If you couldn't make it to the Granada Hills South Neighborhood Council's candidate forums, or skipped the event because the proceedings lacked a fast-forward button, take heart: GHSNC has made video of the forums available online. Most candidates kept their remarks fairly general: "I love Granada Hills and I want to help make it better" was a common theme, but the best line of the evening came from Member-At-Large Director candidate Eric Mansker, who introduced himself by saying, "I'm Eric Mansker, I'm running for emperor of Granada Hills, and I'm looking for subjects."
A message from Brian Monarch, host of The L.A. Pizza Comedy Experience:
It's our most talent-packed show ever!
Ocean Glapion - Comedy Store and Laugh Factory. Hosted a recent Young Buck concert Jen Murphy - Last Comic Standing Leo Flowers - Laugh Factory regular, MTV's Sports Blender and appeared on Comics Unleashed Mike Muratore - 13 year headliner and does Laugh Factory, The Ice House, The Improv and The Comedy Store Andrew Santino - Regular at the Hollywood Improv
Headliner Greg Wilson - This guy has performed at Madison Square Garden! He's done every major comedy club and has been on TV many times.
Click on the L.A. Pizza logo at right for printable coupons!
This week, UC San Diego officials condemned an off-campus, Facebook-promoted party called "The Compton Cookout," which was organized as a joke on Black History Month.
Ahh, Facebook—always a wealth of educational materials. This week, I've learned a lot about how far some of the milennials haven't come. Gay marriage seems to be faring well, overt racism is still largely verboten—at least linguistically speaking—but unfortunately, open sexism is in some circles still a-okay. Celebrated, even.
If campus officials at UCSB saw in the "Compton Cookout" a teachable moment, then I hope that Granada Hills Charter High School officials will stumble across the Facebook group created by a group of GHCHS students called "i just found out women spelled backwards is kitchen" (sic) and seize another such moment. If UC San Diego can host a "teach-in 'to discuss the importance of mutual respect and civility'" over an exhibition of racist thought, then wouldn't it be fiting if these boys' mommies were made aware of lines like, "What's strong enough for a man, but made for a woman? The back of my hand."
I'm reminded of another joke from my youth: Q: How many feminists does it take to screw in a lightbulb? A: That's not funny. Yet at the risk of being called a humorless feminist, I still feel compelled to raise the question: why is it acceptable in some circles to make sexist jokes, but not racist ones? Perhaps it's because the chasm between men and women is, and always will be, far vaster than the one between men of different races. The assumption that there are inherent differences between humans of different races is the foundation of racism, yet the assumption that there are inherent differences between the sexes is, to a certain extent, just common sense. Biologically, evolutionarily, and culturally, men and women are truly different, and there's just no getting around that.
Yet in an age when uttering, or even typing, the word "nigger" immediately brands one a racist, regardless of context, there is no taboo word with a parallel power that would brand one a sexist, nor is being called a sexist, at least for the members of this group, in any way a mark of shame. Yet I'm actually glad that this gross oversimplification of what racism is—use the n-word, go to jail—has no counterpart in gender politics, or anywhere else. A single word does not a racist make. There are no silver bullets, and context is everything.
you know they invented the microwave for retarded women that can't cook, and for the even dumber women they invented drive thru.
if a tree falls and crushes and killsa woman....why the fuck is there a forrest in the kitchen?
Why don't women need drivers licenses?There is no road between the bedroom and the kitchen.
You don't have to be a Santa Cruz grad to notice the oppressive tone, but you'd also have to be pretty dense not to notice that the balls-out offensiveness is central to the humor. One could generously interpret these jokes as social pressure-relief mechanisms, but again, I'm forced to ask: why is it that these jokes would be plainly, immediately, and roundly condemned if they were retold with the w-word substituted with the n-word?
