decided to start a blog, and some clever jackass had to say, "Hey guys! How about...wait you're gonna love this...how about...BLOG CABIN!" Probably got a friggin standing ovation.

Well, in the spirit of equal opportunity, this straight democrat is keeping her blog name for now.

Unless somebody comes up with something better.

If it take all night long...

Question: Danielle, how do I have fun in traffic on the way to work?

Answer: You don't. Traffic blows.

But if you want to prolong your inevitable trip to the loony-bin, listen to Sam Cooke. If I have any wisdom to share with you today, and I probably don't, this is it. I recommend Good Times

Whatever Milks the Money Cow

Natalie Portman Better Not Mess This Up

Check out that link. They're making a movie about everyone's FAVORITE Norse warrier, Thor! This means there will be like a two to three day window where my last name may actually almost maybe be cool.

Hey but check out the hot Australian dude playing the God of Thunder.

Yes Please. Two Please!