Let Us Never Decide.

The long awaited and highly anticipated 'subway to the sea', the so-named rail service from downtown Los Angeles to Santa Monica is neither a subway (it travels above ground and yields for school busses and Fed Ex trucks), nor does it go to the sea rather terminating no less than half a mile from Santa Monica Pier, yet curiously near a newly completed retail destination containing all the usual suspects like Barney's and Louis Vuitton. I'm not sure long a Barney's, so close to Fred Segal and coincidentally another Barneys, is going to last, but I'm sure they've done research.

Getting lunch was a battle of wills with entitled stroller wielding breeders. A battle which I lost. I left them with the field. For if the field in question seems somewhat unsuited for a massive big wheeled canopied pram then it is apparently an oversight. The proprietors aren't trying to send you a message, and your child won't suffer permanent injury if you continue to ram the stroller (with child inside) against a hard brick surface that is preventing you from ordering your pork carnitas. I had to eat steaming hot udon with chopsticks that almost put a splinter in my mouth and I had to watch stray napkins fly about the floor every time the automatic doors would swing open. I wasn't happy.

While on the pier someone showed up looking like Don Draper hitting Coney Island. Complete with Ray Bans in this decade because why not. The entirely involuntary withering glare I threw sent the poor chap below deck and I spent the better part of the afternoon looking at people who obviously spent too much time and ultimately made bad decisions about what to wear to the beach.