I first made “Sunshine Cookies” when I was living in a tiny apartment with my little brother in the East Village in NYC in 2011 (old post here –> http://www.bubblechild.com/2011/08/22/sunshine-cookies/). There were many Indian markets nearby on 1st Ave. and I suppose I’d just discovered turmeric and how much it dyes everything, desirable or not, so why not dye my cookies. And yellow just screams sunshine and smiles to me.
Los Angeles is not a normal “city”. The very concept of the origin of city was a metropolis, a city center, an existence more vertical and centralized than horizontal. Of course, with population growth and this phenomenon called gentrification all cities are getting a bit more wide than tall and lanky, but this is nothing new for LA. It was started this way.
LA was actually more of a marketing ploy than anything in its birth. It’s actually a desert. Life shouldn’t really exist here in the mass that it does. Publications like Sunset Magazine boasted the promise of settling new land, having space to let your “id” run wild, having a place to plant your orange trees in your own backyard and roads to drive your own car in. In fact, Los Angeles was one of the first towns to have public transportation, but since it developed right at the invention of the automobile, and of course trends are trends, they immediately converted these trolley lines into highways. Thanks guys. Thanks. I love driving in 5 p.m. traffic.
Basically, Los Angeles was founded upon people’s quests to be more private, to have their suburban life in a metropolis. To film movies at all times of the year, to profit from agriculture that would be constantly nourished by the sun (and artificial abundance of water), and to spread wide in house-lined neighborhoods. This sprawl is not surprising. It is curated and still felt today. For a city, it can be really distant. It can be isolating, unless you know where to look. Which is why I chose today to write about my new neighborhood, one that I love, and one that I didn’t even know existed until leaving Paris earlier this year. Read more
I can’t say that I’ve become addicted to bananas. I really cannot. But here’s a (trivial) fact: 3 out of my past 5 posts have contained them. Perhaps it’s the warm weather. Or perhaps it’s because bananas are convenient (for some odd reason, thanks foreign exchange) and delicious.
It’s like, when you’re late, you always run into traffic, drop your purse on the way out, accidentally forget your jacket at home and have to turn around, etc. For me, when I’m late, it’s like, “Oh, why don’t I MAKE A CAKE.” Seriously.
It would make me seem a much more sane human being if this was some cute anecdote, but alas, it is not, and I was terribly late for a meeting this morning, and chose that after going for a run making a cake was a better idea to stay late for said meeting than even taking a shower.
Me and my Paris roommate, Laurie, at Le Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris, 2007.
France, you had me at “bonjour” with your silky wines, crusty baguettes (that I ultimately cannot eat), smelly cheese (again, don’t eat anymore), and beautiful men (I’m married, so, again, now off limits.)
Damnit, what’s left for me here?!!
Ah, shall we call it no coincidence, then, that I’m leaving? Not really — I can still drink the wine, and that in itself is good enough to make a girl stay.
A student’s version of enjoying wine on the Champs Elysées, Paris, 2007.
I’m leaving because there comes a time when it’s evident that something has run its course, and that is exactly what I am feeling being in France today.
Me with my roommates outside of our school, La Sorbonne, Paris, 2007.