I quickly left Found In L.A. after my first month when my sister and mom both suffered strokes.

Since then, I’ve picked up the pace at my home site, Eat The Paper.

I hope you’ll visit me there as I restart my Found in L.A. Journey!

I’m keeping this site open for those three fabulous readers who posted comments–especially for those who knew Randy at Chili My Soul and might be able to contact eachother.

When we moved from Hawaii to San Francisco, I put on a lot of weight that year and became a pretty tubby, chubby kid. I’ll admit it–I ate my loneliness. It was tough moving from the islands to a brick and blacktop city like San Francisco, and there was no Ocean, and not a lot of green places to play–and I spoke Pidgin and everyone thought I was a freak.

Flashforward to the 80′s. Oh yes, I started breakdancing. When Flashdance came out, I cut all of my t-shirts and I spent hours in front of my floor-to-ceiling closet-door mirrors and danced. My next-door neighbor, “ro-ro” and I would use wax to polish up a 8-foot piece of tile and we’d breakdance. That year I grew a few inches and lost all the weight. In pictures, I look pretty good! It wasn’t until I stopped playing sports that my bad eating habits caught up with me. (I didn’t and don’t exactly have bad eating habits; it’s more of a volume issue, as in “are you gonna have any of this large tub of popcorn with me? Cause if you are, maybe we should get two.”

This is SO un-L.A. (Like I’d know, though. Right? I don’t even know how to define L.A. when people ask me about it!) When I look around L.A., more often I see skinny skinny skinny girls and guys, and I definitely do not feel like I fit in. When I walk into stores to buy shoes, forget it–nothing fits. Lane Bryant and the “Macy Woman” section are what I’m stuck with when I go clothes shopping, despite my ardent desire to wear a pink Ann Taylor suit (a guilty secret) and sport a pair of Kenneth Cole heels. It’s depressing to be a girl who wishes she had style in a city where style is made for people who are a size 5 or smaller.

No, I don’t think I’m exaggerating, so there.

In any case, for the last few years, I’ve been trying to get a handle on this whole ‘body’ thing of mine. I’m tired of not being able to find cute clothes or shoes, getting winded walking up steps, and mostly, just feeling like I’m 20 years older than my actual age. Also, an awakening came this summer when I flew to Ohio for a summer writing gig and the seatbelt was – - uhm – - tight. The OTHER “a-ha” moment was my sister’s stroke at age 39 last year, and my mother’s stroke (almost to the same day as my sister’s) this past April. If strokes run in my family, and I’m only a few years shy of my sister’s age/stroke date, I’d better get my shit together. Plus, it’s no fun walking around in Los Angeles when you’re fat.

Enter–the Los Angeles Marathon.

I’ve always wanted to run a marathon. Why, you ask? I think it has more to do with a fervent desire to have arms like Linda Hamilton did in T2 (or, arms like Holly Hunter in Saving Grace). I’m still trying to get my mind around the possibility of being thin, trim, and in shape–but in the mean time, I decided I’d actually DO an ‘L.A.” thing–the Los Angeles Marathon.

I’ve hooked up with the LA Road Runners, an organization that trains you for couch to marathon. On Saturday, September 12, I woke up at 5:30 in the morning and headed to Venice where there were a few hundred people standing in line to register for the LA Road Runners training sessions. For the next 26 weeks we will meet every saturday, adding a mile each week, until we build ourselves up to the 26.2 mile readiness for the Los Angeles marathon.

My biggest fear yesterday was that I’d be the only fat girl there; the only one who wasn’t an uber marathoner. Despite my dreams of wanting to RUN the marathon, I realized pretty quickly that I’d have to aim a bit lower at the start, joining the slowest “walking” pace group of the 20 Pace Groups offered by the LA Road Runners. My pace group will attempt to finish the race in about 7 hours by walking a 16-minute mile. It sounded slow to me, until we did our first 3-mile stretch. I was sweating, my feet hurt, and my arms and back hurt; but I finished the 3 miles. In the mean-time, I also met a lot of cool people.  One of the things I’ve realized as I’ve moved into my 30′s is that I have no friends.

That’s not exactly accurate, but when you move far away from your high school buddies, college buddies, and hometown buddies, and when your cousins and family members don’t live anywhere near you, you find yourself looking around your life and going–hmmn. Have I talked to a non-work-related human being in the past week? (Luckily, I have Mathew, but lets throw him in there–have I talked to a non-work-related human being and a non-Mathew human being in the last week?) It gets tough; especially when you’re feeling low; but it’s even tougher when you’re feeling high and you have no one to share your happiness with.

