Los Angeles, California: Another lovely day in the City of Angels. Time-change-be-damned. Girls who are eighteen weeks pregnant get hungry for breakfast… which found us at Fred62 on Vermont Avenue in Los Feliz for a yummy carb-filled breakfast around 11 o’clock.

FRED62: Breakfast (and beer) served all day.
DIME BAG: hash browns, eggs, tomatoes and “breakfast meat” (left) and
Buttermilk pancakes with chicken sausage (right

After this lovely repast, we drove to Griffith Park to tour the Los Angeles Zoo.

We have taken The Lovely Lisa to very many zoos. The Manila Zoo. The Portland Zoo. The Taronga Park Zoo in Australia. The Taipei Zoo. The San Diego Zoo. Zoos in Europe. Zoos in America. 

Our child has been to zoos.

Though Lisa lives mere blocks from the Los Angeles Zoo since 2005, she had never set foot on the property. Now she is a MEMBER of the Los Angeles Zoo! (Seriously, it was easier/cheaper/faster to join rather than stand in the world’s longest line for general admission tickets.)

Meerkat

Western Lowland Gorilla

Western Lowland Gorilla

Desert Bighorn Sheep

Lion & Gerenuk

Chimpanzee

What are we going to do tonight?

Lisa & DT watch the Orangutan

Flora in Los Angeles

Lenny & Lisa (at 18 weeks)

Male Asian elephant

Male Asian elephant in musk… coming and going

And my family… leaving the Los Angeles Zoo

All the animals in the zoo cannot compete with the greatest Grand Dawg of all time – Reese!

After a quick rest (where Lenny & I set up a wireless printing network at Lisa’s house), we met again for a fabulous dinner with Andy, Vizhier & Rose at (my new favorite restaurant in Los Angeles) Madeo (8897 Beverly Boulevard, Los Angeles, 310-859-0242). This restaurant is so old-school, I can’t even find a website… but trust me, this place is the real-deal in Los Angeles. Bring all your cash/credit cards. It is popular enough that paparazzi camp-out full-time outside.

Rose, age 4

The bored paparazzi snapped this photo of Terry, Lisa+, Lenny, DT, Andy, Rose & Vizhier
(with my crappy point-and-shoot camera) and lived to tell the tale.
But why did a “professional” photographer cut off our feet?

Until my next update, I remain, your tired correspondent.

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