And you wonder why I've been spending so much time at the beach?

Today's forecast: A high of 75 degrees on the coast (i.e. Venice), a high of 95 degrees downtown LA, and a high of 107 degrees "inland" (i.e. freakin' Palmdale).

That's why you need to check zoned weather maps around here before you leave the house. Is there any place on Earth where the word "forecast" is more relative? Now, where's my damn sunblock?

We Cut Heads

Cutting Dad's hair
Originally uploaded by Noranna.

I caught the tail end of an episode of the Showtime series Barbershop last night. All I can say is...shudder. Okay, I suppose that isn't fair, considering I didn't see the entire episode, but the dialogue and exchanges that I did witness rang completely hollow. I enjoyed the first Barbershop film, but I don't even think that movie was able to truly capture the atmosphere in "the Black Man's Country Club," as Cedric the Entertainer put it. And that's all right. Movies aren't real life anyway. Even if they were, I don't think one film could capture all of the myriad experiences of the barber shop.

The nature of my work means that I have moved around a lot during my adult years. But no matter what city I've ended up in, my first action has always been the same; find a good barber. It sounds simple, but it can be really difficult. You have to really be able to TRUST your barber, and that trust only comes over time. Your barber has to know that if he doesn't cut that swirl on the front of your head just right, it's going to leave a patch. He has to know whether you prefer being shaved with the electric or the straight razor. His politics don't have to be the same as yours, but he has to have the gift of gab to parry verbal assaults if you two happen to disagree.

Mirror Mirror
Originally uploaded by Shavar.

Once I manage to find those traits in a barber, I stick with him through thick and thin. Hell, if I happen to be traveling through a city in which I've once lived, I'll let my hair grow out just so that I can stop in and get a cut from one of my old barbers. There's Tone in Chicago. Big Mike in Minneapolis. John in Long Island City, Queens. Not sure if Shabazz Barbers is still around in DC, but that place was my haircut lifeline during college.

Being a morning haircut person, I also tend to gravitate towards certain kinds of barbershops. There are some that have really got their operations organized. I went to a place in Altadena once where you pulled a number when you walked in. Everyone had their barber school certificates up on the wall. It was nice and all, but not my vibe. My barbers tend to keep irregular hours. If the door says they open at 9AM, you're lucky if someone shows up by 11AM. A lot of them don't have certificates on display. The telephone number painted on the outside of the place tends to be either wrong or disconnected. It sounds bad, but those are my favorite barber shops because those barbers have the same kind of loyalty to their customers that their customers have to them. The ghetto barber has to be a hustler. If he isn't, then another barber whose game is tighter will take all of his customers. In those shops, you tend to get a card from your barber, often with a cell, pager, or even home telephone number. You call him up when you're on your way, and they get there when you do. Tone in Chicago used to live right above the shop. I'd show up in the morning, call him on his home phone, and he'd come downstairs in his pajamas to give me a cut. He kept a pool table in the shop, as well as some vintage arcade machines too. He was a good barber.

My current barbershop is Super Star Barbers on La Brea. I get my hair cut by either Carlton or Bruce. It's usually Carlton, since Bruce plays in a band and keeps odd hours. I'm convinced that Carlton is the world's greatest Lakers fan. How else can you explain a person who actually thinks the Lakers got the better end of the Shaq for Odom/Grant trade? He does have his barber certificate on display, by the way, but it's right below his more important certificate from the Temple of Hip-Hop, which certifies him as a purveyor of true hip-hop knowledge and culture. Super Star is a tiny shop, but they've got cable, which is nice because I don't have to miss the football game if I get a cut on a Sunday. Other than sports, they mostly keep the television tuned to The Discovery Channel and the History Channel, which can cause the kinds of disputes one only expects brothers to get into over sports. We're also pretty passionate about nature shows, it turns out. The writers of the TV series Barbershop should probably stop in sometime and get a cut...they might also leave with some fresher material.

Dad's hair
Originally uploaded by Noranna.

Postcards from surf camp...

Well, my daughter Mackenzie completed her surf camp! It went better than even I could have expected, and she has gone from a good swimmer who was timid about the ocean to a confident beginning surfer who will tackle waves head on! She already has requested a wetsuit, 8ft board, and boogey board for Christmas. Thanks again to all of the friends who helped make this happen.