I put this theory to the test, and it was confirmed. Shortly after being invited to join the group—a move its organizers are certain to regret—I took the bait, and began posting jokes of my own. Taking material from a KKK-affiliated website whose motto was, "It's not illegal to be white...yet," I reposted racist jokes, but substituted the word "woman" for the racial epithet, and pointed out that I had done so. No one laughed, my post was quickly deleted, and I was, as predicted, roundly criticized for comparing the two isms. Being accused of racism in a group frankly devoted to sexism: the irony is so thick you could cut it into strips and sew it into a burka.
Upon joining, I noticed that the group has several female members, who even joined in the ribbing with "LMFAO." That could be the case because these girls genuinely think the jokes are funny, in a way that I just don't get, but it might also be the case because it's often safer to side with a bully than it is to stand in his way.
In response to my post, the group's organizer said, "this muthafucker really said nigger..wow u raciest white bitch."
This response may have contained an unintentional spelling error, but I chose to assume that it didn't, and instead accepted it as compliment, pointing him to the definition of "raciest" in TheFreeDictionary.com, which reads,
racy [ˈreɪsɪ]
adjracier, raciest
1. (of a person's manner, literary style, etc.) having a distinctively lively and spirited quality; fresh
2. having a characteristic or distinctive flavour a racy wine
3. suggestive; slightly indecent; risqué a racy comedy
So to the members of "i just found out women spelled backwards is kitchen," I say, gee, thanks! Flattery will get you everywhere, boys.
There are plenty of Granada Hills news items I could be blogging about today if I were a good and responsible citizen journalist. Granada Hills Charter made the finals in the Academic Decathalon and the team's going to the state championships. The Balboa Highlands Eichler tract is finally getting that Historic Preservation Overlay Zone designation that residents there have worked on so hard for so long. And you can read about those things if you click on the links. But all I can really think about right now is my lost cat, Killian.
He was always a wanderer—he'd tasted freedom as a stray kitten, before he'd wound up at the pound, and although he was still young when I adopted him, he'd already made up his mind that the life of an indoor cat wasn't for him. At least not during the daylight hours. But by nightfall, he'd be back in my house, sleeping at the foot of my bed every night.
The last time I saw him was on Tuesday morning, while I was interviewing the milkman. He came up and wove through my legs as Ron and I talked, and then wandered around the corner of the yard and out of sight. Rain came later that afternoon, and that night he didn't come home. It wasn't unusual for him to be out all day, but when twenty four hours had passed, I began to worry.
Today, I walked the neighborhood, dropping flyers with his photo on neighbor's doorsteps. Would it be useful? I felt a kinship with the tree trimmers and gardeners who leave their business cards on porches, hoping to find work. I knew the failure rate would be high, but I have so few options.
I named him Killian because "Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill!" would have been a bit long, and really, this cat turned out not to be much of a killer anyway. Manhandled by my toddler daughter from a young age, Killian grew to be extraordinarily patient, understanding and calm—unflappable, really. All of my neighbors knew him, especially the ones who had cats, because Killian would visit their cats for playdates. I'd always thought most cats would be infuriated by another cat encroaching on their territory, but three separate neighbors told me that Killian was always a welcome guest—welcomed even by their cats, who seemed to enjoy his visits.
My husband's thinking car accident. It's not unlikely, but I prefer to imagine that my friendly-to-a-fault cat was kidnapped by someone who couldn't resist his charms. Killian would always let anyone scoop him up into their arms, friend or stranger. He'd even try to engage passing dogs in play, and be surprised if they barked or growled. He didn't know that anyone would want to do him harm.
That blithely trusting nature was perhaps inherited from me. I just put a lost cat ad up on Craigslist, complete with my phone number, and already, that trust has been abused.
Moments ago, I received a phone call. "Did you lose a cat in Granada Hills?"
"Yes, I did!" My heart, leaping.
"He's in my yard."
"Omigosh, where do you live?" I ran to grab my car keys, but then I heard guffaws.
