This past weekend my parents were in town. It was also, of course, the opening of the Olympics. But I didn't want to just sit around the house watching interpretive dance about the history of Canada. No sir!
So Saturday I dragged everyone out to the L.A. Street Food Fest. (Those who live in L.A. are already laughing.) After doing some fast talking to convince my dad and the Support Unit that gourmet trucks are Hip! and Happening! and the Future of Gastronomy! we all piled into the car and spent an hour in traffic to get downtown. As we pull off the freeway three blocks south, we see floods of hipsters walking uphill, a steady stream of boys in skinny jeans and girls in plaid shirts and headbands. "Huh," I say out loud, ignoring the first hints of dread seeping into my heart. "I wonder what else is going on today?"
Well, there wasn't anything else going on. The line to get in filled the sidewalk and went all the way down the block and around the corner. We had plenty of time to study it since it took us twenty minutes to drive from one traffic light to the next. By the time we reached the end, we decided that Mexican food from El Cholo suddenly looked very appealing so we bailed on the Fest and headed out West.
That night we were supposed to go out to dinner and then see the 9:00pm performance of a friend's play. Still being full from delicious plates of enchiladas, we skipped dinner, watched more Olympics, and then jumped back in the car for another hour's drive up to North Hollywood. We arrived right as the 7:00 pm show was filing out of the theater and there in the crowd was our friend! "Hi!" I say excitedly, hiding my growing trepidation as I notice that she iis in street clothes and carrying her bag. "We can't wait to see the show."
Her face freezes. "...oh," she says. "We didn't tell you that there are two casts?"
Behind me I can feel my dad perform the classic face/palm maneuver.
So that is why I watched a lot of ski jumping this weekend.
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