One of my big reasons for heading out to do the L.A. Marathon has to do with meeting people–and meeting LA people. I was happily surprised at the L.A. Roadrunners set-up (and a bit embarrassed at my lack of fitness). First off, there are ALL KINDS of different athletes. There were the super runners–top three pace groups; and there were the walk/runners–people who would be mixing as they ran the marathon. The walkers were a mix of competition walkers (I didn’t know there WAS such a thing!) and a bunch of newbies, some in great shape, some overweight, some over 60, and even a 12 year old boy! After 3 hours of set up, we all walked down to Venice beach (boy, I hadn’t been THERE in a long time!) and walked our three miles in groups of two.

I woke up this morning with Plantar Fasciitis (ouch, very painful) and a realization that I’ve really let myself go. I used to think of myself as a stylish girl who cared about her clothes and her accessories, and I’ve realized that in the last 10 years I’ve become the “this is what fits” and “this is what’s clean” girl of fashion. I’m also incredibly overweight and out of shape–and when I look in the mirror, I cannot connect the old, overweight person I see with the young and vibrant person I feel like I am. So maybe this whole L.A. Marathon thing will get me going.

I was so proud of myself for showing up yesterday, and for going for it; and now today, I’m a bit disappointed that my body hurts so badly, and that my foot injury could sideline me. I won’t let it though; I’ve watched all the youtube videos and know how to tape my foot to give me extra support; and I’ve got an appointment set up with my doctor to see my podiatrist to maybe get some special foot inserts and stuff. As I was listening to the “pitch” from the L.A. Marathon trainers, I got a bit teary eyed (I’m not kidding) at the possibility of finishing a marathon–at the possibility of completing something so amazing. I don’t know if I’ve had that much dedication to anything in the last 10 years, but I’m certainly going to try. In the meantime, I woke up this morning weighing in at (hmmn.) and said to myself, K, you’ve just got to do it. There is no time like the present.

Luckily, my horoscope says that it’s time to let go of the past–so yes, lets get on with this thing.

Hopefully, by running (walking) the LA Marathon, I’ll get to see my city in a whole new way; I’ll get to explore new neighborhoods from a vantage point closer than the freeway, and I’ll get to chat it up with other marathoners who are out to meet their city too.

When I first moved to Los Angeles just about a decade ago, it was because I had a job selling jewelry at a little cart that would be stationed directly on Universal City Walk–a long strip of stores and restaurants adjacent to Universal Studios. 10 years ago it wasn’t as “lit up” and Vegas-style as it is today; it was kind of low-rent and on its way “up” in popularity.

A couple of weekends ago Mathew and I headed up to Universal Citywalk to see a movie at the incredibly overpriced movie theater. What did we see? I don’t remember–isn’t that sad? (Almost every movie we’ve seen up there has been lame except for the most recent Star Trek movie–Levar Burton was in line in front of us! That guy can dress–he has style!)

This past weekend we headed up there to see WHITE OUT (oh, just don’t, friends; let me save you grief, money, and 2 hours of your life–even the gratuitous shower scene is boring!). Parking up there costs 12 bucks a car (total rip off!) and they give you a 5-dollar credit towards your movie tickets, which run 12 bucks too. After the movie we walked down the Citywalk Strip for a stroll.

We keep wondering when Citywalk will put an actual, honest-to-goodness store where SAM GOODY used to be. The cool Sam Goody signage is still up, but that store’s empty. On this most recent visit we noticed that the Sparky’s toy store is going to be reopening as a donut shop. (WTH???) They were never very nice in there anyway. I remember when the raven-logo bookstore used to be an actual bookstore with books, stationery, pens and cool stuff. Now it’s like one of those ABC stores in Hawaii filled with all kinds of lame Los Angeles crap t-shirts and stuff.

Citywalk always has a strange mix of people; teenagers out to walk around; tourists exiting Universal Studios after a day in the theme park; locals heading to the comedy club, a concert, dinner and a movie; and date-night people who aren’t really local but who see Citywalk as a kind of LA Playground (it’s not). In the past 10 years, mostly working at Citywalk, I’ve seen lots of celebrities. Lucy Lawless of Xena fame was so nice; I chased after her to get her autograph while she was out for the afternoon with her daughter and her boyfriend (?). She was really tall, much more beautiful in person than on television, and a lot thinner than I imagined. Holland Taylor was supernice too–it was right after the Tea Leoni sitcom–and she let me ask her all kinds of questions about her next TV gig; Cameron Diaz came by; Kathy Najimy; Lou Diamond Phillips; some Star Trek people; a few musicians etc.

One thing I really love about Citywalk is the street performers and street musicians. The first weekend I worked at Citywalk, a band named SOULBELLY was playing. I plunked down my 10 bucks for their homemade CD, and it’s STILL one of my favorite CD’s ever, even if the band did break up. Lately there’ve been a lot of “girls with guitars” at Citywalk. There’s always the saxaphone guy, but by far, my favorite Citywalk performer is FLAT TOP.