"I got my BB gun, and I shot the fucker."
More guffaws. Teenage voices. Young men. Soulless cretins, enjoying a momentary feeling of anonymous power. Enjoy the rest of your miserable lives, motherfuckers, I thought, as I hung up on them. You are suffering because you unable to comprehend the love I have known, from humans or from cats.
I'm anticipating more abuse as a result of this blog post, but fuck it. If it raises the odds that I will see my wandering, unfaithful, rotten little ingrate of a cat again whom I brought home from the pound and love with all of my heart, then go ahead, heap me with more ugly, blackhearted prank calls and nasty emails. The love I have known has taught me that it is all worthwhile.
I have a milkman who comes to my house and delivers milk to my door. But when I tell people that, they always say, "They still have milkmen?"
They still do—at least Alta Dena does. The milkmen don't wear white uniforms or carry clinking glass bottles up the walkway in wire baskets, but they do bring milk—even organic—as well as eggs, bread, cheese, yogurt, orange juice, and ice cream to your doorstep.
I first started on home delivery service when my son was an infant and running out of milk was an all-hands-on-deck, running-to-the-store-in-your-jammies-with-a-screaming-baby emergency. Now, I'm hooked on the security of knowing that I'll never find myself in any sort of got milk commercial-style crises, thanks to my milkman Ron Cleven, who's been delivering milk to my family for the last six years. I convinced Ron to come back to my house at a decent hour so I could pepper him with questions about (one of) the world's oldest professions.
So what's it like to be a milkman?
I like it.
But the hours are kinda crazy, huh?
Yeah. I get up at 11:30 and get to the dairy about 12:00 a.m., and load up my truck and start my route around 1:00 a.m.
How many houses are on your route?
I got about a hundred and twenty right now.
So you're pretty busy.
Yeah—I've been doing this for twenty-five years. When Bill retired, that other guy you had, I took over his route. Most of my route is up above Rinaldi. Is it mostly residences?
Yes, and I serve five schools. Hillcrest, First Presbyterian up on Zelzah, Granada Hills Baptist Elementary School, St. Euphrasia.
So you get up at 11:30 p.m., and that means you're going to bed at what time?
Like 5:00.
You go to bed at 5:00 p.m.? Is that hard with family life, or has your family learned to work around it?
Yeah. In fact I met my wife...she was one of my customers. Twenty-four years ago.
How did that happen? Was she up late at night, or early in the morning?
I don't remember how I went to her door—I think it was to collect her money. And we were both going through a divorce, so I just asked her out one time. And we started going out. She had three kids from a previous marriage, and I had a daughter. That's how that started.
Wow, that's neat! So, when people ask you what you do for a living, and you say that you're a milkman, most people don't know that there are still milkmen around, right?
No, they don't!
Why is that?
I don't know—I think they think it's a thing of the past.
Yeah, it seems almost an old-fashioned thing.
Well, I think we're the only dairy doing it.
So how many guys are there at Alta Dena who do your same job?
Maybe about thirty.
All over the Valley?
Yeah. Some guys' routes are far, like Camarillo, Santa Clarita, way over there.
Where do you go pick up your stuff from?
Chatsworth branch. In Chatsworth. From here it's about fifteen—well, for this truck, twenty minutes. It's slow. I don't go real fast in it.
And you were a Marine too?
Yeah. How'd you know? (Gestures to a USMC logo on his truck) Oh, the sticker.
So there's about twenty-five guys who are all over the Valley, but your beat is Granada Hills?
And Northridge, yes.
So you're the guy for this area. Do you get to meet many of your customers?
No, I don't see anybody! If I'm lucky I might see somebody up early or maybe they come to the door if they hear me. But it's not often. You're the first one I've seen in a long time!
So does it get lonely?
Yeah!
So you serve all these families for years, yet you never get to see them?
I just know them, I know who they are, but some of them I've never seen before.
