Okay, so it's been a while since I have posted to this blog. In fairness, it's been a while since you have responded to my postings. So I guess that makes us even.

I am currently finishing up my second week of classes here at the Annenberg School. Fortunately, my experience here is absolutely nothing like my undergrad prison sentence experience.

As an undergrad, it was not enough to memorize tons of material and regurgitate the information in examinations. That would have been too easy. Most of my undergrad experience was not only boring memorization; it was also interpreting the information in the way my professors wanted. Original thinking? No way. Fresh ideas? Ha! Many of my undergrad profs seemed to say, "What do you think this "education" thing is for, education? No, it's to pay me money. Sucker!!!!" Although this was by no means a universal sentiment shared with all my undergrad profs, too many approached education in this way, thus souring my UMBC experience.

At Annenberg, I am actually appreciated for my, er, contributions precisely because they are so, er, esoteric. For instance, one of my classes is a class on communications policy, which is largely a role-playing class. I will be playing the part of a Republican Secretary of Commerce, testifying before a Senate, who will be influenced by money-grubbing lobbyists and all sorts of pressures. It's a fascinating class.

The fools! They have no idea what I am going to do as Secretary of Commerce!! Bwahahahahaha!!!!!

Okay, so I don't even know what I am going to do. But once I do I'll let you know. Rest assured, friends and family, it will not be pretty. The way I see it, I am paying $14,000 per semester, so I had better make the most of this time and blast them with my, er, unique perspective.

The fools!!

Sorry, I'll stop saying that.

My neighbhorhood is really cool. It is made up of 49.99% Latinos, 49.99% Koreans... and 0.01% white folks, namely me and my property manager. You remember, the nameless guy with a wife and three girlfriends? To be honest I thought he was lying about that, but I since met two of them. Rest assured, he is not exaggerating. Most white folks are scared to come to my neighborhood, which suits me fine. It is actually quite safe and fun. Walking to the mall next to my apartment building is a surreal experience. There is not one person in that mall who is not Korean... except, of course, when I walk in there. Luckily, when I enter the mall, I do not encounter anybody pointing, staring or terrified crying children like I did in China. But I still half-expect such reactions, since I feel like such a minority in my own neighborhood.

The food in my 'hood is freaking phenomenal. There are Mexican food trucks, like hot dog stands, except they offer a full menu of stuff for dirt cheap. Perhaps referring to the food as dirt cheap is a tad too appropriate; these trucks are referred to as "roach coaches" here in LA, but a few insects never stopped me from getting tasty, cheap food. I can get a huge, tasty burrito for $3, or a full yummy plate of stuffed jalapeno peppers, beans rice and veggies for $5. Its worth the risk. Also, the local Korean restaurants serve top-notch Korean grub, and there are dozens of them within one block of my place.

So, life here is good. Again, please post to this blog, or better yet, stop by my 'hood some time. Would that be called a "real-time posting"? It would be great to see you here. The weather is perfect, the people are beautiful and the hospitals are very nice. (I spent last weekend helping my buddy Sean, who spent three days hospitalized with a leg infection and a fever. He's doing better now, thanks for asking.) So come visit any time.

Take care...

Holy moly, what a week.

I would love to tell you what I have been up to for the past week or so, but for the most part I cannot even remember what has been going on. It has been such a whirlwind that putting any thoughts into a coherent blog would be next to impossible.

I think I went through orientation at some point last week, as I have a vague memory of a blur of faces and odd people therein. I definitely recall seeing a dozen or so of the USC cheerleading squad -- in their uniforms -- sitting on their bicycles outside the USC stadium. Oh, I have a VERY clear recollection of that.

Uh, let's see now. I got my apartment unpacked... scrambled to buy my textbooks (one class has 7 required books), I had to buy a parking permit for the semester for $200... I found out that my semester budget will allow little more than cup-o-noodles for the next year... and I also somehow managed to get my first parking ticket very early on and almost had my car towed this morning.

No matter what I was up to, however, I am pleased to report that every day has been sunny, clear and bright, not too hot and not too cool. And there are palm trees. Lots and lots of palm trees.

You're jealous of me? Heck, I am jealous of me.

It is bizarre, I have to admit. I never actually pictured myself living in Los Angeles. And although I miss all my family and friends back home very much, I am glad to be here, even if I am surrounded by Californians.

That's all for now. Classes start tomorrow, at which point time will be a very scarce commodity. But please keep in touch anyway, and feel free to stop by and visit if you get the chance.