I’m sure that through the 90′s he was a big big hit; and it would be easy to say he was “out of style” now, but I think he’s more in style than ever. A couple of weeks ago when we were at Citywalk, we came out of our movie and stood outside for 30 minutes or so watching his show. It wa spectacular. He’s such a great performer, with such a unique dance–and he really knows how to work a crowd. One of the things I love about Flat Top is that he makes eye contact with the people in the circle–he gets you uncomfortable and connected (because of course, we L.A. people just do NOT want to be connected to one another, do we?) I like that about him. He is really cool.

What else is at Universal Citywalk? Not much, really. They used to have the BB King blues club, but like everything else at Citywalk, it changes every few years into a new club, a new restaurant, a new concept. I guess that really is what is most like Los Angeles–the reinventing that goes on. I’m starting to wonder if it will be possible to reinvent myself this year–to find out if, after a lack of partying in my 20′s and letting go of the opening of my directionless-thirties, if I can do something with the dream I came with.

I still remember that first night we drove into Los Angeles. Phil Hendrie was on the radio, and Mathew and I rolled down the windows, he wishing to have his cartooning and illustration skills put to good use, and me aching to be that writer–and I screamed out the window “Look out L.A. ‘Cause I am here and I ain’t ever leaving!” Yes. I am that cliche–but I’m gonna go ahead and stick by myself, and my city.

Hold on a sec–gotta go get my coffee.

Starbucks on Ventura (which one? Choose one of the 50-bazillion). I actually found a nice, smiling girl at a Starbucks recently. She’d just moved to L.A. And there you go. Also, a mean, old, guy rammed his chair into me and then looked at me like I was encroaching on HIS space. And also, somebody spilled their freakin’ whimpy vanilla Latte dangerously close to my laptop, splattering coffee all over the floor and onto my table. But I digress.

So, I’m still gonna get to know my city–and myself–why? Because I WANT to love Los Angeles–and I want to love myself, too, and frankly, I’m having a little bit of trouble.  I feel like I just woke up one day and I was in my thirties. I didn’t have those “partying 20′s” that I imagine all of my friends had when they went off to college and stuff; I was living on my own within a month or so after high school (not out of choice, of course) and took out way too many student loans and was so busy waiting tables in San Francisco and sleeping through my college classes that I didn’t know what the heck was going on. Now, I’ve woken up and I’m in my thirties and I’m pissed wondering where I went–I had dreams. I hate to be bitter, so I won’t be–because I don’t want to give up on those dreams, you know?

What is it about some people and their lack of knowledge about SHARED SPACE? I’m just complaining about the mom and her kid and her baby and her incredibly LARGE stroller in this tiny, cramped place–and her 5 year old who is incapable of speaking at a normal volume; What a jerk I am. Sheesh.

Did I write about my niece, already?  My niece visited me last summer (summer of 08) and we walked across the street to Vivien’s cafe (World Famous Vivien’s Cafe) and we were sitting together there reading the paper and waiting for our breakfast. The food at that place is ok, although I wish they’d use less canned and powdered crap and more fresh ingredients; but the location is great, and the patio is great for sitting, reading the paper, and having an ok breakfast,  and there’s a parade of Hollywood character actors in and out of that place, along with some of the “beautiful people.” My niece looked up from her section of the paper and said “Wow, Auntie, the people here are beautiful.” I keep thinking about that–as in, what does it mean for those of us who live in this city but don’t look the part?

Ah, well, I’ll figure that out as I go along. Right now I’m the Los Angeles cliche; I’m sitting in a Starbucks with a laptop and I’m drinking coffee and I’m writing. But what else am I going to do? It’s the only thing I know how to do–write it out. You know how your coach used to say “shake it off”? Well, write it out.  Here we go.

On our first visit to the restaurant, it was kind of a fluke. Mathew and I had always wanted to stop by and try it–and finally did. Isn’t that how you find everything in L.A.? Someone tells you about it and urges you to go? We walked in and tried every single chili for the day except that DEMON chili. They were all delicious–from the Durango to the Poblano Turkey (Mathew’s favorite!) to the Soul Fries covered in Special Beef or Zydeco Chicken (my favorites!).  Randy was working the counter that day and talked us into two split bowls (to taste 4 delicious chili’s) and a soul fries. Randy was a big guy with a serious affection for chili. He was so intent on making each dining experience personal and wonderful, that he took the time to get to know your tastes and make suggestions; he’d move you away from a chili you might not like and onto something a little more to your taste; and he’d always stop by your table just to chat about the chili and any upcoming new flavors he was going to try.

He had great stories about his appearances on various Food Network TV shows, and his decor was a mash of tex-mex chili peppers and laminated and framed reviews of the chili. We never left without a couple of quarts to take home, full tummies, and a “can’t wait to come back” attitude. Twice we ate there 3 days in a row; and I was always begging him to add a Chili Omelet to his menu, but he’d just sell me a quart and tell me to make it at home. He was a great guy.