Surf Camp, Day 1
Originally uploaded by Powerkeni.

Before we surf, we must stretch...
Originally uploaded by Powerkeni.

Into the swell
Originally uploaded by Powerkeni.

Getting her footing
Originally uploaded by Powerkeni.

Two the hard way
Originally uploaded by Powerkeni.

Mingus wants in on the action
Originally uploaded by Powerkeni.

Lil' Man in the Big Sea
Originally uploaded by Powerkeni.

That's all, folks!
Originally uploaded by Powerkeni.

Found out my total blood cholesterol level is 260mg

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Well, I guess I won't be eating red meat and fried foods for a while.

Maybe We Should All Just Start Listening to Dancehall?

I received this link from two different friends in the past 24 hours. Nice essay by Ta-Nehisi Coates talking about what I like to call "the Gen X black man's midlife crisis". We crossed 25 and ALL had to come to terms with some of the things happening to the music form that had nurtured us. I accepted several years ago that I was no longer the target audience for 90% of hip-hop music. Hell, how could a black man who attends live shows scan the audience and NOT come to that conclusion? I'm not just talking about the music that is played on the radio either. I cannot count how many times on the Venice boardwalk I've seen backpack-clad brothers stopping every white tourist they see in an attempt to sell them what would once have been called "underground" rap. We stopped being the market for rap long ago.

In my own personal opinion, all rap music falls into one of two eras, B.C. (before Chronic) and A.C. (after Chronic, or anno chronicky "in the year of our hip-hop lord"). That seminal debut album by Dr. Dre was released in 1993, when I was a student at Howard University. It came hot on the heels of director Bill Duke's 1992 ghetto gangster opus Deep Cover, the soundtrack of which introduced the world to the duo of Dre and Snoop Doggy Dogg. As good as the film and song were, the release of The Chronic took the campus by storm. What we didn't realize was that it was also taking the entire country by storm. That was right around the time that documentaries like "Bangin' in Little Rock" were being made that examined the penetration of black gang culture in predominantly white suburbs across America. The Chronic was also the soundtrack of those white youth, who said it spoke to their life experiences as much as anyone else. The burly sales numbers for the album made record execs stand up and take notice too. That was the point at which rap, to me at least, became divided into mainstream (radio) and underground (backpacker music), with racially divided segments of both. But even I wouldn't have expected both forms (and all segments) to have so completely crossed over in less than a decade. I challenge anyone who says that they actually predicted that New Orleans' Bounce would one day be played at bat mitzvahs.

The dismay in Coates' piece is palpable to me because it has been a long running issue among lots of us for quite a while now, and I agree that at times the situation can be depressing. Is there any black person in America who hasn't been in a bar and felt the sudden urge to get up and leave when Fitty's "In Da Club" comes on and the lawyers/accountants/stockbrokers in attendance start chanting "go shorty, it's your birthday"? Yes, black folks have been making a mass exodus from hip-hop for a few years now, sorry to say. I wonder, is this how the jazz generation felt? Luckily, I've always had a more diverse music library than most. Hip-hop was the foundation, but there was always something else there to complete my music world view. At the same time I rocked Kurtis Blow, I was listening to Kraftwerk. At the same time I jammed to Eric B. & Rakim and Run DMC, I loved Depeche Mode and The Ramones. And no matter how disenchanted I become with hip-hop (with now being a low point), there are always at least one or two artists I enjoy.

But what that essay really got me thinking about was the writers of the hip-hop generation. I've always encouraged all writers to write about the things they love, regardless of race. Coates obviously has a passion for forms of music that aren't hip-hop, and a strong background as a writer, but I could only imagine the cross looks he (or any black writer) would probably receive if he ever pitched a book on the White Stripes or Bjork. If being "on the outside," so to speak, gives others the intellectual credibility to examine hip-hop, why have so few black writers been able to lend their outsider perspective to rock? Maybe because as writers, whether we like it or not, hip-hop will always be our burden as much as it has been our foundation.

Let's all go to Palmdale!

I got called to do a reporting assignment yesterday that required me to drive out to Palmdale. I had no idea where Palmdale was, other than "in Los Angeles County". About 60 miles later, I got another startling reminder of how ridiculously big Los Angeles County really is.

