Hannah Mulholland Preforms at "Rockin' Truck Grub" Event in Malibu

Food Trucks at Malibu's Rockin' Truck Grub Festival

Food truck lovers from all over Southern California flocked to the Malibu Bluffs Park on the Pacific Coast to indulge in meals on wheels and listen to local music. Among the food trucks present were Sky's Gourmet Taco Truck, Baby's Badass Burgers (being a family event, the word "badass" was blocked out), Calbi Fusion Tacos and Burritos, Lobsta Truck, Breezy Freeze and Rolling Sushi. Is there a tougher selection to choose between? Some atendees couldn't choose and hit up multiple trucks.

Among the musical performances, local Malibu singer/songwriter Hannah Mulholland stood out from the crowd. Her set list at the Rockin' Truck Grub Festival was comprised of mostly original songs with a sprinkling of covers. Her songs rang strong with elements typical of country music songs. Standing tall with long, curly blonde hair, one can't help but think of Taylor Swift when looking at the youthful Mulholland.

Mulholland plans to move to Nashville, Tennessee as soon as possible. The country music scene in Los Angeles, or lack thereof, drove the 21-year-old to make this drastic decision. "It's hard to get people enthusiastic in country music shows here," she says, though admits her shows in the LA area are typically packed. Check out Hannah's YouTube station, to listen to her latest music and visit her official website for news about her upcoming events and CD release. Also among the performers was Michael Stahler, another Malibu native playing mainly original tunes with narrative lyrics.

Once the sun poked out from behind the typical coastal clouds, the day was perfect for enjoying food, friends and music. After chowing down their goodies on blankets spread upon the grass or at picnic tables, food truck enthusiasts participated in spontaneous games of frisbee and catch. At the end of the event, people headed home happy and far from hungry.

Tofu Tacos from the Calbi Truck

So...Tired...

I cannot decide which of LA's charming alarm clocks I enjoyed being jolted awake by this morning. I keep going back and forth: was it the garbage truck rolling around at its usual 6:30 time slot right under the window? On the other hand, it may have been the squawking family of crows that resides outside my room and make Alfred Hitchcock's feathery foes sound like peaceful songbirds. I argue that those are the best part of waking up, not "Folger's in my cup." Who doesn't love interruption after interruption at the least opportune moments throughout the evening?

Kicking off the festivities was the incessant chatter of my neighbors which earplugs can thankfully drown out. My other neighbor's porch light, which must come from the same place as those blinding lights at football stadiums, was the next interruption to my REM cycle and put me in such a state of desperation that I was driven to the couch in the living room.

This seems like a non sequitur, but I swear I'm going somewhere with it, so bear with me. A few weeks ago there was a segment on NPR focusing on the prominent issue of helicopter noise in Los Angeles. I racked my brain for a single instance where this was a problem for me and couldn't think of one. Thus, I deemed the people calling in crazy and oversensitive, therefore jinxing myself. Last night, helicopters overhead jolted me from a restful state at least three times. These were not gently-whirring helicopters either; we are talking mutant helicopters that sounded as if they were hovering a foot outside the window.

Combine that with the garbage truck rolling around at 6:30 a.m. (why the city of LA deemed that time on a Wednesday the best one for trash collection is unfathomable to me) and the pitter patter of squirrel feet on my roof and it equals a very cranky and tired Marisa.

Californian Complaint

Complaining seems to be the trendy thing to do here so I figured I'd jump on the band wagon and give it the ol' college try as they say. Today I had plenty to complain about, though I still won't stoop to the low of the Californians complaining about the "dreadful weather."

On the bus ride bringing me home from work, I read the entire L.A. Times. That tells you how bad the gridlock was. I read five articles on Senate candidate Akin and how he should exit the race, and how he refuses to do so. Five articles basically all saying the same thing. All I got out of that was that writers for the paper sure have a lot of synonyms for "idiot," and they used every one to describe Akin.

Prior to aforementioned bus ride, I got to deal with a couple of moms who did not understand the meaning of the blatant phrase "we close at 5." That does not mean "we suggest at our establishment that you leave at 5, but you can stay until 5:15 or whenever you want, really." But I guess in their minds they were one and the same. I paced around like an antsy child until they finally packed up their emotional baggage and children and left me in peace to begin shutting down for the evening. Perhaps their delay, thus causing my delay and therefore forcing me to take a later bus, is the blame for my getting stuck in traffic. That's just how the stars aligned today.

I wonder how many traffic-induced Akin articles I will have the pleasure to read tomorrow.

Wah, Wah Wah!