Yeah, I only saw you that one time, it was a few years ago. So... what's good about being a milkman? What do you like about it?
Believe it or not, I like the hours. Because I'm home during the day. And when I get home I watch Young and Restless, at 11:30... you know that soap opera? And I can go to the beach or do whatever I want. Except the hard part's going to bed early, especially when the sun's still up, when the time changes. But I'm so used to it anyway. I've been doing it for twenty-five years now.
What were you doing before that?
Making doughnuts in a doughnut shop.
That's another early morning job!
Actually, it's all night, almost the same as this one. My parents owned a doughnut shop in Chatsworth. It's still there, on Devonshire and Mason. They sold it about fifteen years ago.
So you were part of the family business. And you've lived in the Valley how long?
I grew up in Chatsworth. Started going to elementary school here in second grade.
And your family came from where before that?
Des Moines, Iowa.
This job in Des Moines, Iowa would be a lot colder at that time of night.
Yeah—snowing! My dad lives in Des Moines.
So you like the hours, that's what's good about it. What's hard about it?
The weather. Like when it's been raining lately. When it rains, I'm working out in the rain and I'm getting wet, even with my rain stuff on. Then I was out there when the earthquake hit too.
You were out on your route when the earthquake hit?
Yeah. In fact, I was walking down from a customer's house way up by Knollwood, and I remember the ground started shaking and cars were bouncing on their wheels. I knew we were having a bad earthquake. I got back in my truck and drove back to the dairy real careful, because where I was at, Balboa was flooded with water, and there was fires in those houses—I had to go around the block and under the freeway, and I remember all of the lights were out.
Did you get to see a lot of the damage on that drive back?
Yes. All the street lights were out. It was a holiday. It was about four o'clock. I remember that morning.
So what time do you usually arrive at my house?
Between 1:30 and 2:00. Used to be 4:00, when that other guy had the route. I had to change everything around, because I had to combine the route I already had with his.
So you're pretty full up right now?
Sort of—I can always use more customers! A lot of people have quit. Some people move, or the economy or something.
The economy is kinda rough right now. So why should people get their milk delivered?
That way they don't have to go the store and spend more money.
Don't they pay more to have you deliver it?
No. It's about ten cents more, but you know when you go to the store and you end up buying everything else, not just the milk. And the stuff I carry is the stuff you run out of the most. I've had a lot of people tell me that when they go to the store just to get milk or eggs or something, they end up buying potato chips and cookies and everything else. And then they save on the gas. That's the way I look at it.
If I'm just buying milk at the store, or just buying milk from you, what's the price difference? How much will people expect to pay for your service?
I don't have a service charge. Some things are a nickel more, some are a dime more.
How does that work, that I pay almost the same with you to get it delivered to my door than I would at the store?
Well, I get it at distributor price, that's why. Like the stores do. I'm an independent distributor.
So you basically are the store. Instead of paying the overhead I would pay to Vons or Ralphs, I'm paying that to you.
Yes, exactly.
Ron Cleven, Independent Alta Dena Distributor, can be reached at 1-800-MILK-123, ext. 566 (1-800-645-5123).
"I'm so glad you're here!" a fiftysomething woman gleefully clutching a sandwich tray says to me. I'm puzzled for a moment, and then I realize that she's mistaken me for an employee of the sub shop, because I'm standing there holding a folder.
"You mean Jersey Mike's?" I ask.
"Yes!" she exclaims. "I'm from Jersey, and I haven't been able to find sandwiches like the ones back home until I found this place. I'm so glad you're here," she repeats.
"So they're as good as you remember?"
"Just like I grew up with," she smiles, and then the woman floats back over to her table on a cloud of cold cut joy. From the looks of her, I can tell this lady's eaten a sandwich or two in her day, and this place has made her so very, very happy that she's anxious to tell that to anybody who'll listen.
