Whose fault? Asphalt.

And yes, that title is the best I could do for this post on short notice.

While a lot of my time has been occupied with work, I have had time to do a little sightseeing. Today, I visited the La Brea Tar Pits. I don't know anyone that's actually seen them (that I know of, at least), so figured I'd check it out.

Yep, there's tar. Or, technically, asphalt. They used to quarry it there, and it just keeps bubbling up. I saw a small patch that was a few years old, as well as a quarter-sized spot that had just appeared. So asphalt and methane bubble up through these fissures, and the entire area smells like road construction; while it is petroleum, apparently it's far too full of contaminants to be refined without great effort.


Can you imagine the intestinal fortitude required by the paleontologists that have excavated this site? The smell was tolerable on a mild day, highs in the 70s, windy. In high summer, though? And actually have to get in there with the asphalt (not at the site shown, mind you, which is now a lake)? Hard core.

The LACMA, next door to the tar pits, is closed on Wednesdays, more's the pity. They have a great Japanese exhibit hall that I hope to check out tomorrow.

Time to go lapse into a food coma. Berri's Pizza Cafe. Mmmm.