When I was in college, my boyfriend and I subscribed to local produce “shares.” Here’s how it works: Each week, we’d pick up our basket of seasonal produce from regional farmers. Each week, we’d examine the vegetables and ask, “What is this radish? It looks like a creature from a Miyazaki movie.” Then, one of us would shrug and say, “Google it.”
Reader, we are not farmers.
My dad and I drove seven hours up the coast from LA to SF on Sunday, during which time: he gave me advice on making friends in a new city (maybe I should actually go out on Fridays?), we bought buckets of drive-through soda to stave off the 110° heat, and I found out that my dad can rap the first full three minutes the old-school funk classic, “Rapper’s Delight.”
We made the drive so that my dad could visit me, and so that we could cap off the summer by watching the LA Dodgers play the San Francisco Giants. It was more than a game — the victor of this match would settle, at least for a night, the grave and virulent debate of which is the superior half of California.