Smilin' Steve Yeager It's not just former residents of the Garden State who are excited about the arrival of a Jersey Mike's in Granada Hills; Dodger fans are just as excited to stream into the sub shop's doors. That's because on most days, you can find tri-World Series MVP Steve Yeager in the shop, lending a hand and chatting up customers. "But don't make the article about me," Yeager says. "It's all Charlene and Jillian's baby." The amiable and garrulous former Dodger, once called "the best-throwing catcher in the game," is here in a supporting role; the shop is primarily run by his wife Charlene Yeager and her partner Jillian Armenta, with help from Steve and from Jillian's husband James.
"I was taken out of retirement to be the Wal-Mart style Jersey Mike's meeter-greeter, slash busboy, errand boy, delivery boy," Steve says. And I'm having a great time. I get to talk to people about sports, politics, they come by to say hi. I'm here at lunch and dinner, then I help clean up at night. James and I do what we can do to support them and to help them out." Each couple has a son who works at the store as well, so the venture isn't just a double date, but a family affair.
Jillian Armenta and Charlene Yeager I ask for Jersey Mike's signature sub, and I'm given the No. 13, the Original Italian. No. 13's point of pride is its three types of ham — traditional, cappacuolo (which everyone else in the world spells "cappocollo"), a spiced ham, and prosciuttini, a peppered prosciutto — and what they call "the juice," a blend of herbs, vinegar, and olive oil.
The olive oil, fragrant and fruity, is assertive in the finished product, and a pleasant surprise; the spices in the ham trio and in the salami and pepperoni are piquant. In short, it's a damn solid sub. I ate half and wrapped up the second half for later; by the time I got to it, the vinaigrette had saturated the bread and the flavors had wedded; it had actually improved with age. "A lot of people are afraid we're putting too much oil and vinegar, but really, that's the key to it," Jillian says. "It rolls off the tomatoes and soaks into the lettuce. That's what makes it blend together."
Charlene and Jillian have been partners for more than ten years, but not in a sandwich shop; formerly, the duo ran a mortgage business. "But we knew the mortgage business was coming to an end, and Charlene used to own a deli before, so we went back to our roots," Jillian explains. "We still have our mortgage business, but it's just obviously not as busy as this is now."
In this very different business setting, there is one key similarity — namely, that Charlene and Jillian are still the ones in charge ("We're both very bossy," Charlene laughs) — and one key difference: "The work is a lot more physical!" says Jillian. "Baking the bread, being on the slicer, you get sore arms."
"Plus the 17-18 hour days during our first month," Charlene adds. "The first month was tough. We were here 110 hours a week. We put a trailer in the back so we could take little naps." As if to illustrate her point, a delivery man stops by and, seeing Charlene and I in a booth together, says with a look of surprise, "Hey — you're sitting down!"
Charlene shoots back, "It won't last!" And it doesn't; moments later, she and Jillian are back in the kitchen, preparing to face the already accumulating lunch crowd. It's a far cry from the mortgage business, but it seems to make people a lot happier — even the ones who aren't from Jersey.
The Super Quiz portion of the local Academic Decathlon competition resulted in a three-way tie for first place. Sharing top honors were Granada Hills High in the San Fernando Valley, Marshall High in Los Feliz and Garfield High east of downtown.
The Super Quiz is only part of the competition, but it takes place in public with the excitement of a game show. All three schools scored 59 out of a possible 60 points.
Sixty-four teams from the Los Angeles Unified School District competed in the event at the Roybal Learning Center, west of downtown. Schools from other Los Angeles County districts compete in a separate event.
A long time ago, I had a boyfriend who used to cop out of getting me a Valentine's Day gift by saying, "I forgot that it was Valentine's Day." This may have gotten him out of spending any dough on me, but it didn't get him out of the doghouse.
Fast forward to today. Where is that boyfriend? I can tell you this much: he's somewhere far, far away from my warm cozy bed.