Californians complain more about the weather than anyone ever should. Considering how climate-spoiled they are, it is especially pathetic. News segment after news segment consists of weather people consoling their viewers. "Don't worry, it will cool down later." With no indication of when exactly "later" is. But it seems to do the trick. As long as they are assured it will cool down eventually and they won't wilt in the "sweltering" 85-degree weather, the drama queens of the golden coast quiet down.

You would think the sky was falling. Every mom who came in to the play gym where I work with their kids complained about something weather-related. Their beef with California's weather ranged from "It's unbearable out there!" to "this humidity is unreal!" "We just HAD to escape this dreadful weather!" I wanted to be at the helm of one of those games in arcades where you try to pluck up a stuffed animal with a mechanical arm, pick up these whiny spoiled LA moms and plop them down in a place with real climate extremes. The thought of these women in Alaska more than amuses me. Alaska or the Amazon. Or one after the other. There's a reality TV show idea! That's one show I would actually watch.

I guess people always have to complain about something....

Earthquakes and Acid Rain

What's worse than returning to Los Angeles to work and solitude after spending a weekend in San Diego lounging by the pool reading for leisure instead of for class spending your time among loving family? I can't think of anything either. Okay, maybe I am brandishing my dramatic side. But Los Angeles, a stark contrast to her slower-paced cousin San Diego, has not welcomed me. In fact, it's been nothing but bullying from the city since I arrived here a little over a month ago.

Los Angeles is abusive. She tried to drive me away with earthquakes, traffic that would provoke Ghandi to rip his hair out (oh wait, he is bald) and a conspiring, evil DMV. That is the short list. Trust me, you don't want to ask what the rest of it is. At least it is sunny. I get constant vibes that LA seriously doesn't want me here. What's next? Acid rain? Just watch it happen now that I said that.

But San Diego is a different story altogether. She welcomes me with loving arms, open roads (at least in comparison with LA gridlock, rated the worst in the nation), blue skies and of course, my home away from home with my grandparents. Over the past couple months, their home has become much more to me than just a childhood vacation spot. It is now a safe haven where I can escape from all the craziness in Los Angeles and the superficiality of many of her citizens.

San Diego would never try to drive me away. 

Primary

Curse you Hammer Museum and your sudden desire to be punctual! Literally the one day that I did not arrive 15 minutes preceding the event (blame the LA bus system which is notorious for its inability to adhere to a schedule), happened to be the one day when it began on time. In honor of the presidential election which, in case you weren't aware, is rapidly approaching, the Hammer is showing four election-themed films. Naturally, the majority of them are showing during my class (my one major weekly time constraint), but I plan on attending the others.

The first film of the series documented the primary where John F. Kennedy was campaining against Hubert Humphrey (appropriately, the film was titled Primary). Maybe this is a reflection on how well I paid attention in U.S. history during high school, but I had no idea who Hubert Humphrey was. The film, comprised of grainy black and white footage provided a behind-the-scenes look at the earlier days of campaigning. I enjoyed the lesson in history immensely, especially the campaign theme songs that sounded like 50s advertisements.

Hope Springs Sinks

The sole viewer under the age of about 50, I felt more out-of-place than a redneck carnivoire in a vegan restaurant today when my grandmother and I attended a showing of the film Hope Springs. The plot revolved around a couple in the golden years of their marriage, which, unbeknownst to her husband, is far from his wife's vision of an ideal one. One day, Kay comes across a book on improving stale marriages in a self-help section and learns that the author provides intensive couples counseling in Maine. She approaches Arthur, her husband, gives him a boarding pass and informs him that with or without him, she is going. SPOILER ALERT, he gets on the plane. I know you are all shocked.
Perhaps appropriately so, the running time of the film adheres to the cliche, hope springs eternal (though the title actually comes from the name of a town in Maine). One hour and forty minutes should not feel like eternity, and is a clear indication that the plot needs a serious injection of oomph. Lengthy scenes of Kay and Arnold awkwardly describing their sex lives in detail to their therapist (Steve Carell) could have been cut in half, as could the scenes of their attempts at rekindling their intimacy.

One critic accurately noted that without Streep, Carell and Jones in the leading roles, Hope Springs would not be watchable. Though such a seemingly insignificant and "fluffy" role would seem unbefitting for Streep, she embraces the character with stride and gives life to the character. As it turns out, Meryl Streep masters the role of sexually frustrated 60-something housewife. Another critic pointed out that despite being marketed as a comedy resembles more accurately a drama.

This movie was watchable enough. But please, ladies, do not bring your husbands unless you want to send them a message that you are sexually frustrated. Any man would find it a torturous punishment.