I Miss The Old Target

image lifted from runchadrun

In my baby book, on the line next to "Baby's First Car Trip," it says "Gemco." Gemco, of course, later became Target, which is basically the same store with better picture frames.

A few years ago, this friendly little Target was demolished and rebuilt into the megamart it is today. I'm not sentimental because I'm a knee-jerk opponent of change, but there's a lot I miss about the previous incarnation of Tar-jhay.

First of all, now that you have to take an escalator to get into the store, there's no more pretending that you're going to run in and run out, which never actually happened to me anyway, because of mission creep. Going up that escalator gives a trip to Target a new sense of commitment.

The thing I miss the most, though, is the garden department. I used the garden entrance more often than I used the main entrance, simply because it was so pleasant to walk through the cool, damp mini-jungle filled with blooms, and so pleasant to check out at the garden register with its shorter line. Then there was Christmas time, when the whole garden department would be converted into a tree lot, dense with fragrance. Nothing is better to put you into a cheerful shopping mood.

An employee told me that Target got rid of the garden department because it was a money-loser, but I think that was a short-sighted analysis. I'd often go for the plants, but stay for the toothpaste.

Finally, the makeover makes this Target more exactly like every other Target. Of course a big-box discount chain is hardly the place to go searching for local color, but the move towards uniformity makes Target that much more like the retail equivalent of pod people.

There's no more sense of ownership -- you know, that feeling that you get when you go into a foreign Target and say to yourself, "they would never put the beach towels next to the greeting cards at my Target." That feeling then leads to feeling a little bit homesick -- or Targetsick, actually -- for what you've come to believe is your Target.

My Target has been gone for a long time now, and I guess she's never coming back.

Fumi's Tropical Fish

Despite the deteriorating sign and grimy interior, Fumi's gets good reviews from hobbyists for fish care know-how. I'm a regular buyer of seven-for-a-dollar goldfish there since my fishpond is frequently decimated by neighborhood raccoons. They do have an impressive selection of fish -- it's clear that all of the money Fumi's makes goes into inventory, and none of it goes into maintenance. Overheard in the aisles: "They've got a lot of great triggers here."

When I asked the owner if I could take his picture for this blog, he demurred, saying that as a published author he wanted to keep a low profile.

It turns out that Fumi's current proprietor (Mr. Fumi retired, and so did the two Thai ladies who followed him) has published many short stories in Korean, and one in English that's listed on Amazon.com, and is currently at work on another novel. That means that Fumi's is the fish and literary capital of our town. Who knew?

Nothing Ever Happens In Granada Hills.

This entry was written by my first-ever guest blogger, 8-year-old Ricky Keil. Ricky has been a resident of Granada Hills for the past eight years.

Nothing Ever Happens In Granada Hills (Except Fires, Car Accidents, Robberies, Etc.)

by Ricky Keil

Granada Hills is boring. I'm not saying that that's bad, but I wish I could liven things up a bit. Well, okay, I admit there was one time where i saw this fire and me and my family went to see what was going on. A fire had happened at a house near our block.

I wish Granada Hills was kind of like Metropolis. Superhero and villain fights in the middle of the city. Superman could fist fight a villain and use heat ray eyes and weapons like that. He could blow superbreath on the villain. People on the street would be looking up and saying, "Wow!"

Wait, that's dangerous but CRAZY AAAAWWWWSSSSOMMME!

The End.

Bloodthirsty Intruders

Last night at about 4:00 a.m., a raccoon attempted to stage a home invasion robbery in my house.

I suspect that this is the same masked bandit that has been treating my backyard fishpond like his own personal sushi bar, so I had no sympathy for this bloodthirsty killer, especially when he perched himself on my three-year-old's magnetic easel and refused to budge, even after being spritzed with a squirt bottle and prodded with a broom. His only response was to stubbornly stay put, climbing up to the window ledge and, in a further show of defiance, shitting down our wall.

My husband said he felt sorry for the beast, and saw it as nothing more than a poor frightened creature who wanted nothing more than to escape, but I'm not the softy my husband is. If you think those eerie glowing eyes are just a reflection from my flash, you are mistaken, my friend. They looked that way the entire time. Ranger Rick is an agent of evil -- why else would he make a beeline for the sleeping quarters of the most tender and succulent of my family members?