It's funny that one of the most popular pieces of lifestyle propaganda about this area is that one can "surf and ski in the same day". While that feat is technically possible, the reality is that most Southern Californians don't really travel between the metro area's many environmental zones in one day. I know I sure as hell never had. When I got the call about going to Palmdale, it was about 10AM, and I was standing up to my ankles in ocean water in Santa Monica. I was dropping my daughter off for
surf camp. Luckily, I had a change of clothes in my car, so I was able to pull a quick Superman switch and get right on the road, armed with directions to my destination.

Now, I expected Palmdale to be a suburban community, but I think that in order to technically be considered a suburb, a place has to actually run up to an urban area. That wasn't the case during my drive. The temperature rose by probably 15 degrees as I crossed the San Gabriel Mountains, and the next thing you know, I was looking out across an expanse of empty high desert. You know you've gone quite a distance when ALL of your local radio stations go out. It was interesting that despite the rugged feeling of this area, every five miles or so I found myself passing a small enclave of identical cookie-cutter homes. Where do the people who live in these little prefabricated outposts go to the store?

As I neared Palmdale on Highway 14, I caught a glimpse on my left of magnificent rock formations that I later learned were the
Vasquez Rocks, a little known national park has been used for location shoots in tons of films and television shows including Star Trek, Bonanza and The Flintstones Movie. I had never been very interested in the idea of hiking before, but I've now added hiking this area to my "To Do" list, but not until the winter when it (hopefully) cools off a bit.

I made it back into Los Angeles by about 4PM, just in time to hit rush hour traffic. Still, it was kind of nice to have gone from the cool ocean to the high desert in one whirlwind morning. Maybe this winter I'll even try the surf/ski in a single day thing, and see how that works out. How many miles away is Big Bear?

Hey subway, nice to meet you...

Red Line Train
Originally uploaded by brikmaster.

So it turns out there really IS a subway running under Los Angeles. I have to admit, being a lifelong advocate of public transportation and a native New Yorker, I'm pretty ashamed that I hadn't ridden LA's MetroRail system until last month. I have legitimate reasons though. First and foremost, I have never lived within a mile of a subway station. First I was on the West Side (Santa Monica), which is only serviced by bus. I'm now about a mile and a half away from a subway station, but since there are no park and ride facilities, I never had any reason to use it. However, I was working on a story several Sundays ago that required me to bounce around to several locations downtown. It was a Sunday (free meter parking), so I figured I'd finally give the subway a shot. I parked my car on the street around the corner from the Wilshire/Vermont Red Line station and hopped on. Within only a few weeks, I would have ridden the subway for countless hours to destinations all across Los Angeles, and even into the Valley. It was pretty addictive getting back to the mode of transport that I had always known and loved.

One of the most interesting things about the MetroRail is that there are no turnstiles or gates of any kind. The whole thing is run on the honor system. You buy your ticket from a machine, then walk right into the station. Apparently, officers routinely come through the cars to check tickets, much like on Amtrak, and if you don't have yours, you get hit with a $250 fine. Even though not a single person has checked my ticket since I started using the subway, I wouldn't recommend not paying for your ticket. On weekends, it's only $3 for an all you can ride pass. It doesn't get any cheaper than that.

Wilshire and Vermont
Originally uploaded by iscreamdogg.

Downtown (including Chinatown and Little Tokyo) is particularly well served by the subway system, which means little since hardly anyone here goes downtown. However, with the Grand Central Market and Central Library (two of my favorite spots) within a few blocks of a station, that's a lot of money one can save on parking. For the most part though, MetroRail services a combination of tourist destinations and poor neighborhoods. There's a big station under the Hollywood and Highland shopping complex on Hollywood Boulevard. There's also a stop in the Valley at Universal Studios and North Hollywood. You can even ride the Blue Line all the way down to the Long Beach Aquarium, and the Blue and Green Line trains have the added benefit of riding alongside the snail-slow traffic, which can be quite gratifying.

I don't find myself visiting tourist destinations unless I have company in town. Still, it's nice to know that I can simply drop East Coast friends off at a nearby subway station and let them tackle Hollywood Blvd, Universal Studios and other schlock destinations on their own. It would be so wonderful if the Red Line were extended down Wilshire all the way to the ocean, as new mayor Antonio Villaraigosa has pledged, but that will probably happen right after they open a Georgetown subway station in Washington, DC. The powers that be just refuse to stop thinking that a subway stop is simply an access point for criminals to their neighborhood. That kind of thinking is even more ridiculous in LA, considering everyone owns a car anyway.

It is an interesting cultural study riding the rails here though. With the rare exception of the Hollywood/Highland stop, it seemed like vast majority of riders were either Mexican, Salvadorian, Korean or black. Definitely the domain of Los Angeles' minority population. Now that I've gotten my feet wet riding the subway, I feel like a fool for all those times I paid the ridiculous fees to park at the Central Library or in Hollywood. Though I would never mistake MetroRail for New York's system (the burly Red Line is most reminiscent of the underground portions of Chicago's El), it does give me a new sense of pride when coordinating a meeting someplace in the city to ask "is that place anywhere near a subway station?"

faceless crowd 2
Originally uploaded by BinaryLA.

Rats, footballers and Los Angeles

Don't know why, but I tend to prefer non-fiction over fiction these days. One of my favorite all time books remains Charles Johnson's novel Middle Passage, and a good yarn every now and then still gets me going, but for the most part my recent reading has been grounded in reality. I also tend to read books by the bushel, keeping one in my car, one next to my bed, and one in my bag. Next on my reading list are two novels, including Danyel Smith's Bliss, but I recently finished up a particularly good trio of books, and I thought I'd share some passing thoughts on them before I move on to the next batch:

Rats: Observations on the History & Habitat of the City's Most Unwanted Inhabitants

This one is by Robert Sullivan, a regular contributor to the New Yorker. Sullivan spent an unhealthy amount of time lurking in a lower Manhattan alley examining its native rat population, and readers get to benefit from his unusual personal quest. The book combines his ruminations on his adopted rat colony with some fascinating history on rats and the exterminators who attempt to control them. A real page turner, I cannot recommend this book highly enough.

White Angels: Beckham, Real Madrid & The New Football

I remain amazed that the average American has never heard of Zidane, Raul, or Figo, among the best soccer players on the planet. Placing Beckham's name on the cover line of this book seems to be an obvious attempt to lure the American buying audience with that most recognizable of soccer icons, but fortunately, the book spends a huge amount of time exploring the other superstars that make up the eternal dream team that is Real Madrid. With Beckham, Ronaldo, and the aforementioned players all on the same squad, Madrid's talent base has no equal in professional sports today. It would be like the original dream team (Jordan, Bird, et al) playing a regular season against the rest of the NBA...for a decade. I don't like how the author so often tries to inject excitement into very mundane things (like a Madrid exec asking a powerful Audi executive to hold on while he receives a fax regarding Beckham's acquisition). I'd assume that's a typical American complaint, not unlike when Spanish language soccer commentators scream "Goooooooooooooooal!" and Americans reply "what the hell is that guy so excited about?" Still, author John Carlin's excitement about the team is both palpable and contagious. Football enthusiasts will love this book, while those ignorant to the sport may very well find themselves wanting to tune in to Manchester United games on BBC World by the time they're done.

The City: Los Angeles and Urban Theory at the End of the Twentieth Century

I'm a long time urban planning buff (intensely studied Mumford, Le Corbusier, Kostof and Jacobs during my Michigan fellowship), so I understand that this 1999 book is definitely not for everyone. In fact, when I checked it out at the library, the perplexed librarian asked me if I needed it for a class. Yes, it's that heavy of a read. That being said, I can't think of a better way to understand the cities in which we live than to look at them from an economic and planning perspective, which this book does incredibly well. I was particularly enthralled with the chapters detailing the dismantling of Los Angeles' streetcar system (yep, LA had the biggest streetcar system in the world) and the relentless destruction of the city's once abundant parkland. It might be wrapped up in 470 pages of academic jargon, but sorting through it provides one of the most complete and intensive recent histories of the City of Angels that I have ever seen in print.

That Tony Shalhoub sure knows his veggies...

I don't understand. So many people claim to hate Los Angeles because the place is overrun with actors, but the first thing most visitors (including my friends and family from New York...don't front y'all) want to know when they get here is where they can go to spot celebrities. Since no one is willing to suck it up and admit that "spotting famous people" is on their itinerary when they come to this great town, I've taken the liberty of compiling a list of the top 5 places to spot celebrities in Los Angeles, as well as the key celebs I've seen personally in each place. Of course, it's a given that if you work at one of the major studios (as many Angelenos do) or are a regular at expensive restaurants such as Ivy at the Shore, you're likely to get your fill of celebs. This list is meant for visitors only. OK, it's meant for my friends, so that they stop wasting their money on things like those ridiculous tours of celebrity homes when they're in town (cough, cough, Ornette, cough). I'm sure there are other places that might be better for spotting celebs, but these are just places that I frequent where I tend to notice more than a few recognizable actors and actresses:


5) Mailboxes, etc.
Key sightings: Faye Dunaway, Jeffrey Jones
Go ahead and laugh, but celebrities have to mail their packages too. And contrary to what you might believe, most of them don't have personal assistants to do it for them. That's why this place comes in at number five. I go to Mailboxes, etc. for all of my FedEx needs, and every once in a while am surprised at the folks dueling with the tellers. I remember when Faye Dunaway was in line in front of me one day at the store in Hollywood. No idea what she was talking to the clerk about, but as she walked away, he mumbled "bitch" under his breath repeatedly. You better believe that one went into my journal.

4. Toast
Key sightings: Courtney Cox-Arquette, Common, Slim Kid Trey (from the Pharcyde)
This breakfast spot on 3rd used to be the JOINT last year, but I stopped going there months ago. The weekend crowds got to be Cheesecake Factory level ridiculous, and the quality of the food dropped tremendously. Besides, there were other breakfast diners within a mile that had both better food and a much more pleasant atmosphere (no way am I saying which ones). Still, Toast has been and still remains a hot eatery in which you'll likely sit next to local celebs. I used to see Courtney Cox there back when she was still pregnant. It was also a good place for me to conduct interviews with people who wanted to be met over lunch, since everyone knows where it is. Someone told me that Toast has been featured on the HBO show Entourage too, which is another sign that it might not maintain its status for much longer. Coincidentally, I tend to actually see Kevin Dillon dining at the Versailles Cuban Restaurant on La Cienega.

3. Larchmont Village
Key sightings: Julianne Margulies, Nia Long, Fred Williamson, Tim Meadows, Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs, Thomas Jane
Village Pizza on Larchmont is the best NY style pizza I've had in L.A., so you'll find me there a lot. Doesn't hurt that this quaint little walking street is only about a mile from where I live. It also happens to be about a mile (in the opposite direction) from Paramount, so the celeb masses descend here for grub all during the week. On weekends, the farmer's market also is quite a draw. Mmmmmm...Rockenwagner pretzel rolls...

2. The Grocery Store (both Ralph's and Vons)
Key sightings: Tony Shalhoub, Jasmine Guy, Bishop Don "Magic" Juan, too many commercial actors to name
Welcome to the ultimate LA reality check. I just finished writing a comedy script about a guy trying to stalk a celebrity at his local grocery store. It's such a weird script that I doubt it will ever get bought or made, but it was such a blast writing it that I'd do it again. Why? Because this is where the acting profession's proletariat masses must gather. It is also where most celebrities go to buy their food necessities (remember, the personal assistant to actor ratio has been grossly exagerrated). But when you see celebrities here, you're not seeing them as they are on television or in film. You're seeing them in their natural, almost feral state. We're talking flip-flops, shorts and no makeup. We're talking heads of completely grey hair on actors you thought were ten years younger. We're talking actresses who are almost unrecognizable due to the lack of makeup. And we're also talking more deja vu than most can tolerate, because every person you've ever seen in a Geico, Volkswagen, or McDonald's commercial seems to be prowling the aisles. If you're a parent and you want to dash your kid's dreams of becoming a movie star, take them to the grocery store the next time you're in LA. It'll sober them up faster than a pot of coffee. Oh, coffee doesn't really sober you up, does it?

And drum roll please...

1. The Grove/Farmers Market
Key sightings: Tricky, Michael Rappaport, David Spade, Tracey Morgan, Keenan Ivory Wayans, Thomas Jane, Kanye West, Michael Jai White, Fabrice from Milli Vanilli, Harold Perrineau, and many, many others
This is it kids, ground zero of LA public celeb gathering. That's 3rd and Fairfax. CBS is across the street, so the market is where everyone goes for lunch. Local celebs love the multiplex theater for movies, while visiting celebs seem to like wandering aimlessly in the Grove while chatting on their cell phones. Despite the Grove's glitzy nature, it has managed to stay largely off the radar of tourists (despite what anyone tells you, most of the crowds here are certainly locals), leaving the fanny-pack wearers in the sweltering heat of Hollywood & Highland.

Let's hear it for the girl...and the boy too!

Ready to hit the waves?
Originally uploaded by Powerkeni.

So, my little girl Mackenzie turned seven yesterday, and I decided to try something a little different with this year's birthday gift. Too much of a glut of useless toys these days, and the kids seem to forget about them as soon as they have them in hand. Not from me. Not this year. So, it looks like my kid will instead be going to surf camp! I'm very proud of Mackenzie for having spent the past two summers in swimming classes in order to develop into a strong swimmer. She has always bugged me about learning to surf when we visit the beach, so this year, in addition to her other gifts (which included a friggin' PSP from her mom!), she received a communal present of a week in Santa Monica surf camp from a group of friends who all love her dearly (but don't get to visit us in California nearly enough). Thanks to everyone who contributed to making this very unique and special birthday gift a possibility: Ornette, Michael, Steph, Glo, Gina and Mikey. I hope that it's the confidence builder the little lady needs.

Mingus1
Originally uploaded by Powerkeni.

And in boy news, Mingus continues on the path to righteous rapscallion (sorry, Walt Frazier moment). He has these mega-blocks that he insists on depositing all over the house. Honestly, I've grown weary of stepping on blocks at odd hours of the night, so today I decided to leave his mess where it landed. He dumped his blocks on the floor, as usual, and within minutes he tripped over one of them and fell flat on his stomach. After the crying subsided, I was shocked that he actually got himself up, picked up EVERY SINGLE BLOCK, and deposited them all back into their container. Hooray for letting them learn "the hard way"! Oh, and by the way; as soon as he finished cleaning up the last block, he grabbed the container and emptied them all onto the floor again. I think the next word to manifest itself in his vocabulary will probably be "sucker".

Open up already!

Cheesesteak place
Originally uploaded by Powerkeni.

There's a new cheesesteak place called StakeOut Take Out opening on Pico and Redondo, right next to We Jammin' Jamaican Restaurant. I saw the lights on INSIDE the place as I passed by last night, which is a wonderful sign considering they have been "coming soon" for months. I swear, it feels like they were able to build that new Target on Santa Monica and La Brea quicker than these guys have been able to get their store off the ground. Come on fellas! Mop the floor, plug in the grill, and fix me a friggin' cheesesteak wid! Sheesh!

I should probably calm down, as more than likely I'm going to be disappointed when they finally do open. Why is it so difficult for anyone in the country outside of Philadelphia to make a good Philly cheesesteak? The ingredients are so basic. Steak, cheese, sandwich roll, with onions and peppers optional. Yet, no one can do it. In fact, to most Americans, what qualifies as a cheesesteak is in fact a gooey slurry of beef bits, melted cheese, peppers, onions, lettuce, and tomatoes on a mayo-slathered roll. Blech! That's what a cheesesteak was to me also, until that first time I stopped by Geno's in South Philly. Ever since then, I've been hoping for at least one decent cheesesteak place in my city of residence, but have come up short for years now. Unfortunately, LA has been no exception, with places like South Street on Hollywood Blvd. falling into the "slurry sandwich" category.

Yet I'm still holding out hope for this place, even though the early signs point to disappointment. The sign claims that they will have the best "Philadelphia and Chicago cheesesteaks" in town. Chicago cheesesteak? What the hell is that? Are they talking about an Italian beef sandwich (which is more a french dip with mozzarella cheese and peppers)? The fact that this place doesn't even properly identify its sandwiches dashes my hopes.

On a good note, I have been making some of the best cheesesteak sandwiches ever at home thanks to the good folks in Koreatown. You see, LA's Koreatown is tremendous, and loaded with Korean grocery stores that sell pre-sliced ribeye beef (for making bulgogi) that works wonderfully for homemade cheesesteak. I just buy some of that beef, some potato sandwich rolls, some peppers and onions (which I fry separately) and within minutes I've got myself the perfect Philly cheesesteak sandwich. Now that I think of it, screw that new place. I don't need them anyway. I'm going to the store.

Guess Who's Back?

The Ivory Billed Woodpecker, that's who! I'm not kidding. Just reported on CNN.com today that researchers have confirmed the existence of the bird, thought to be extinct since 1944, in rural Arkansas. And in case you haven't figured it out, yes, I'm a bird-watcher. Shut up. I can still probably kick your ass.

But seriously, this is huge news in the ornithology world. It would be like someone discovering a pair of DoDo birds wandering around in a jungle. Or a Tasmanian Wolf in the suburbs of Melbourne. Just HUGE. And why should you care? I would answer that question with a question: have you ever stared out your window and tried to count how many different kinds of birds are flying around in your neighborhood? Neither had I, until my impromptu move to Minneapolis in the mid-90s. I think it was the second day in my office when I looked out the window and saw a bird that I had never seen before. I can't recall exactly what I said, but it was something along the lines of:

"What the fuck is that?"

"That" was actually a Pileated Woodpecker, the largest (now second largest since the Ivory Billed is back) woodpecker species in the world. Wingspan of 29 inches, in flight it looks like a pterodactyl with feathers. On a tree, its pecking sounds like someone hammering. It just blew my mind. Within a week, I had bought a Sibley Guide to Birds, and was just stunned at the birds I saw out my window (or nearby). Great Horned Owl. Pheasant. Red-Winged Blackbird. Robin. Blue Jay. Bald Eagle. In fact, bald eagles were like pidgeons in some parts of town. Despite its majestic image, the birds are serious scavengers, and they tend to feed on roadkill. People are always running them over.

Bird watching mellowed me out, and changed my life. I've done it ever since. Growing up in Brooklyn, where the only birds you see on a regular basis are sparrows and pidgeons, suddenly seeing these unusual creatures regularly can bowl you over. I never talked much about my hobby, and only years later found out that many of my friends have also been longtime bird watchers. There's Michael T., who had a Sibley guide sitting in the backseat of his car one night. There's Walter up in San Francisco, who recently began posting photos of the Herons he's been watching at the pond near the Palace of Fine Arts (click on "Walter Kitundu" in my links section to see the pictures for yourself). He sent me a great pic of a Great Blue Heron flying off with a groundhog in its mouth. And there's me, still watching birds and looking them up in my now dog-eared Sibley Guide. New cities bring new birds, and LA has been no exception. I recently found out that lots of the city's birds congregate down on the LA river. Unlike in movies such as Repo Man, Grease, Terminator 2 and countless others (in which only the concrete-encased portion of the river is shown) there are actually parts of the river that still have a natural bottom. Drinking the water would mean instant sickness for a person, but birds simply love the area. Everything from cliff swallows to herons can be seen there, and it's one of the many nice little secrets of the city. All Angelenos should check it out, though I know few ever will.

What's the point of all this? Maybe it's that bird watching is something I feel city kids (and adults) can appreciate more than most others, simply because it is so easy to take urban wildlife for granted, if you're able to see it at all. My house is surrounded by so many feral cats that they've killed seemingly every bird within a mile of it, except for crows, a couple of mourning doves and a hawk that camps out in the palm tree in my front yard. Remember when a few intrepid souls introduced the sport of fencing to kids in Harlem? No one thought city kids would want to do the sport, and now some of the best fencers in America hail from that neighborhood. If you have or know any kids and you live in the city,tell them to start looking to the sky at their neighborhood birds. Even "ugly" birds can be fascinating to watch. Bird behavior is amazing. They have territories. They have heirarchies. They form gangs. Crows are among the most intelligent animals in the world. Watch a gang of them work. Watch how one sits on the telephone pole as a lookout while his crew dives into a pile of trash for a quick meal. Listen as he calls a warning when an approaching cat gets too close. Watch as two runners distract the cat while the rest of his crew make off with the remainder of the food. Birds form their own unique urban communities, complete with different races, shapes and sizes. For a kid in the city, understanding birds might just be a key to understanding life.

Oh, and in case you're wondering:

This aint no Tree
Originally uploaded by RicKarr.

Here's what a Pileated Woodpecker looks like.