Sunday, February 25, 2007

I LOVE L.A.

taking a drive through town

How LA defies description, every street I turn down reveals another world. I still lose my breath occasionally, sometimes at the beauty, sometimes at the devastation and chaos, and sometimes at the unintentional wit. There is always something.

One thing I've had to come to grips with: I do not define the city, the city defines me.

The fact that I drive back and forth between Hollywood and my neck of the woods (Lincoln Heights), is a reflection on the town. Some sort of oceanic gravitational field pulls me in, and then spits me out.

Some nights I see ghosts as I drive into the darkness. Some nights, leaving the neon behind, I see the night closing in on me under the crushing reality of economic class.

But this night, (once again heading for Lincoln Heights from Hollywood via Hancock Park), I am struck by the universal sense of humor of our town.

My last glimpse of Hollywood is the decrepit piano store "Stein on Vine" (still hanging on in the run-down area where Vine literally fades away as it transforms into Rossmore).

At Larchmont the grimy Hollywood ends, the streets seem to take a breath and expand.
A row of apartments guard the perimeter of the prestigious Hancock Park area. There the 1930's art deco apartment the Mauretania, winks at me. The Mauretania...JFK's former piedeterre and alleged love nest where Marilyn and he might tryst.

Just a few blocks west sits a large Hasidic community, with Shuls on every corner. There are Persian Shuls, Russian Shuls and the “classic” eastern European variety. But could LA ever be content to allow this phenomena to occur without adding a touch of irony? On the corner stands a Honeybaked Ham store (do you think they offer a Kosher one?)

Leaving the Hasidic world and heading down La Brea, I check in on my favorite combination breakfast joint and flower store “Rita Flora”, which features the appropriately named “well stacked pancakes”.

But I digress...back to Hancock park. The wide avenues are bordered by trees that form an arch of green. The trees are punctuated by the occasional majestic African palm. As I travel further, leaving the homes of the affluent behind... the trees thin, their tops no longer touching, and finally grow increasingly sickly. The needles on the pines grow brown and the trees themselves come further and further apart until you are suddenly dumped into Koreatown. There the grim skyline of downtown L.A. appears in the distance.

These streets can no longer be aided by a tree or two, they give a fresh meaning to what used to be called the mean streets. Mean, but somehow intoxicating. Here mingle Mexican Panaderias (bakeries), Salvadorian Pupuserias (places that sell “pupusas”), Korean Barbecue, tiny mercados (markets) and Vietnamese Boba shops.

Here I sail through the outskirts of Echo Park, over the river to Lincoln Heights. My roller coaster ride through town comes to a jolting stop. The adrenaline fades, I am home.

Want another taste of Art Deco LA? Join the Art Deco Society!


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Saturday, February 24, 2007

SHE IS NO SHRINKING VIOLET: CATS AT GELSONS

She is No Shrinking Violet: Cats at Gelsons

As I open up to the world, the world never fails to reveal itself to me.

I was in a hurry this morning, the day before Christmas Eve. I hit Gelsons in Silver Lake at 8:30 am, strategically grabbing all the hard to find items, grabbing the latte and rye bagel and zipping happily across the parking lot with my shopping cart full of groceries....when there, across the parking lot I saw a van with a cat happily snoozing inside.

I saw the cats owner was behind the wheel sipping a cup of coffee, so there was no need for concern. But something compelled me to leave my cart by my car, and walk over to them. I walked over to the van slowly, so as to announce my presence. As I got closer I saw the woman was very old, with sun wrinkled skin around blue eyes.

She rolled down the window and we began to chat. I told her how incredible it was to see cats so relaxed and comfortable in a car. "I wish my cats could be so mellow in a car" I said. "I live in the van she said, so they are at home" she told me. "It took a long time for them to get used to it, but now they have."

I saw that there were two cats, and then I saw a third step out. "How many cats do you have?" I asked. "Nine" she replied. "Nine" I repeated. I introduced myself. Her name was Vi (rhymes with eye). "As in Violet?" I asked. "Nooooooo" Vi said, wincing and shaking her finger at me. "I've spent my whole life trying to get away from that name".

Then Vi told me a story. She had been an artist in the past, and used her skills to alter her birth certificate, carefully whiting out letters, so that Violet became just "Vi". When it was time to renew her drivers license, she feigned loosing her old license and instead brought the birth certificate. She told me she had to keep her hands in her pockets because she was so nervous she was shaking. The man eyed her birth certificate, and she could see he saw the alteration. "Oh come on, please, it's important to me" she told him. And the man understood and said "well, alright then". Thus Vi's license now shows her chosen name. "It's like the bible you know" she told me. "Nobody argues with what's on your drivers license".

We talked some more about cats. She's been feeding and catching feral cats for years. She spays and neuters and then releases them or finds them homes. The vets clip one of the cats ears when they are neutered and that way the animal control folks know which cats are okay to be left in the wild. She has one pair of spayed twins, and the vet clipped one on the right ear and one on the left, so that she'd know which twin was which.

