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home again
Jun. 30th, 2010 05:20 pmMy Small Blue Thing got 38 miles to the gallon on the drive back from LA. Despite the small tank, I got from Highland Park, which is where I refueled, all the way home on one tankful.
So that went well. So did my planning of the timing.
All my nights there, I slept very poorly, nodding off fitfully for a couple of hours at 10 pm or so, then being wide awake for four hours in the middle of the night. This wouldn't be worth mentioning, except that I exploited it for my late return. When I started to feel tired, I pulled into a rest area and took my fitful two hours there. Then I drove the rest of the way wide awake in the middle of the night. Easy as pie.
What else I did there ... well, I critiqued a scholarly paper, which meant vigorously poking holes in it, so it'll be the stronger when they're fixed. I tutored an eight-year-old in her fearsomely difficult part in a verse play. (The word presumption occurring twice was a particular challenge.) And I accompanied her to a children's music concert at the local library. Fifty kids, mostly aged between about six and eight, spread out across the carpet in front of one guy with a guitar and a sure knowledge of his audience's interest level and attention span. He sang a mixture of old folk repertoire ("Twinkle twinkle", "You are my sunshine") and original songs in a wry child's-eye view of the world (the one asking why do grownups use sippy cups, and here it is, was a notable favorite) in a voice akin to that of Johnny Cash in a very, very good mood.
Culinarily, the trip was full of non-discoveries. On the drive down, I ventured on back roads way into the countryside to what was supposed to be the best steakhouse in America. The house specialty, a ten-ounce top sirloin, was ... just a steak. Not a bad steak by any means, but just a steak. Really, the accompaniments - grilled veggies, shrimp cocktail, garlic bread - were more memorable. The best thing about the steak itself is that it was cooked exactly as ordered, which never happens. And in LA itself, something called Umami Burger claims to exploit "the fifth taste" in a fabulous hamburger, which turned out to be ... just a hamburger. Again, not a bad hamburger, but not worth a special trip.
So that went well. So did my planning of the timing.
All my nights there, I slept very poorly, nodding off fitfully for a couple of hours at 10 pm or so, then being wide awake for four hours in the middle of the night. This wouldn't be worth mentioning, except that I exploited it for my late return. When I started to feel tired, I pulled into a rest area and took my fitful two hours there. Then I drove the rest of the way wide awake in the middle of the night. Easy as pie.
What else I did there ... well, I critiqued a scholarly paper, which meant vigorously poking holes in it, so it'll be the stronger when they're fixed. I tutored an eight-year-old in her fearsomely difficult part in a verse play. (The word presumption occurring twice was a particular challenge.) And I accompanied her to a children's music concert at the local library. Fifty kids, mostly aged between about six and eight, spread out across the carpet in front of one guy with a guitar and a sure knowledge of his audience's interest level and attention span. He sang a mixture of old folk repertoire ("Twinkle twinkle", "You are my sunshine") and original songs in a wry child's-eye view of the world (the one asking why do grownups use sippy cups, and here it is, was a notable favorite) in a voice akin to that of Johnny Cash in a very, very good mood.
Culinarily, the trip was full of non-discoveries. On the drive down, I ventured on back roads way into the countryside to what was supposed to be the best steakhouse in America. The house specialty, a ten-ounce top sirloin, was ... just a steak. Not a bad steak by any means, but just a steak. Really, the accompaniments - grilled veggies, shrimp cocktail, garlic bread - were more memorable. The best thing about the steak itself is that it was cooked exactly as ordered, which never happens. And in LA itself, something called Umami Burger claims to exploit "the fifth taste" in a fabulous hamburger, which turned out to be ... just a hamburger. Again, not a bad hamburger, but not worth a special trip.