Okay, so here I am, brand-spanking-new to the Los Angeles area. Until yesterday, I was technically homeless with my U-Haul trailer being my proverbial shopping cart which I push and pull all over the city, searching for a parking spot suitable for my now double-sized Civic. Once I find a spot, I have to then park it, hoping I don't damage anybody else's car, not to mention my own, in the process. I found out early on the difficulties in merging into highways and making sweeping u-turns with this thing; navigating through Los Angeles has given me newfound humility and respect for truckers everywhere. I can almost hear my poor little Civic cry every time I try to accelerate too quickly to avoid getting hit, or hit my brakes a little too firmly in traffic.

So you can imagine how this scene looks when I am trying to navigate the city while reading my map book in the hopes I don't get terribly lost, like my friend Sean Davis did (who coincidentally just moved out here too) when he accidentally drove us straight into, and then straight outta, Compton the other night.

I found a slick apartment less than 24-hours after arriving here. I first wanted to move to Pasadena, which is somewhat close to USC. I checked out the apartment at 5:00 Saturday night and told the woman I'd decide by the next day. Well, she called me the next morning to explain that someone came right after me and snagged the place on the spot, and that there were no more apartments available.

In a mad dash, I went onto craigslist.org and made appointments to see five apartments in LA.

I set out to navigate LA streets, still towing my trailer.

My first stop was in an awful neighborhood. And I mean awful. I have lived in some nasty parts of Baltimore, but OMFG this place was a virtual war zone. The apartment building I was looking at in a hair-raising part of town (considering the hair is slowly on my head, my chest hair gladly made up the difference) and the apartment building itself was guarded like Fort Knox. I promptly made a very wide and terrifying patented “Dave-Deutsch-towing-a-trailer-with-a-Civic-U-Turn” on 3^rd Street, where I went to look at a different place. This place too was in a terrible neighborhood, so I did yet another patented U-Turn. The third place I checked out was in an area that was not awful, but not quite “clean and nice” either. But it certainly was not balding-hair-raising scary.

The place itself was slick. It's a circa-1920's art deco building, pure white with ornate engravings on the facade and an appealing roughness to it. The studio apartment I was shown had hardwood floors, exposed brick and all new appliances. All of this for $1000/month.

I took it on the spot.

Last nigh, I moved into my new hip place. My new property manager (who evidently is married with three girlfriends and thus will remain anonymous) hired a family of immigrants to help move my stuff up three flights of stairs. The family was basically a family of three with one nine-year old boy who was built like a shit brickhouse. We picked up my dresser, asking him to take the other side. Instead he took the whole damn thing, hoisted it on his shoulder and walked it up three flights of stairs to my new place.

Holy Living Mother Of Shoulders, I was both shocked and, er, shocked.

Anyway, now I have to return my trailer and get unpacked.

And after that, my Civic will be able to breathe the fresh air of freedom, shedding the ball-and-hitch it has been towing around for well over a week and 3000 miles. From here on in, every U-Turn, K-Turn and traffic merge will be a breeze compared to what my poor little car went through over the past week and a half.

And, I will never ever complain about walking up and down stairs again. Ever.

Take care,

Why is it that every time I do something quasi-adventurous, it involves nearly losing my life?

Sorry. Let me backtrack.

I made it to LA yesterday afternoon (Saturday the 12th) one day eariler than I expected, after making an unexpected 700+ mile drive from Van Horn, Texas to the Arizona/California border in one long, exhausting and inevitably terrifying day.

After leaving Van Horn, I planned on staying in a campground in between Tucson and Phoenix, where I could launch my final 250+ mile push into LA. That all changed when I saw a sign for the "Casa Grande Ruins Historical Site." I had never seen Native American ruins before, so I stopped off and saw some of the most amazing ruins that exist in North America. Casa Grande is a 14th-century set of ruins which is remarkably well preserved. The centerpiece is a 3-story house (hence the name, Casa Grande) that has stood for over 700 years now. This building is now covered by an ugly metal roof to protect it from the elements. Evidently this was among the latest of the Natives' buildings, as their history can be traced back to 300 AD. That these Natives lived in the middle of the desert for 1000 years (take that, Moses) simply boggles my mind, especially considering it was so friggin hot when I was there that the Park Ranger tied an oven mit to the door so people could open it without getting burned.

So, in an attempt to get back onto the highway, I went past my exit for my campground. I called my brother Jon so he can help me find a campground anywhere in the Phoenix area, but we could not find one that accepted tents.

And that is when things got scary.

