We had Thanksgiving dinner at my parents'. My mom overcooked the turkey. My turkey craving was not satisfied. Mom says she'll make up to us at Christmas. Christmas seems too long to wait for a taste of good turkey, but I will somehow muster the strength to hold out until then.

Mom's kitchen looked dirtier and dustier than usual that night. A lot of things need to be resurfaced or replaced or removed or completely remodeled. My parents have the money, but the thought of using it to significantly better their living quarters never seems to occur to them. All the oldness and clutter and mismatching bothers me from a distance more than it bothers them who live in admist it all. We are where we live. They are becoming one with their junk. I wish it was possible to pick them up out of all the mess and replant them in a new house, with all-new furniture and electronics. Would I then visit them more often? I'd make no promises.

Friday morning, we headed down to LA. Our first stop was the Getty Center. I wasn't as impressed with its architecture as I thought I would be after hearing some reviews. The best thing about it, for me, was the view from its location. Breathtaking. I did notice that the architect deliberately framed a lot of the views for us, and I thought that was most clever thing about the buildings. Overall, the place was too pale and plasticky and bland for my taste.

We stopped by UCLA to grab ice cream sandwiches at Diddy Riese. I got one with a white chocolate macadamia cookie, a chocolate chip with walnuts cookie, and espresso chip ice cream. Not a good choice. Too many different kinds of chocolate chips, nuts, and sweet. I should've gotten vanilla ice cream instead.

The room that we made an online reservation for at the Ramada in Culver City was not good. One and a half stars is being generous. Some old hotels paint over the wear and tear, or remodel themselves so that you don't see how old the rooms are. Some don't even bother hiding their shabbiness. This one gave us our $55/night worth of discomfort. There was no thermostat, and I got cold. Eric got a body rash. We slept fully clothed to avoid any skin contact with the sheets and to stay warm.

On Saturday, we checked out Graumann's Chinese Theatre and the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Why did whoever first made those stars choose to make them pink? I wonder who, if anyone, has been denied a star that tried to buy one or applied for one. Some of the people whose names are on the stars really don't seem to deserve them.

I'll take this opportunity to Britney-bash. She was cute for upwards of one year, but then she started to unravel and fall apart faster than I got into credit card debt 2.5 years ago. The massive amounts of makeup she slathers on her face can't hide her tired looks. The nubility that formerly sprung a thousand sick, old men has since fizzled out. She's neither girl nor woman, and I would say she is something in between gaudy, bawdy, and tawdry, at a similar level of sanity, unsexiness, and disconnectedness from reality and humor as Mariah... the difference, obviously, being that Mariah actually has a good singing voice. Britney's no Madonna. And I'm a former fan, not a hater.

We went to the famous Farmer's Market where we looked in vain for stars and drooled over all the delicious this-and-thats... that we couldn't have 'cuz we'd already planned to have lunch at Roscoe's House of Chicken 'n Waffles. Roscoe's is yummy. Word of advice: get the fried chicken with gravy. When we pulled up to the one on Pico, I was a bit apprehensive. It's in a bad neighborhood, and the air just outside the restaurant smelled bad like cheap perfume or incense made out of dried BO on a stick. There were some people selling bootleg CDs and DVDs, and some ugly fake LV shoes and accessories.

Los Angelean African Americans seem to be distinct from Bay Area African Americans and from East coast African Americans. I sensed the absence of Indian people and Asian people in general in the areas of LA that we visited on this trip. I know the Asians are further east and south. I don't really know why I'm always taking note of demographics.

We were supposed to meet up with a friend that night for dinner and possibly drinks afterwards. But she got stuck in San Diego. We had a late dinner on 3rd Street Promenade. Santa Monica and Venice Beach are the only places I've been to in LA that I really like.

We got suckered into watching a street performer do his thing for about 20+ minutes. Unsurprisingly, he made more money in 20 minutes than I do in an hour. These guys like to tell their audiences that they were former drug addicts who've gone through rehab and are trying to stay clean while struggling to make a living, feeding their babymama's baby, etc. All lies. But we give him a buck because we're on vacation, we're on the beach, we're warm and fed and happy, and he made us smile and laugh... and if we could as easily buy our laughs elsewhere, it'd become a $10/day habit, or something like that. Man cannot live by bread alone, but also by laughter and all the little things. It's all about the little things...

I don't feel like talking about LA anymore. LA seems so blah. It's as if the shroud of smog is a sort of psychosomatic manifestation of the shroud of emptiness and dissatisfaction that is at the core of the inhabitants of the city. This, or something similar, has probably been said many times before. Maybe it's one of those things a Bay Area native can't help noticing. On a good note, despite LA's shortcomings, whatever it was that I was missing, I got back during my weekend there. Maybe it was simply some sleep. Maybe it was the warmth of the sun. Maybe it was an appreciation for where I am in life, geographically.

We left LA Sunday morning, around 10, and didn't hit too much traffic on the way up. It still took us around 7 hours to get home. Being cooped up in a car for that long with someone who I really like and wouldn't mind being with long-term makes a big difference. LA was a make-or-break place for my past two relationships (it basically made one and accelerated the breaking of the other). This time, it was just a much-needed vacation, not about defining a relationship, which is how it should be.

We stopped at a Taco Bell for lunch. I imagine Taco Bell will still be around in 30 years, and I'll still be eating it then. Taco Bell and McDonalds will never die. Take that, FDA! When are we going to start eating synthetic foods coming out of replicators, like they do in Star Trek? If they could make synthetic Mcgriddles with less than half the calories, that'd be AWESOME.

As always, it feels so good to be back to the Bay Area.