A couple of months ago, I pulled up with Mathew to have some lunch and to buy some gift certificates as a gift for a friend, but there was a sign on the door saying that the restaurant would be closed for a bit. Someone inside let us in and notified us that Randy had passed away just a few days earlier on June 18, and that the family was still deciding what they would do with everything. We kept checking every once in a while, and then I headed out of state for a few weeks. Last week, I drove by (after being in Ohio for 6 weeks) and the place was empty–gutted out–and a notice posted for a funeral service for Randy that had passed by a few weeks.

This is sad–not just for Los Angeles–because we’ve lost a true culinary genius (I don’t say this lightly), but in the larger scope of things, sad that someone can spend his entire life loving something and perfecting something, and then die and it is lost forever.

My father died on June 18 about 4 years ago; he had a small barbecue restaurant and a series of award-winning sauces. It had always been his dream to open his own restaurant, and he and his wife tested numerous barbecue sauce recipes on family and friends for a couple of years before they finally opened their own little place. It was barely open a year, and then he was ill for about 4 months before he died of Pancreatic Cancer. His wife moved back to Kentucky, and the restaurant filed for bankruptcy. I mention this because I think a lot about small dreams inside of each person–isn’t that why a lot of people come to L.A. in the first place? But you never know how things will turn out–you can have a good run of something and then its gone.

It’s definitely a reminder of the futility of life–and the futility of getting caught up in daily stuff that we don’t really need to worry about; honestly, everything passes–either by death or by a release and letting go. Eventually, we must all get back into our cars and head to the next dream–the next destination.

Rest in peace, Randy. We’ll all miss you.

I just spent my sixth summer in Gambier, Ohio, and there was something beautiful about the people who lived there–how they knew each other and knew the streets of Gambier and knew everything about everyone. What was most beautiful was that I knew Gambier. For the first summer of the past six that I’ve been going there, I knew the town, knew where I’d see deer and squirrels, knew the best time of the evening to take a walk along the Kokosing trail–I took a little bit of pride and pleasure in what I knew about my summer community. But Gambier is only a home away from home. Whether I like to admit it or not, and despite growing up in Hawai’i and San Francisco and Baton Rouge, and despite spending some time in Ecuador and Fairbanks and Russia and a few other states and places, I realized that shit–I’ve been living in Los Angeles for ten years, and I can’t even get from Santa Monica back to Studio City without getting lost. (No, I’m not kidding you–although this just could be MY personal failing, but still . . .) LA is so big that sometimes I feel like there’s just no point in getting to know anyone or venturing out to do anything. Plus, HOW do you do that LA “stuff”–you know? I mean, here are the facts, and they’re not pretty:

I’m 37 years old. In October I turn 38–which I think is the official “mid-life crisis” year. I got on Facebook this year and all of my high school friends have husbands and wives and babies and houses they bought and all that stuff. Me? Still dating the guy I met at a restaurant I worked at 18 years ago. (Yes, 18 years, and still no ring. Really? Yes, really.) And you know, if I want to have a baby, well, I better do it this year or next, or else get rich and do the LA “I’m 40 and having a kid” thing–right? I’m also overweight and have no fashion sense. (I like to think that I used to , but it was the 80′s. Fashion sense was a blow-dryer and a can of Aqua Net, or a sweatshirt and a pair of scissors.) 

The thing is, that “What the hell am I doing with my life” place is HERE. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with my life. I came out to LA to — I dunno — CHANGE my life. I thought I’d act, or write screenplays, or direct theater. Instead I waited tables, sold crap from a cart at Universal Citywalk, worked as a part-time teacher, and then, you know–the boring, steady jobs came along. 6 years later I turned around and there I was–chunky, wearing the same black and grey ensemble to work everyday with my Dansko Mary Jane’s and staying in most nights to go to bed early so I could get to work in the morning. I’ve always wondered about those people who party in their 20′s. That was not my experience–and so I find myself missing something I never had.

My 9 year old niece was visiting me and my boyfriend this past summer. We were eating at Vivian’s on Ventura, just chillin in the back patio with our pancakes, and she looked around and then said “Auntie, the people in L.A. are so beautiful.” And I looked around and thought, damn! The people in L.A. ARE beautiful! What the fuck am I doing here? I said this to my niece with slightly different words and she smiled and said, “Oh Auntie, you are one of the beautiful people too.”

We shall see. 52 weeks–100 “hot” spots; this is what I’ve come up with. Spend a year getting to know my city, and in the process, maybe getting to know myself. And hey, you tell ME where to go. I mean, hell, I’m the one who still can’t find Roscoe’s on my own!