Heading toward the California border, I saw a beautiful lightning storm in the distance. I pulled off the side of the road and took some short movies with my digital camera, which I will upload as soon as I figure out how.

As I approached this massive storm, I was suddenly engulfed in solid black storm clouds and was completely surrounded by lightning. I put my flashers on and slowed down to 40 mph. The lightning was ferocious and blindingly close, striking not 2000 feet from my car in terrifying succession. I was afraid to pull off the side of the road for fear of being struck by said lightning bolts. I turned off my cellphone and unplugged my computer just in case.

Then, it got worse.

It started raining, horribly, from out of nowhere. Without exaggeration, Itt was as if I had suddenly driven under a waterfall, a really huge waterfall that was about 1 mile thick. The road ahead was flooding quickly, and I found it hard to keep my car straight. It got so bad so quickly I was certain I'd have to be rescued from the roof of my car. Things were not helped by the trucks flying by me on the left which nearly pushed the trailer I was towing off the road. And, where the trailer went, I was going too.

Worse still, the only thing on the radio was country music.

Life could not get any worse.

After about an hour of this, I finally made my way out of the storm, and found a campground on Exit 1 on the highway, right on the AZ/CA border. I tried to sleep but the wind was pushing my tent around, not letting that happen easily.

All in all, I drove about 700 miles yesterday. On the upside, I now know that "I love her, she hates me and I drink," courtesy of Country music star Darryl Worley.

The next morning I got up, made some appointments to view apartments, and made it to LA in the afternoon.

I think I found an apartment in Pasadena, which is not far from school. I'll let you know details as they arise.

Meanwhile, I hope all is well with you. Please feel free to drop me an email. I'll check it when I can.

Take care,

Greetings from Van Horn, Texas!

Not much eventful or funny has really happened on this trip so far, largely because I have been preoccupied with driving. And most of that driving has been done in Texas.

This is the state that doesn't end, it just goes on and on my friends.

Geez louise, I spent last night in Cedar Hill Park just south of Dallas, drove over five hundred friggin miles and I am still 100 miles from El Paso! And I am only taking one friggin road!

Anyway, as I said nothing much happening here so far. Sorry to disappoint. I'll post in the near future when I find another Wifi spot.

Hope all is well,

-Dave

Hi!

Sorry it took so long to update the blog... getting access to WiFi in the middle of nowhere is not easy, especially since I cannot find a wireless hotspot without Internet access and cannot get Internet access until I find a wireless hotspot. It's kinda like trying to find your glasses first thing in the morning, but ironically you need your glasses to see so you can find them.

Anyhoo, here's me, blogging as promised.

This is my third day on the road, and here's a general description of what has happened so far. I skipped an opportunity to visit the Museum of Tobacco in North Carolina – a state that not only has a Museum of Tobacco, but considers itself the “Most Pro-Military State in the Country” while proudly flying its Confederate flag, which as far as I can tell means they actually want to secede from the Union, which makes me wonder whether they are pro- Army, Navy Air Force and Marines, or simply pro- Olympic Bomber-esque militiamen like Eric Robert Rudolph – but I skipped it this time. I hear they canceled a great exhibit on lung and jaw cancer. No, that's a lie. Everybody knows tobacco doesn't cause cancer; people smoking and chewing tobacco causes cancer.

Ahem. Philip Morris, I take PayPal.

I also skipped a trip to the Cotton Museum (!!!), conveniently located just off Strom Thurmond Highway (!!!!!) in lovely South Carolina. However, since I am a bit ahead of schedule, I did pay a visit to the Laurel and Hardy Museum, located in Harlem, GA, the Birthplace of Oliver Hardy. From what I could tell, Oliver Hardy constitutes about 25% of the local economy of Harlem, as they have festivals, recreations, impersonators and all manor of fun activities surrounding the man himself. I didn't see too many black folks in Harlem, which is something I never thought I would say.

Per my cousin Jim's request, I am trying to attach a map of my entire trip, and will do so when technical glitches are resolved. So far, I have been to Skippers, VA, Crawfordville, GA and currently am in Monroe. At the campground in Skippers, the old woman working the front desk asked where I was going. I said CA. She asked if I was alone. I said yes. She said, “Oh, bless your heart,” which I am told translates into “You poor stupid bastard” up North.

Here in Crawfordville, there is nobody working, and evidently you camp on an honor system and pay on exit. That of course

I'll update when I can. Meanwhile, I hope all is well, wherever you are in Cyberspace or Meatspace.

-Dave