Hyperbole:
“A figure of speech in which exaggeration is used for emphasis or effect, as in I could sleep for a year or This book weighs a ton.
”

I finally figured out what’s wrong with L.A.

I’ve been here six months, and I’ve been having a little trouble making friends. I have gone out and systematically met with people. I take advantage of the opportunities that are out there.

But somehow, it’s been falling flat. A lot of people don’t really want to get together again, and I’m not that disappointed.

I haven’t really met anyone that I made a connection with.

I went swing dancing a few weeks ago for the first time at a place called the Derby. I was worried about going alone, I thought people wouldn’t be friendly.

I couldn’t have been more wrong! Lots of people were there, lots of nice men asked me to dance. Some people even sat and talked with me.

But I came away feeling a little flat. At the time I was thinking, “L.A. boys are too nice.”

Boy that is not something I would imagine myself thinking. I’m not the “bad boy” type. I really enjoy respectful, intelligent well-dressed men.

Something was wrong.

My brother Chris came to visit me yesterday. He just got back from a world tour of Orthodox monasteries.

I was really worried that our conversation would be really heavy.

I did not want to spend the evening being very serious.

So I made a point of poking fun. There is a hell of a lot that is funny about monasteries, once you stop and look at it.

And my brother has a great sense of humor! There were times when I had him cracking up. And he made me laugh, too.

I woke up this morning, and I figured it out.

NO ONE IN L.A. HAS A SENSE OF HUMOR.

That’s the “too nice” I’ve been running up against.

I love to laugh and make fun of things. The aforementioned “Hyperbole” is one of my favorites…To exaggerate something to show how ridiculous it is..I toss those little hyperboles off all the time.

And I’ve been met with blank stares and nods.

“No! It’s funny! I didn’t mean it literally!”

You can’t explain a joke. Everyone knows that. I couldn’t defend myself.

Things that are bust-my-gut funny are taken totally seriously by everyone I’ve met.

It’s starting to make me feel like a crazy person. Stupid little jokes at work, like “Boy, this coffee is so strong I think it just walked out the room and asked the boss for a promotion” don’t even illicit a groan or an eye-roll.

When you say outrageous things, and laugh uproariously ALONE, you look imbalanced.

But I suppose it’s not a surprise. Being funny is a career in Los Angeles.

Anyone that can crack a half-funny joke is locked in some dungeon somewhere churning out one-liners for That 70s Show or The Simpsons

All we are left with here in the main populace are incredibly earnest and serious peace activists, vegan animal rights people, weight lifters, motivational coaches, yoga instructors and failed actors.

Anyone that wants to laugh has to watch reruns.

This COULD be giving fuel to the argument that he’s forgotten more than I ever knew.

But my brother once spent a good hour, explaining to me that raw sugar was in need of enhancement in order to reach it’s taste potential. His examples were that while things like cotton candy and rock candy were good, the sugar was barely altered and therefore not reaching it’s highest taste potential.

But CHOCOLATE was more substantially enhanced and therefore the sugar could achieve the a higher level of deliciousness.

Now, he claims it was my theory all along.

I just don’t suffer from early senility, and I reMEMber this conversation.

As I recall, it took place in 1993, and was the first dialogue of the Candy Traditions.

The results of which will be published here at a later date.

Unless Bryan beats me to it.

She started it. But I only know about her because he was all twitterpated. And I only know him because I’m all twitterpated…

Nonetheless, I have a contribution to the list…

“Make Jokes Not War”

With a graphic of a person pointing and laughing hilariously at some deadpan military types.

I have been quite disciplined this evening.

I ate a healthy dinner. avoiding my usual dive for the snack food upon coming home.

I made a new recipe involving Eggplant, a frypan, and practically no fat.

I ran on the treadmill for 20 minutes.

I then sat down with my files and papers and started making my papers into files.

Now I have cleaned up those files and papers, proud because I’ve taken a good bite out of this procrastinated job.

THe next task on the list is to sit at my computer and write something clever, insightful and sure to bring me international renown.

I’m tired!

All I want to do is sit in my hot tub. I think there may already be people from other apartments in it, but that doesnt even deter me.

Creativity doesn’t seem to lie on the desk underneath my papers, waiting for me to pick it up.

Too bad.

I’m off to be steamed and gurgled.

Chris asked me a few weeks ago what I would do if I won the lottery. I immediately answered:

Go back to school.

Fortunately, I don’t have to win the lottery to attend the occasional class. I already tried the community college nearby. It was kind of disappointing.

I am a GRADUATE now. This high horse has a nice view.

So I thought I would pay real money for a class, and take an extension course. UCLA was calling.

UCLA seems so cool! The campus is beautiful, and they have so much going on all the time.

My class is very short, eight meetings of “Telling on Yourself: Self-Revelation through Memoir Writing”

That’s what I seem to be doing lately, in my reminiscent pieces about Alaska.

I fear, however, that this class will be full of blue-haired women wanting to tell their life story. We’ll see.

It doesn’t start until April, but only 20 people were allowed in. First come, first served. I got in.

Plus, it’s for credit. Maybe I’ll work my way all the way to a masters eventually.

Now all I need to do is figure out how to park without paying for it.

My good friends came down to L.A. and stopped to see me. We were going to have dinner here.

I was excited to have them come, so I wanted to pick a nice place to eat. I am a restaurant reviewer, after all. I ought to know places.

Well, maybe.

I thought it would be fun to go to the Tam o’Shanter. The place looks like it could have been dropped straight out of Stratford-upon-Avon.

The Tam o’shanter is a fairy tale looking place. Walt Disney used to hang out there.

But when I called, they didn’t have room for us.

So I decided we should go to the Dresden. I hadn’t been there before, but I had wanted to go inside and try it out.

It was beautiful. “It looks like it’s from a movie!” they said.

Cream-colored booths arching in an art-deco swoop filled the room. There were wooden beams reaching from the floor to the very high cieling, and lights that spiralled up through the middle of them.

To our surprise, the Dresden served Italian food. It was pretty and we had a very good time.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

For you, my readers, loved and cherished by me.
I don’t know all of you, but it is a tremendous delight to know that you exist and that my writing is not a forest tree falling in solitude.

I have chosen a poem for you, by Emily Dickinson. She is also beloved by me. She was insistently creative, prolific and terse. She pondered her experiences and captured them in words. Here is one of her poems for you:

Come Slowly
by Emily Dickinson

Come slowly, Eden
Lips unused to thee.
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
As the fainting bee,
Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums,
Counts his nectars -alights,
And is lost in balms!

Hey everybody! I found this massively nerdy post from this other blogger

For those of you with a fondness for using equal signs in conjuction with letters on the extreme ends of the alphabet, go look at and see what you think.

Basically, it’s a model for how bloggers can become seen in cyberspace. I like the idea of good content being immediately rewarded.