Finally I realized that my frozen food wouldn't remain frozen for long and I had to say good bye to Vi. "Merry Christmas Pam", she called. "Merry Christmas Vi."


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Friday, February 23, 2007

RETURN OF THE MUMMY: REVENGE OF OSCAR

RETURN OF THE MUMMY: REVENGE OF OSCAR

On a recent outing to the movies, roving ph
otographer, Jon Smilowitz, caught these shots with his cellphone cam.

The recent rain must have given the set desi
gners a panic. To cope, the golden statues were mummified in Saran Wrap. I do hope they don't walk off tonight in search of refuge in some plastic cocooned Egyptian coffin. Perhaps they will make their way to the nearby Egyptian Theater.

The ghostly statues attire is reminiscent of the pop fashion clear plastic dresses of the '70's. I think LA should leave them this way and make a real fashion statement.

All this leaves the Oz blogger wondering: Does "Hip" really contradict a sense of humor?

I feel such camp movie potential here. Maybe a "Rocky Horror Picture Show" meets "Return of the Mummy"? Dead actress start popping up asphyxiated with plastic wrap over their contorted mouths. Enter Philip Marlow (or Abott & Costello?) to chase down the golden ghouls.














TANGENT: Check out "The Clickable Mummy" for fun with preservation!

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SEASONAL OUTLOOK ON LA: REALITY-BASED WEATHER

Seasonal Outlook on LA: Reality-Based Weather
winter, spring, summer and f-all
all you need to do is c-all
James Taylor, You Got a Friend

The sky in LA was the color of the reflection of water. It was a drive with the top down day. It was a "welcome home from D.C. " day. The birds actually chirped (really!).

My father commented that I had "fought D.C. every step of the way, always converting the time to LA time" in general not accepting where I was. Clearly I had a bad case of weather denial.

Speaking of denial. Those of us who migrated from the East cling to the seasons of our prior home insisting on the structure of our former geography. For example, "wow, it's really hot for January", or "why hasn't summer started? it's already July" or "how weird to be wearing shorts when putting up the Christmas tree".

So here's my proposal: Let's accept reality and change our nomenclature to "reality-based" seasons. I suggest the following:

Spring: October-January
Summer: February-April
June Gloom: May-July
Simmer: August-September

The wikipedia community explains it all clearly, as follows:

In temperate and polar regions generally four seasons are recognized: spring, summer, autumn, and winter. In some tropical and subtropical regions it is more common to speak of the rainy season versus the dry season, as the amount of precipitation may vary more dramatically than the average temperature. In other tropical areas a three-way division into hot, rainy and cool season is used. In some parts of the world, special "seasons" are loosely defined based upon important events such as a hurricane season, tornado season, wildfire season or a sport season.
Have a better idea? Send in your reality-based weather suggestions!


TANGENT
: Two funny movies that use the same LA-weatherman joke (wow, it's 73 degrees again folks!): Steven Martin in "LA Story" and Bill Murray in "Groundhog Day"


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Sunday, February 18, 2007

EMERALD LANDING PAD

Aren't there enough blogs on LA already? Oh hell, there's got to be room for just one more! LA's Emerald City blog began as a spinoff of Lofty Thoughts (Loft Living in NorthEast LA); a place with room for observations on the city as a whole.

This blog is inspired by my love affair with the city (across the spectrum of glowing honeymoon period to mature relationship).

To catch up, check these posts on the never-ending-story:

WHY WOULD ANYBODY WANT TO LEAVE LA?

You have to wonder about a city that inspires so many songs about getting the hell out...Song writers from Burt Bacharach to Irving Berlin are very clear on their sentiments of our town:
Do you know the way to San Jose?
I'm going back to find some piece of mind San Jose
L. A. is a great big freeway
Put a hundred down and buy a car
In a week - maybe two - they'll make you a star
Weeks turn into years and quickly pass
And all the stars that never were
are parkin' cars and pumpin' gas
I've got lots of friends in San Jose
Can't wait to get back to San Jose -
-Burt Bacharach
Sometimes a writer tries to pen a tune about his longing to get out of town, but finds the whole first verse has been censored!
The sun is shining/the grass is green/orange palm trees sway/there never been such a day in beverly hills/but it's December the twenty-fourth/ and I'm longing to be up north" -- Irving Berlin from the "Lost" first verse of "White Christmas"
Learn more about the original satirical first verse at "I'm Dreaming of a Jewish Christmas"

Beth Hart left no room for editing when she belted out:
Man I gotta get outta this town
Man I gotta get outta this pain
Man I gotta get outta this town
Outta this town and out of L.A.
--
Beth Hart, "LA Song"
I'll sign out with a rejoinder from the late 2Pac:
"To live and die in LA, it's the place to be
You've got to be there to know it, what everybody wanna see."

Peace Out


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