Yarnbombing

You might know it as "yarnbombing," or the more aggressive "yarnstorming." However you know it, it was covering York Blvd in Highland Park last week: trees, poles, utility boxes and parking meters covered in fuzzy, colorful yarn. 

utility box

utility box

parking meter 

shapely tree

Hey, there, big dog...

Considered graffiti, yarnbombing is more palatable; still it's illegal. But unlike graffiti, yarnbombing is rarely prosecutable, because it's so darn cute. I hadn't realized how popular it was —over four continents and here in LA, a collective of guerilla knitters. It was that organized crew of yarnbombers who went to town after last week's Art Soup competition for northeast artists. These yarnbombers didn't win, but it sure was fun to see their colorful work on display along drab York Blvd.

I realized I had seen this somewhere before.... oh yeah, Little Tokyo, six months ago. I wondered why the bicycle racks were covered—one wearing a sweater, the other a hand muff. 

Yarnbombing reminds me of the 60s when daisies were dropped from the sky at Woodstock— you know, a love fest, making the hard, cold objects of the world more beautiful. I wanted to get one last look at the dazzling display on York, but when I drove down there this morning, this is what I saw:

A return to normal. I'm glad I got to see it before it came down.

Frying Fish, Little Tokyo

A week ago I was dining with my son at our favorite restaurant in the West Village, a place we've eaten at many times before. We do that, my son and I, find a restaurant we like until we're sick of it, then move on to something new. I'm thinking of Frying Fish in Los Angeles, or "flying fish," depending on how fast the conveyor belt delivers.





Frying Fish is a sushi fast food joint in Little Tokyo, a place so cheap you can pile plates of food in front of you and still walk out paying under 40 dollars. You sit at a counter as a conveyor belt goes round and round, with sushi, sashimi, tofu, and seaweed passing by. The fish can be really fresh or yesterday's leftovers (Do NOT eat the yellow tail!). But it's consistently good enough that you'll find LA Times journalists there, Moca and Japanese American National Museum staff, tourists, office workers and mothers like me, who go there to introduce their kids to the finer points of dining on raw fish. My son and I grew tired of Frying Fish just about the time he went off to college five years ago, but the few times I've been back, Alice, the waitress, is always excited to see me and asks about my son.


Frying Fish Restaurant
120 Japanese Village Plz Mall
Los Angeles, CA 90012-3909 (213) 680-0567