I dialed 911 and asked them to connect me to the 24-hour animal services agents, who promised to show up in half an hour. But thirty more minutes in the company of this hellbeast wasn't something I could stand. Fortunately, my quick-thinking husband removed my still-sleeping toddler to safety, popped the screen out of the window, turned off the light and closed the bedroom door.

With my delicious daughter now out of reach, the wretched rascal had no option but to leave, presumably in search of other children to devour. Hopefully in Van Nuys.

Northridge Tastes, Granada Hills Budget

I, like most Granada Hills residents, spend a lot of time in Northridge, our only slightly more chi-chi neighbor to the west. We're the Jan to their Marcia, the Mary Anne to their Ginger, the Jen to their Angelina, the Biggie to their Tupac, the Hagar to their Roth.

Why does it have to be that way? We're a perfectly nice town. We've got money -- well, at least north of Rinaldi we do. But lets compare:

What Do We Got	Northridge	Granada Hills
Upscale Grocery Store	Whole Foods	Vons
Home Store	Bed Bath & Beyond	Anna's Linens
Ice Cream Shop	Pinkberry	Baskin Robbins
Shopping Center	Fashion Center with Macy's	Regency Center without Kohl's
Star Turn	Foo Fighters' Studio 606	The pirate hat scene from Fast Times at Ridgemont High
Famous Disaster	1994 Quake	Sunshine Canyon
Median Income	$60,108	$68,801

I know we're supposed to be "The Valley's Most Neighborly Town" and all, and often times -- like when I'm watching the Holiday Parade, or when I'm whizzing down Chatsworth, bypassing all of the cute and quaint little businesses on our little main street as I make my way to the Northridge Mall, I feel glad that I live in L.A.'s version of Mayberry. But if our median income is higher than Northridge, why don't we have our own Pinkberry?

Frosty Queen: Our Town's Pride and Joy

image lifted from Snap Man on Flickr



Who needs corporate chains like DQ or Foster's Freeze? Not us -- we've got Frosty Queen. Sure, the tables are often gummy with melted soft serve and at night the lighting can be downright creepy, but this place turns out flawless soft serve. Is it ice cream, ice milk, or some sort of gum-based non-dairy mcflurry-esqe mystery substance? If you're brave enough to tell yourself the truth, you'll admit that you don't really want to know the answer. You just want more.

On a menu this extensive, everyone will have their personal favorite, and mine is the chocolate soda float. It's like a root beer float, but instead of root beer flavored syrup, they put in chocolate syrup, and the key is that they don't stir it too much. That way, you get three separate tastes -- the bite of plain soda water, the sweet chocolate syrup and the creamy puff of ice cream. As it melts, these three distinct flavors begin to mingle into one, so that by the last sip, they've unified into a creamy, chocolately, tangy bliss.

This Citysearch reviewer puts it most succinctly:

• Pros: cheap, fries are great, parking lot
• Cons: weight gain, heart attack, early death

Frosty Queen was even written up by a real reviewer -- see this 1996 Counter Intelligence column from the Los Angeles Times -- who says, "nothing here beats a simple, perfectly executed malt or shake; thick and sweet, it goes right to your head and belly. In fact, there may be no more satisfying way to suck down a thousand calories or more."

Frosty Queen is one of the only Granada Hills places that might lure someone from the rarefied reaches of non-Valley Los Angeles to dare to enter our realm. Word of Frosty Queen's greatness has even spread as far as the post-hipster enclave of Silverlake, from which a friend of mine once made a pilgrimage. Yes, they came from that far. And yes, it's that good.

Welcome To Giga Granada Hills!

I've lived in Granada Hills for most, but not all, of my life. I hate it here, and I love it here, which means I feel about this town the way a lot of people feel about their mothers. For better or worse, this town is mine. If it's your town too, then this blog's for you.

My goal is to patronize every last business in my home town, and write about it here. That process may take a long time. It may not even be possible. I'm not, for example, going to be able to buy a house from every real estate agent. I'm also not going to send my mom to live in the Casitas Care Center old folks home for a month just so I can write about it. But I will drink in every bar, eat in every restaurant, and shop in every store in Granada Hills, and I will publish my complaints (and even occasional compliments!) here.

I'm fully prepared for you to passionately disagree with me and my assessment of life in this little corner of the city. I'm even prepared to invite guest bloggers to join in from time to time. Email me!

Viva Granada Hills!