So don't say I didn't warn you. Valentine's Day is coming up, and the lady at See's Candies on Devonshire and Balboa assured me that next week, the lines will be out the door, and all of the store's novelties (you know, heart-shaped stuff) will be gone.
Fortunately, if you happen to be sitting anywhere near a computer right now--and I imagine that you are--you can avoid the lines (and the doghouse) by ordering online. Today, February 5th, is the last day you can order online without paying the primo shipping charge.
You can still order after the 5th for arrival by Valentine's Day (See's doesn't ship on weekends, so your order will actually arrive by the 12th), but you'll have to choose expedited shipping and pay a bit more.
Procrastination time is over, guys. Valentine's Day is looming, and failing to epic plan is like planning to epic fail.
Valentine's Day Ordering Cut-Off Dates:
Standard Shipping: Order by 9:00 A.M. PT on Friday, 2/5
Expedited Shipping: Order by 9:00 A.M. PT on Wednesday, 2/10
Priority Overnight Shipping: Order by 9:00 A.M. PT on Friday, 2/12
Junior MartinezThe medical marijuana ordinance recently passed by the Los Angeles City Council that left many Los Angeles dispensary owners scrambling to relocate will not affect Granada Hills' sole dispensary.
California Herbal Providers, located on Chatsworth Street near Encino Avenue, is already in compliance with the ordinance's land-use restrictions, which require dispensaries to be at least 1,000 feet from other dispensaries, schools, parks and libraries, and not adjacent to or directly across a street or alley from residences. There is an alley adjacent to residences behind CHP's building, but there is a parking lot between CHP's building and the alley.
"It's going to be a never-ending thing. Every day it's something new," says owner Junior Martinez of the recently passed ordinance. "But I'm okay at least for the next few weeks."
The L.A. Times reported that for the time being, neighborhood council budgets will be spared the axe, and promised to delay a decision on laying off 1,000 city workers for 30 days.
In typical L.A. City Council fashion, however, I'm sure we'll be able to expect swift and decisive action after the 30 day period is over. Ahem.
On Monday, the City of Los Angeles Budget and Finance Committee voted to cut neighborhood council budgets by half, from $45,000 a year to $22,500 a year, and voted to take away all the the councils' unused rollover funds.
Granada Hills South Neighborhood Council President Dave Beauvais said via email of the proposed cuts, "We understand that the City is going through a financial crisis and that funding is tight, but the reality is that Neighborhood Councils are much more attuned to the needs of their respective communities and make much greater use of the modest funding we receive than a bunch of bureaucrats downtown."
The City Council will vote on the Committee's recommendation on March 2nd.
Nonprofit Los Angeles Neighborhood Housing Services, Inc. (LANHS) is putting on a "Foreclosure Prevention Fair" at CSUN on Saturday, February 6.
The event offers foreclosure counseling with major lenders, HUD certified counseling and legal counseling agencies on hand to assist you for free. Come prepared, bring all of your documentation including income documentation and two current pay stubs, tax returns and mortgage statement.
So it's a "fair," huh? I wonder if they'll have funnel cake?
It snowed in Granada Hills today -- but only at campus of Granada Preschool. The school hosted a "Snow Day" for students, turning the front drive into a winter wonderland, complete with sledding, snow angels, and hot cocoa.
TODAY is Groundhog Day, and celebrity groundhog Punxatawney Phil's ceremonialized annual weather prediction will once again unfold in Punxatawney, Pa.
How this particular groundhog was selected for the task is a mystery, but as the appointed spokesman (spokeshog?) for all of his fellow groundhogs - and perhaps by extension all wildlife - Phil and his clutch of top-hatted human handlers have been saddled with a greater responsibility in recent years. That is because a clear consensus within the scientific community has emerged over evidence that points to the earlier arrival of spring each year.
The Daily News has a nice little photo spread on today's budget meetings discussing funding for the neighborhood councils, and boy do things look uppity. But check out this photo:
