LOFTY THOUGHTS

Scenes from the Electric Daisy Carnival (EDC) Los Angeles 2010

2010-06-26T20:21:00.000-07:00

DESIGN I LOVE

2010-06-16T20:53:00.000-07:00

A brilliant interpretation of a digital world for the hip "Belair Internet" in the Sherman Oaks Galleria!

And just when I thought "Chartreuse" and Purple were played out....

The Endless Loop - Pam reviews "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" and dwells on dinner and the nature of Human Existence

2010-05-29T21:23:00.000-07:00

I was fourteen years old when Jimmy kissed me on the forehead and ran off with his friends. To this day it plays in my mind on an endless loop.

Even this evening as I drove down Beverly Boulevard chasing the sunlight past the place the motorcycle cop lays in wait, past the all-night taco stand; and always ahead the neon glow of the Western Exterminator sign looming over all from the top of the hill, with its pink blinking rodents scurrying around the perimeter. When suddenly beautiful Beverly Boulevard, depending on your perspective, dumps you onto or delivers you unto, Temple Avenue. And now at the bottom of the hill in the darkness, the road becomes bumpy and a feeling of gloom comes o’vr you that your soul cannot resist.

There is my bank, there is a restaurant I had a glowing dinner with friends, there is the vet where Tuxedo died and where my face streamed with tears and now only feels like a dull ache like the feeling when Jimmy kissed me on the forehead and I knew it meant nothing to him and that at the same time, nothing would ever be the same for me again. And I was right because what I glimpsed in that moment foreshadowed all that was to come for the next twenty years. Of course I didn’t dwell on it, that inner certainty, that taste of inevitable despair, instead I glowed, I beamed, I flew to the sky on gossamer wings and basked. There was a lot of basking.

There are a few things I have on the list of things one oughtn’t to do too much of in life, one of them is basking, the other is dwelling. The difference between basking and dwelling is subtle but critical. One basks in the glow of wonderful memories, one dwells…well one usually only dwells on the most painful moments. Of course there is a correspondence with how much one basks to how much one dwells; Highly debatable if it is worth the trade-off.

Then there are those occasions where one can actually bask in the act of dwelling, a truly perfect moment, like the moment right before you find your balance on a bicycle, a moment where you could fall, where you are in fact falling, but you don’t. That moment is there, almost imperceptible but there, and very…very…hard to hold onto. But if time were to stop at that moment, the moment would be a state of bliss. Something to appreciate, to hold on to for all time, something that will come to you again right before you die, like a kiss upon the forehead.

Tonight at dinner Guru’s attention was so attached to the screen of his iphone that he didn’t even look up when I took out my iphone and took a picture of him, which I texted to him, which he opened and looked at and then posted to his Facebook page, and I then looked at his Facebook Page on my iphone and saw the picture of him taken by me, looking at himself while I looked at him.

After dinner, we went to the theater to see a film about an unsolved murder, set in Sweden. The movie told a story that spanned a long history of the Finnish Winter wars and the invasion by Russians and then Nazis and the toll those events took on the lives of the innocent. It opened a window into the world of the Swede, a place where the dark places of the human mind find easy purchase, a place where cold and geography create isolation and a despair that is refined, distilled until it becomes something more like a texture than a mood. A place where alcoholism and suicide find a comfortable existence, a place where these have a certain logic, something understood, something that is inseparable from other parts of the human existence, something that just is.

And as I watched that movie about those people, who as it happens, are the gene pool from which I descend, I felt my connection to that cold and isolated and refined inevitable world; a comfortable place I know and take for granted. Something I assumed was part of the fabric of human nature, so unquestioned that it was not until I arrived in California that it dawned on me that this was something that wasn’t common to all people, but maybe only to those who came from the cold and the darkness and the isolation of the Finns and the Swedes.

I was quite uncomfortable in the company of the people of the warm and the sun and satisfaction of good connections with their communities. From my icy perspective, they rang false, or at best, like innocent children who did not really know. They did not know that life was, in fact, miserable. They did not know that people were not to be trusted. They didn’t not feel, as if they did, how could they be happy?

And so I watched this movie, a movie where the heroine is a tall, thin, angry, boyish dark haired girl who rages against the world. And she made sense to me because she was, for all practical purposes, me, in my youth. It unfortunately made me want to get my nose pierced, which hopefully will wear off if I spend sufficient time out in the sunshine.

As it turns out, there isn’t much to be angry about in Los Angeles, there isn’t something definable to rage against, eventually my guard has dropped and I find more and more inclined to bask and not to dwell.

LINCOLN HEIGHTS GRAFFITI TOUR

2010-02-28T20:22:00.000-08:00

MATRIMONIOS AND IMMIGRATION

2010-01-20T21:57:00.000-08:00

A new business owner has installed the most beautiful iron work on Daly Street. The sign says it all "Matrimonios and Immigration".

In the right circumstances it could be both!

"CAFE IN THE HEIGHTS" OPENS THIS WEEKEND!

2010-01-10T15:38:00.000-08:00

A new coffee house opened this Saturday in Lincoln Heights. "CAFE IN THE HEIGHTS" offers coffee drinks, free wi-fi, a nice place to hang out and a full pastry and sandwich menu.

Where to find them? Across the street from Lincoln High School @ 3510 N. Broadway

These people have spent a lot of time to bring Lincoln Heights a quality Cafe House.

The decor is inviting and their slogan says it all: "WHERE NEIGHBORS AND FRIENDS MEET"

GEORGIA O'KEEFE MEETS THE STREETS OF LA

2009-12-25T08:56:00.000-08:00

"Georgia O'Keefe meet's the streets of LA"

It was the day I met Edward Cervantes painting an outdoor mural (see art in my July post) that I decided I must certainly bring the outside in.

When Edward arrived with 45 cans of graffiti-quality paint (imported from Germany and Australia) I knew I was in the presence of a pro.

The mural (about 10 feet wide and four feet high) was completed in stages. Since spray paint dries so quickly the layers had to be put down fast but to achieve the shading and depth the mural was completed in four phases. Each time, despite fans, open windows, face masks and cross draft, the fumes drove us from the house in less than two hours.

The finished product was an indoor masterpiece, in which, like cloud formations, everyone sees something different. Me? I see a wolf eating a river. My friend sees a fire breathing dragon. But most see a beautiful orchid. Like beauty, meaning is in the eye of the beholder,

To the artist? It's a no longer discernible abstract of a tag name from days gone by.

To me? A movable feast for the eye.

SIONARA CROSSWALK

2009-08-24T23:48:00.000-07:00

The glorious bastards came with their jackhammers under cover of darkness and took our crosswalk away.

YOUNG GRAFFITI ARTISTS IMPROVE LINCOLN HEIGHTS

2009-07-05T21:25:00.001-07:00

I had the funniest experience today. There's a mechanic shop at the Broadway/Spring Street V (Bill's). There has been a graffiti art mural there for a while (I assumed by the same artist); and today I saw eight young men each working on painting an area. Of course I had to stop to see what was up. I asked for permission to photograph their works in progress (have to go back with the good camera tomorrow when they're finished). Anyway, the problem was the boyz wouldn't let me take a picture of the artist with their work; it kinda broke my heart because they probably have records and probation that prohibits them from spray paint, etc. Here they were, really wonderful artists, and they had to hide their faces. Needless to say I respected their wishes, so none who wished to be anonymous are identified here.

My favorite was done be Edward Cervantes (who gave me permission to use his name); a beautiful free style mural. His is the third photo below. Edward is also a tattoo artist working in Eagle Rock.

I asked a few about their stories, I assumed someone had organized a whole art project; one of the guys came up and I asked him, and he said "yeah, it is a project" and I said "what's it called?" and he said "it's called "up your ass""; I gave him a "puh-leaze" look and he started kinda backtracking. That aside, here's a sample of their work in progress:

LIGHTS OUT FOR VONS

2008-12-14T09:18:00.000-08:00

I looked out the window last night and saw men working on taking down the Vons sign.The red plastic cover was already off the "S". A neighborhood store that served the community for decades, was being dismantled under cover of darkness. I grabbed my camera and dashed across the street to capture the final moments but by the time I crossed the street the men had lowered the cherry picker. I missed my action shot and just stood in the night watching through the gate.

Feeling bummed, I walked back across the street and took one last glance, and there it was again, up by the sign. Too far in now, off I went back across the street, steadied the camera on the gate and took the shot.

As the shutter closed I snapped one last shot, with the aperture open long enough to pierce the dark. As the picture snapped I thought something was wrong because all I saw through my view finder was black. In the moment it took for the shutter to close...the sign had gone dark. Vons was no more.

=fin

DOOM AND GLOOM IN LINCOLN HEIGHTS

2008-12-03T21:36:00.000-08:00

The Life Cycle of a Local Grocery Store: Vons, the adventure continues..

Life can be depressing. Sometimes it's your serotonin level...and sometimes it's not. These days I'm sure I am not alone in feeling a little bit of economic dread. Watching giants fall is one thing, but when it comes to your neighborhood, that's another thing. I'm not cutting through the cliches here fast enough, so let's start at the beginning:

I went shopping tonight, just a quick run to the local Von's for a bag of cat litter (pine chips of course). The store looked clean, but it wasn't any cleaner than usual, what it was...was...empty. There was a lot of vacant shelf space going on. I had a moment of hope, maybe the dreamed of re-model, a face lift for Von's, maybe even the elusive "Fresh Faire" upgrade, maybe we'd go full upscale and move straight to Pavillions.

But that moment was short lived as I came up to the check out stand and said "a little spring cleaning?". "We're closing" was the reply. No laugh, no sparkle in the eyes. "You are kidding right?" There was no answer. The manager standing nearby muttered "it's been coming, but we got the final word tonight"

Why would I feel my heart breaking a little bit? Von's and I had at best a love-hate relationship. I wryly called it my Ghetto-Von's. The store always had a down-on-its-luck feel. Once, when new to the neighborhood, I presciently talked with a manager about the inconvenience of locked cabinets for the toothpaste and Tylenol. He said "if it weren't locked up it would all be gone by tomorrow". My reply "but the people who come here to spend money won't come back".

When the big financial institutions started to collapse I rationalized (markets are self regulating, blah blah blah). When the foreclosures started I thought "well good thing I didn't buy a house". I didn't shed a tear when Payless Shoes and Linen's & Things closed their doors, and certainly not when Circuit City filed for bankruptcy. I actually gloated when WAMU fell (they screwed me when I needed them most).

But tonight, at the checkout stand, it all came home for me. "They can't close "my" store", I said to myself, if they do that it might all be real.

WHERE TO "STAY" IN LA

2008-11-11T18:12:00.000-08:00

As our country dives into the next great depression, I'm thinking it's time to find some levity in my life.

I thought all the fun was over when the Annenberg Cornfields art project ended with an LA Times infamous article that led with the line: "Porn in the corn creates scorn". Yes, it's a real quote.

But the good old days aren't over yet. Ate breakfast at a new place downtown called "The Nickel" Diner. The menu is full of drug references. Want comfort food? Have an order of "Smac on Cheese", want a small portion? Have a nickel, want a little more, have a dime bag. OK, it isn't even very funny, but they're trying. At first I thought it was just another wanna be hip place but turns out it's legit. In the good old days you used to be able to come in and buy a twenty dollar hamburger. Throw away the burger and turn over the plate and voila, taped to the bottom of the plate: a bag of "H". Now there's a way to loose weight!

Walking back to the car I noticed a sign for what appeared to be a new hotel call "Stay". In fact it was a Youth Hostel done LA-Style. The rooms were done up in bright Orange, with Plasma TV's on the wall, and a nod to 60's pop art (anyone remember the Hand chair, shaped like a hand, you sit in the giant plastic palm? I'm still trying to forget it, I can never shake the image of the mechanical hand in King Kong).

"How do I know what the rooms look like?" you may ask. I didn't need to go for a tour thanks to www.stayinabubble.com Yes you guessed it, the two front dorm rooms are glass storefronts, no curtains, no privacy, just like...you're staying in a bubble. Hmmm, they aren't getting my $29 bucks for that. Me, being the basic mid-western dork that I am, walked up to the glass and waved. I was greeted with a blank stare. I don't think they understand the concept. You're in a bubble people!

But my senses weren't overloaded yet. That didn't happen until I noticed that the "Stay" hostel was bookended by two shops; 1) an art gallery called "Arty" (cute, whatever) and 2) A corner shopping mart called "Marty".

Want to come to LA? Grab a dime bag, an exhibitionist friend, and "stay" with Marty and Arty. We'll leave the lights on for you!

HERE LIES A DEAD GUY

2008-11-01T13:30:00.000-07:00

Where can you find a Jack O'Lantern eating a burger and a shake? How about a pinata ghost? Lincoln Heights of course!

Had to take this shot of the window at the Lincoln Heights Dino's Burgers before it is replaced by Santa Claus and elves (and maybe little red riding hood?)

I am so behind the times, the last time I hit a piñata it was a donkey. Come to think of it, I did have a terrible sighting of a Santa Claus piñata a few years back. I have to say the idea of encouraging kids to beat Santa Claus to a pulp did not appeal to me...

Found this ghost at Victor's Gift Shop on Main Street in Lincoln Heights.

ART, ICE CREAM AND BLUE JEANS IN LINCOLN HEIGHTS

2008-11-01T12:57:00.000-07:00

If you blinked you missed it! Kasil Art Gallery opened on Broadway last month but it's days were numbered. Organized by Sevin (formerly Martha Riley) of the Lincoln Heights Neighborhood Council, and space donated by the generous owner of Kasil Jeans upstairs, the gallery was a great space for our local young artists.

Looks like an Ice Cream Shop is opening in its place sometime soon, just in time for Winter. Hopefully they can compete with Rite Aide!

THE EVOLUTION OF COMMUNITY ART: DREAM & REALITY

2008-05-04T09:34:00.001-07:00

Flower Power & Skid Row

Way back in the summer of 2007 a group called Farmlab created a project called "Agbins on Skid Row" with the lofty goal of bringing "a communal garden to the homeless community". 30 bins were set up and seeded with vegetables and flowers. Several Skid Row hosts were to foster and care for a bin during the summer. The purpose (beyond the communal garden for the homeless that is)? to bring the joy of growing food to displaced people. Farmlab waxed prosaic with this bit "our hope is that these agbins become like a single garden, in several locations, within this defined community".

Ah art.

Now let's get down to reality people. 30 ugly plywood bins painted with cheap flat house paint were built and seeded with all the parsley, rosemary and thyme a homeless person could dream of...

What did they become? little hiding places to stash your drugs? sometimes. Spare public toilets? sometimes. Empty sad looking boxes full of trash? sometimes.

Do I hear any communal gardens of happiness? Sorry folks. But still…a year later our three boxes may be down on their luck like the neighborhood, but one flower was determined to find purchase there.

Another became a painting surface for a very Chagall-esque street artist:

Maybe it was not what the Farmlab-ers were hoping for...But it was supposed to be a community project right?

TURNED ON IN LINCOLN HEIGHTS

2008-04-22T20:37:00.001-07:00

Our town pulls all the stops out for the "North Broadway Street Lighting Ceremony" on Tuesday, April 22, 2008 at 7:30 pm at the northwest corner of Avenue 24 and North Broadway.

Councilmember Ed Reyes and the Department of Public Works Bureau of Street Lighting invite the community to attend.

The lighting project, on North Broadway between Sichel Ave and the LA River and a portion of North Spring between Avenue 18 and the LA River, replaced the existing street lighting (older concrete poles) with decorative steel roadway lighting poles and pedestrian lighting poles. 135 new lights were installed including 47 pedestrian lights and 88 roadway lights.

To celebrate the completion of the 2.3 million installation of "historic" street lights... it looked like Councilman Reyes switched on the lights...but looks can be deceiving.

It looked like the Councilman pulling the switch that turned on the lights...but really...it was (scroll down)

Juan!

I'm sorry I caught you with your eyes closed dude!

RAIN RAIN GO AWAY

2008-01-15T12:20:00.001-08:00

MEN IN BLACK: IMAGINARY CRIME IN LINCOLN HEIGHTS

2008-01-14T08:12:00.000-08:00

If I had a hammer, I'd hammer in the morning (not the night!)...

It was a hot night and my window was open. I couldn't sleep. There was a loud banging noise outside. It was very loud, and very close. The part of my brain that evolved to make sure I wouldn't get eaten by a mountain lion if I was separated from the herd--woke up. Then it was very quiet, followed by another noise which would be best described as spray paint noise. I didn't realize how much I wanted to catch the neighborhood taggers until I found I was willing to jump out of bed and stake out the bad guys. I tip toed across the floor to the window and peeked out.

There on the roof of La Playita were four men dressed in black (so cliche). I heard more banging, and it looked like they were trying to get in through the roof. So, noble citizen that I am, I called 911. I watched as they dropped down into the night. Car headlights went on and a sedan drove off down the alley. They were gone. Almost 20 minutes later, a squad car nervously approached flashed a light, sat a safe distance and then drove away.

Another 30 minutes and the noise started again! This time I looked and the morons were INSIDE the restaurant. So I called in my second burglary in progress. If it's a night janitorial crew, then they wouldn't be on the roof dressed in black. So then one of the guys came out on Broadway and actually stood lookout. Still waiting, I was sure they'd be long gone by the time the next squad responded.

What would they be stealing in there? Tacos?

I looked out again and yes they were gone, the truck was gone. Then my phone rang, it was LAPD. "They were working on the roof ma'am". "Oh, wow, thank you for letting me know" "Good night Miss" "Good night"

Of course I still couldn't go to sleep. What? Working on the roof of Taco Restaurant at 11:30 at night? Wearing black? Yep.

LINCOLN HEIGHTS HOMICIDE

2008-01-12T17:44:00.000-08:00

Proving the old adage, "no news is good news", Lincoln Heights had a sad entry on the LA Times Homicide report this week. Now I know why I saw all the police cars...

1/5/08 - Sergio Serna, a 21-year-old Latino man, was shot and killed at 2601 Mozart St. in Lincoln Heights about 1:20 p.m. Saturday, Jan. 5. Two other Latino men were also injured and taken to a local hospital by ambulance; one is in critical condition and the other is stable. A male suspect, Latino, was last seen running north on Mozart Street to an awaiting vehicle, according to LAPD officials. The suspect was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt with a black bandana covering his face. Anyone with information can call Hollenbeck Homicide Detectives Smith or Marin at (323)526-3679

More info from the Homicide Report

GUN "FIRE": LETTING GO

2007-10-24T21:54:00.000-07:00

Back in the early 90's I spied a photo in a coffee shop/gallery in Santa Rosa. The photo was called "Johnny Get Your Gun" featuring a gun point blank at the camera, the shooter blurred in the background. I had to have it, but back then I couldn't find the $100 bucks. I kept the phone number on a little slip of paper, but I never called. One day, my boss (Helen) said to me, I want to give you a performance award and I know a plaque won't cut it with you, how about you buy something you want and I pay. And so it was; Helen (who abhorred the photo) became my financial backer in my first art acquisition (okay, my only acquisition). As I dialed the number I thought "this has been too long, the phone number is probably no good, the picture probably sold," etc. etc. But to my surprise, it wasn't and it hadn't.

The photographer answered the phone on the first ring. She was moving she told me, tomorrow and although she didn't really want to sell the print, she desperately needed the cash. When I came over, cash in hand, she handed me the framed print, but as I took it, she didn't let go and a little push and pull happened. As I realized that it meant something very important to her I promised her it would always have a place of prominence in my home. With that she accepted the sale. I felt terrible. I mentally promised myself I'd return it to her someday, that she was really just loaning it to me.

I left the house as she returned to packing. As I walked down the path I heard her crying, wailing really and I almost turned back, but something told me it wasn't the right thing to do. She was letting go of something and I was part of it.

And now almost twenty years later I still carry this print around. There's something so objectionable about it that I have yet to have a visitor who admired it and untrue to my promise, it has often sat on floors and closets, occasionally pulled out with ambivalence and some regret.

Such was the case last week, as I came across it sitting on a dusty floor. I picked up the print and set it on a bench, propped against the wall where I could see it.

It was Fall, an odd transitory sort of season as it is, when the LA Fires began. The fires burned and burned and as they did the City filled with soot and the air clouded over with smoke. Yesterday it was so bad that when the sun began to set, the smoke turned the sunset blood red. It was at that moment that I looked around my darkening room and saw the red sunlight shining straight on, and only on, Johnny Get your Gun.

COUNCIL DISTRICT 1 - THE FORGOTTEN EDGE?

2007-09-09T07:17:00.000-07:00

Exploring North East LA Stats

I've been living in CD 1 for almost eight months now, walking and driving around, exploring the neighborhood; but I can't say I've learned that much. Tonight I checked out Councilman Reyes website and I was surprised how little I knew. Council District One has a population of 222,165 people. Seventy percent of our district, or 154,927 people, are above the age of 18. The remaining thirty percent or 67,238 people, are under the age of 18.

The communities that make up District 1 include: Glassell Park, Cypress Park, Highland Park, Mt. Washington, Solano Canyon, Elysian Park, Echo Park, Westlake, Angelino Heights, Temple Beaudry, Lafayette Park, Chinatown, Forgotten Edge, Lincoln Heights, Montecito Heights, Pico Union, Adams-Normandie, Mid Cities and Mac Arthur Park.

Forgotten Edge? I can't find anyone who can tell me where it is. Have they all forgotten?
Geographically, CD1 is the 3rd smallest district in the City and is the only district in all of Los Angeles that does not border a separate municipality.

CD1 is one of the most ethnically rich districts. According to the most recent census data, District 1 is 75.5% Latino; 15.1% Asian; 5.4% White- Non/Hispanic; 2.6% Black/African American; 1.0% Multi-racial; 0.3% American Indian and 0.1% Other.

Maybe the 0.1% Other lives in Forgotten Edge?

THOUGHTS FROM A LOFT

2007-08-08T22:13:00.000-07:00

I realized tonight
this is probably the closest to living in a garret
that I'm ever going to get.

LINCOLN HEIGHTS AT SUNSET

2007-07-29T20:57:00.001-07:00

SCULPTURE AND STARBUCKS

2007-07-27T21:47:00.000-07:00

Reporting from Little Tokyo, Los Angeles

I've passed by this Bronze on my endless rapturous trips into and out of the Little Tokyo Starbucks. I figured (incorrectly) that this "man on bench" was part of a city-wide series by the same artist as the "man with head in wall" over by the plaza at 8th & Figueroa.

I can honestly say I was startled by "him" only when the bench was occupied by carbon-based friends--creating the necessary juxtaposition for a true cognitive dissonance. Too bad for me that nobody sat down on the bench today for my pic.

So today, I paused. I wasn't as overly enthusiastic to get my Starbucks as I was (back in the old days) when I was rushing to work. I paused and wondered why the man was holding a pamphlet and noticed (for the 1st time) that he was Asian. At the top of the plaque was, of all things, a quote from the Talmud: "He who saves one life, saves the entire world". Followed by the unbelievable but true story of Chinune "Sempo" Sugihara. "A Japanese consul in Lithuania who issued handwritten visas to 1000's of Jewish refugees, against the express order of his government, and saved innocent lives during the Holocaust."

Why was Sempo or any Japanese man working in, of all places, Lithuania during WWII? I don't know, but there he was and he did what one man could do for Justice. And now he sits, in front of Starbucks, something we can be sure, he could never have imagined.

Credits: The sculptor: Ramon G. Velazco; I haven't found anything about the artist online. Anybody know more?

TANGENT ONE:
Unrelated but something else wonderful I came across on my search for LA sculptures, which led me to LA Neon Signs, etc.

In 1949, Raymond Chandler wrote in The Little Sister (via Michael Web)

"I smelled Los Angeles before I got to it. It smelled stale and old like a living room that had been closed too long. But the colored lights fooled you. The lights were wonderful. There ought to be a monument to the man who invented neon lights."

Is Chandler God-like or what?

TANGENT TWO:

I wonder if the sculpture is part of one of the downtown LA tours (probably not the Raymond Chandler tour, but one never knows). The company: Esotouric "bus adventures into the secret heart of Los Angeles." This writer recently breakfasted with fellow blogger Richard Schave, husband of tour guide/founder-owner Kim Cooper.

Disclaimer: We have no business relationship, financial or otherwise; but let me take a risk and call them my (wait for it...) partners in crime? I've been carrying around their brochure for months. Time for me to hop on that bus!

A SCREECH WITHOUT A CRUNCH

2007-07-21T09:08:00.000-07:00

How to Describe Happiness in Downtown LA

Anyone remember the little Charles Schultz book "Happiness is a Warm Puppy"? It came out in 1963 and was around through the early '70's. From then on "Happiness is..." became ubiquitous. At the height of the Vietnam War, the release of the Beatles White Album with it's infamous track "Happiness is a Warm Gun", reflected the transformation of America's youth from innocence to cynicism. The fab-four crooned the lyrics to a sweet 1950's "shoop shoop" tune, giving the hard edged 'I need a fix cause I'm goin' down' a painful punch.

Nearly Forty Years Later...(ouch that hurt to write)...I find myself still evoking the "Happiness Is..." form. My office sits at the corner of Olympic and Hope. A crash at the intersection is a weekly event. At each screeching stop, our office staff tense, and when there is no crunch, you can almost hear the collective sigh. When there is a crunch, a crowd runs to open the windows. One day we watched a hit-and-run (sad little car dragging it's bumper tried to limp away with newly bruised car giving chase). The race at a staggering 20 mph ended at the corner gas station when neither car could muster an other rev).

This particular week, there was a screech, it was a long screech, and then nothing. I typed on. Later there was another long screech and then nothing. "I've never heard so many of those before" I remarked to a co-worker. "They are shooting a movie" he replied.

Another misunderstanding so common now as to be unremarkable (okay I remarked, so sue me!) After all I live in a place where fiction and reality are one and the same. Later the same week, stopped at a red light, weary-eyed, I gazed at the glass windows of an office building. The windows were covered with bullet holes. Large, large bullet holes. As was the window above it and the window next to it. A man who appeared to be a window washer, carefully ran his squeegee over them. This time the reality break didn't phase me as I saw he was pasting ON the bullet hole decals, not washing off the remains. Another day, another movie.

Really it is remarkable that it is unremarkable, but I digress.

I also live on a very busy street. Each night there are one or two screeches outside my window. And "Happiness is a screech without a crunch" has become my credo.

THE WRONG WAY ON A ONE WAY STREET

2007-05-12T22:11:00.000-07:00

Heard on Hope Street today over a police bullhorn:

"what do you think you're doing? this is a one way street!"

Enough said.

WHO YA GONNA CALL? LINCOLN HEIGHTS LOCKSMITH TO THE RESCUE

2007-05-10T17:22:00.000-07:00

I've been down with a cold for the past few days and I'm sure the Griffith Park and Catalina fires haven't helped. Worse, only an empty refrigerator awaited me in the kitchen. In desperation I beseeched a friend to bring orange juice and chicken soup. "I'm falling apart" I told her. On hearing she would come to my aide, I stood up to leave the door ajar for her arrival. Completing a series of unfortunate events, the door handle came off in my hand.

I'm resourceful, but this repair made the best of me. The door was (mercifully) already open, but the handle was not in the mood for going back on.

After fortifying my soul with chicken soup, I called a locksmith. Low and behold he arrived in twenty minutes. "You have a very good lock" he informed me. I was glad to hear I was safe behind my door. Ten minutes later, the charming man had fixed the lock. Seventy dollars later he was on his way. I closed my door and returned to bed.

As I closed my eyes, the phone rang. It was the locksmith. I had written his name wrong on the check. I went again to open the door. More Murphy's law, the door refused to open. The key would open the door (as he tested), but the door would not open from the inside.

I tossed the key to him out the window, laughing because if I hadn't written the check wrong, I would not have discovered that I was locked in. Ironic but fortunate, I had a visit from the locksmith.

He came in and again set to work on the lock. To test his work he turned the handle. Again it would not open from the inside. When I heard the door rattle we both burst into laughter. Now he was locked in too!

Chagrined to say the least, he asked for knife to pick the lock. My "good lock" opened in one second with the butter knife.

This time we tested the job from both inside and outside and happily it worked.

I said goodbye to my dubious hero and went back to bed.

STAR LIGHT, STAR BRIGHT

2007-04-28T08:52:00.000-07:00

From my Lincoln Heights bedroom, what is "the first star I see tonight"? Hint: it's the color of burning sodium. Yes, the standard ghastly American street light. Such an unfortunate staple in city life, that I confess I never noticed it. Until...it blinked off. A peace came over me that could only mean that it been a constant (albeit unnoticed) source of stress.

Each night now, it blinks on for three or four minutes, and then off for three or four, and then on again. Stress. Peace. Stress. Peace.

My own personal midnight sun.

Last night the now familiar pattern changed from orange/off/orange to orange/white/off/orange. Making my streetlight more and more star-like. An old, old planet burning toward eventual destruction.

It's said that it is always darkest before the dawn, but for me, it is always brightest before the dark.

FOLLOW THE RED BRICK ROAD: LINCOLN HEIGHTS TIME TRAVEL

2007-03-15T11:45:00.000-07:00

"Well I’m heading back home it’s been so so long/It must have been ten years or more/I’m on a long lonely stretch of Route 66 but my minds in 1984/I'm walkin' down Main Street..." Walkin' Down Main Street, Dana Agnellini

"Well it winds from Chicago to LA
More than two thousand miles all the way
Get your kicks on route 66"

What lies beneath in Lincoln Heights? Ask Kim Cooper. She has a great post on her "1947 Project" site: "Historic Cobblestones Exposed in Lincoln Heights" on the 1947 Project site.

Recorded history is such a tenuous thing. A little road construction and another world is revealed. So random that Kim would walk across the street and see the original cobble stone momentarily revealed. She also risked life and limb to bring us pictures. When the road paving is finished it will be gone again.

She posted her finding on a site concerned with preserving the history of LA in 1947, although the cobblestones are not a product of 1947. She just happens to live there. Still, when you finish her post you might be intrigued by the rest of the '47 Project. This from the site bio:

"Los Angeles in 1947 was a social powder keg. War-damaged returning soldiers were threatened by a new kind of independent female, who in turn found her freedoms disappearing as male workers returned to the factories. These conflicts worked themselves out in dark ways. The Black Dahlia is the most famous victim of 1947's sex wars, but hardly the only one. The 1947project seeks to document this pivotal year in L.A., through period reporting and visits to the scenes as they are today."

WHO IS KIM?

Kim Cooper edits Scram, a journal of unpopular culture, and compiled anthologies on bubblegum music and the greatest records you never heard. Her latest book is “Neutral Milk Hotel’s ‘In the Aeroplane Over the Sea.’”

INCONGRUITY AND HAPPINESS

2007-03-04T18:59:00.000-08:00

For some it is "the butcher, the baker, the candle stick maker", but for moi, the artsy loft dweller, it is "the decorator, the photographer, the musician and the film maker"

Every night I come home to the same driveway, the same parking spot, the same pine trees, the same iron fire stairs. But last week, I drove in to a different view. An antlered deer head was mounted to the pine tree and underneath stood four sullen rock stars straight out of the sixties (running black eye liner, pale faces, long oily hair, heroin-thin and wearing paisley).

Our building photo artist was doing a shoot. "You're looking at rock stars", he told me. I took a hard look. I couldn't tell if they were famous rockers that I ought to be star struck by, or if he meant soon-to-be stars (after his photos shot them to the top). So I shrugged and said "hi rock stars" and trudged up the stairs.

There should be a special word for the happiness that incongruity can bring. That deer head just struck my silly bone. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. It was all gone when I came back out, the rock stars, the deer head, the photo shoot. It was just me, my parking space and the tree, back to earth.

OBJECT LOVE: THE COLOR OF MY DESIRE

2007-03-04T17:37:00.000-08:00

What to do with a whimsical blue shape painted on the floor? What to do? What to do?

One year later, I have finally arrived at the combination of color and shape I was searching for.

Now to get to work on the rest of the place!

MODERN LUST: FURNITURE DESIRE

2007-02-25T21:45:00.000-08:00

It's a radiator, it's a light, it's chair, it's a file drawer...it's the new new thing. Glorious radiator by Marco Dessi; acrylic light by Brave Design; chair by Vitra (no doubt inspired by Danish designer Verner Panton's Panton Chair); and "spinny cabinet" by Hive.

When I happen upon a pile of money (a very big pile), these are the objects de'Art that would be first on my shopping list. I would even move somewhere cold just to put that white radiator a la double helix on my wall.

Truly original, I had to post these for fear I'd lose track of these objects of my desire.

The Radiator: who would have thought this creature would be the subject of design? No sooner had I pondered this, but I came across the Bisque Radiator Awards proving once again, the limitations of my imagination.

I really have to stop reading MoCo Loco; lest I live in a perpetual state of longing.

LOFT LIVING LIVING LOFT

2007-02-25T20:45:00.000-08:00

When I saw the pictures on Craigslist, I knew this was THE place for me. Although the photos that captured me were professional shots (taken for Architectural Digest I believe), art lived up to life and I moved in 30 days later. But since that day, my friends have said that they couldn't really visualize the space I live in from said photos.
Since then I've come to really appreciate those first photos as I've struggled to catch some sort of my own. My father gave it a "shot" as well. His best captured the hallway art and entrance way (published previously in another post).

Can one live in a work of art? But of course darling! And no, I did not get the cat to match the loft.

The most interesting part has been co-existing with illusion. I, after all, being pretty much real (the fact that my Mom says "you're unreal" notwithstanding).

"Warming the place up" seems antithetical to the design. Likewise covering its flaws (the remains of the original 1800's fireplace for example) takes away the charm.

The part I resisted so much on moving in, is the constant striving towards simplicity within the constrains of "real life".

If you want to know how many colors clash with orange/red and primary blue just ask. I've come to love red as an accent only; I've come to love chartreuse; I've come to love throwing things away;

If I could just excel at this last then storage would become a non-issue.

BREAKING FREE OF LOFT FURNITURE STEREOTYPES

2007-02-23T20:38:00.000-08:00

If this isn't love...
then winter is summer
If this isn't love...
my heart needs a plumber
-- Finian's Rainbow

I've had an email subscription to Daily Candy for years now, and I have to admit I mostly just trash them. When I do peak it's a size zero fashion store or some ten-million dollar face cream. Why don't I just unsubscribe? Maybe it's because I held out hope that I'd have an email like the one I received today. I know the email probably went out to a hundred thousand Angelinos, yet I feel like I have made the most amazing discovery.

For years I've been lusting over Mies van der Rohe, Eileen Gray, Le Corbusier, Charles Eames, George Nelson, and Marcel Breuer and have often wondered who would join their company; and the answer is: Tanya Aguíñiga. From her shadow chair, to her modular lounge, to her low rider stools to her embrace chaise... she's made the modern furniture home run.

My loft-ment offers some daunting furnishing challenges. The white walls are painted with geometric shapes in primary colors (red and blue) and non-colors (black). The shapes form interesting optical illusions, forming a single object when viewed from the proper vantage point. Fabulous as they are, what is a girl to do to furnish, without clashing, a place that is essentially pre-designed?

Lucky for me, I love the pre-existing design (it's in the structure, the interior architecture, the colors). It's tempting to reside in an empty space (with maybe a single tall white floor light) and a simple white bed sans frame. In point of fact that is all it requires, but not all I require.

This is why "discovering" Aguíñiga made my heart skip a beat. In particular, the QB table seems MADE for my abode. I wonder if there was a secret collaboration (Giovannini (the lofty designer of the place I call home) and Aguíñiga)???? In any case, I feel an affinity a la great-minds-think alike.

TWO BIRTHS, A FUNERAL & A WEDDING: LA STYLE

2007-02-20T19:30:00.000-08:00

Tonight there are two new LA blogs in town:

Blogger "Trucha" who lives and works within the urban core, shares his musings (and amusings) on city life; not the ordinary fare of LA blogettes (martini reviews, star sightings, etc. etc.), Trucha gives us the antidote with a unique perspective on the City of Angels. Read Truch's musings at: l.a. (a)musings

Then there is Dorothy, writing about The Emerald City A sparkling voice in the blogosphere, this Oz-like site is worth your perusal. If it just happens to be penned by yours truly, then I plead guilty as charged. I never tried plugging myself before, and I have to say, "hey, it's better than writing your own obituary!" I've opted for a Loft Living spin-off to keep this one "on topic". Viva la loft!

Sadly with the two newcomers, there comes a la loft "funeral": LoftLust blogger Brittany takes an "intermission" with these words:

"After much time away from this sweet blog and considerable consideration, I’ve decided that I no longer have the time or the gusto necessary to continue this site in its original and/or recent format. I’m open to suggestion for where to take LoftLust from here, though its fate is regrettably quite precarious. So consider this post a suspension of sorts, of all things familiar from this soapbox. Perhaps another day LoftLust will return to some sort of publishing schedule, with a different look, or a different purpose completely. My love for design and great products will always be there, but that affection regularly reinvents itself and what to do with it yields perpetual bemusement. So continue to have fun with what you are doing."

It's just my luck to find her blog after it's gone, but I hold out hope she leaves her site up, because it's full of delicious design tips!

So, two blog births, one funeral, and there's still time left for a wedding:

Yes, it's another pam-i-licious blog: Midnight Musings wedding thoughts that keep me up at night. Come along as I obsess on the mythological implications of overcoming fear of marriage!

MORE MODERN LOVE: THE FRANK GEHRY STORY

2007-02-17T21:24:00.000-08:00

More Modern Love: The Frank Gehry Story
observations by pam ashlund, film by sydney pollack, genius by Frank Gehry

I may always be a day late and a dollar short, but today I'm reacting to Sydney Pollack's documentary Sketches of Frank Gehry by Sydney Pollack released back in May, 2006.

“Decoration is sin, that’s the mantra of modernism” Frank Gehry
"Simplicity requires a continuous shedding" Pam Ashlund

Is it cheating to quote yourself? After all if I can be presumptuous, how about Sony calling it a "Sony Classic?" Who gets to self-proclaim themselves a classic before the film is released? "Sure to be a Classic" sure, but come on... Read my last modern post to find my quote (or is that "post-modern?" Or see the flick to hear a few of Gehry's "classic" quotes.

But seriously folks, I loved this documentary "sketch". I love its message although I don't have a pithy quote for it. The message, as best I can put it, is "dare to follow your dream" "take a risk" or "jump off a cliff" and see what happens. Maybe that's a truism, maybe that only works if you have a super talent, but then again how many people have such a sense of self that they even know there's a cliff?

Want to read more of Pam's endless musings on Modernity?

Modern Love: Part I

or checkout my favorite "illusionist" architect's (Joseph Gionvannini) review by the same name:

Modern Love (October 25, 2004 Architecture Review, New York Magazine)
At the Cooper-Hewitt and Cooper Union, two exhibits highlight Modernism’s legacy

THE QUEST FOR "SPACE" IN DOWNTOWN LA

2007-02-15T08:44:00.000-08:00

and in NorthEast LA...What the past has to tell us about ourselves

Preface: This is going to be a long introduction folks, but I invite you to come with me as I wind my way to the lofts of downtown LA by way of Washington, D.C.

On a visit to the nations capital, I found myself in the embrace of a snowstorm, or as those of us from snowy regions know, more of a "sleet" storm. Sleet is Snow's ugly cousin, like mud is to water and earth. Then there is sleet and its byproduct: slush.

Slush regardless, I ventured out and found refuge in the 2nd Story bookstore; which was, incidentally, perfect. Complete with the smell of pipe tobacco smoke (and of course no pipe in view). Inside were rows of used books, punctuated by beautiful glass encased antique offerings (oh if only I could afford a vintage copy of Alice in Wonderland).

I was momentarily overwhelmed by the prospect of choosing a browsing topic. Cardboard signs handwritten in black marker offered categories such as "the Kennedy's!", the other signs (Civil War, Ancient Greece, etc. were not appointed with exclamation points; as if the writer was unable to contain his passion for the Kennedy section.

My own exclamation points would have been for "Pop Culture!", "Modern Furniture!" or "the Sixties!" Eventually, I ended up somewhere between "Sociology" and "Art History" and picked out a copy of "SoHo: The Rise & Fall of An Artists' Colony".

Inside I found a snippet from a 1977 article that could have been written about downtown LA in 2007. Thirty years and things are really the same (only the names have been changed...)

"...it is a SoHo heresy: Space, open space, is the whole thing: the reason people suffer the broken boilers and pour vast amounts of money into leaky roofs, and rotting lintels; the reason to put up with the tourists who displace locals in the old neighborhood haunts. Space. And the atmosphere created by people who needed it to work and who rescued a neighborhood only to find that they're beginning to need even more space to breathe." Ellen Bilgore, Town & Country, 1977 (from Richard Kostelanetz's recent effort "SoHo: The Rise & Fall of an Artists' Colony"

Although this is not a review of Kostelanetz's book, I have to say that reading about SoHo gave me pause. He painted a picture. To live in a building zoned only for manufacturing, to live without heat, to live without garbage pickup, to live having to hide your bed from an occasional inspector...took heart. No casual poseur would go through that much actual suffering. He made me believe there was real artistic integrity there, not just a romantic nod.

I know I wouldn't have the courage. I know that once I saw the rats or once I had to live somewhere that the elevator didn't run at night or once I had to go discretely disperse my garbage among many bins so as not to call attention to living in a place not zoned for living...that I wouldn't or couldn't go through with it.

Although it IS true that some of my friends won't visit me in my neighborhood, that I have NO elevator, that it is sometimes noisy or cold, it just isn't suffering to park my Porsche in my gated parking space and drive off to a job every morning and do my writing on a laptop over an espresso.

The other distinctive difference was that the SoHo artists weren't displacing anyone and thus didn't have to contend with the ugliness of gentrification. Even drug dealers and homeless did not live where the artists ventured.

It's true that all changed and that in a decade or two SoHo had become SoHo and it was never the same. A moment to be retroactively romanticized. But even a romantic such as me has to acknowledge there was something special there; and I know that something isn't what's happening in the gigantic developed lofts selling for $500K. That even amidst a backdrop of skid row and drug deals, that these seem to only add the impression of grit. That these buildings have doormen should be a tip off.

I know that poverty is not all it takes to be noble, but that no amount of money can buy it either.

LOFTY HEIGHTS NAMED LINCOLN HEIGHTS NERD

2007-02-12T18:52:00.000-08:00

I'm so excited (okay so I'm easily excited). Lofty Thoughts was named the "Lincoln Heights Nerd" by the LA City Nerd blog.

Back in January, the LA City Nerd blog, following the lead of "Blog Downtown" post How Would You Summarize Downtown LA. issued a couple of challenges:

Craft a One Sentence Description of LA and then narrowing the scope;
How Would You Describe Your Neighborhood in One Sentence?

I don't have my own just yet, but here's one that resonated (from my friend Hector):

"LA isn't a city, it's a moment"

And a '92 snippet from an anonymous friends poetry:

"Summer came to Spring Street
as something came crashing out of a third story window.
The curious few stop to wonder at its meaning,
And then move on, as if in disappointed agreement:
“It was only a chair.”

I LOVE LA

2007-02-11T11:15:00.000-08:00

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 pied 'a 'terre 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? Try one of the Art Deco Society's events:

February 23rd, 6:00 to 8:00 pm

Cocktails in Historic Places

Broadway Bar
830 S Broadway, Los Angeles 90014

Based on Jack Dempsey's New York bar of the same name, Broadway Bar brings 40s-style glamor downtown's burgeoning nightlife scene with antique touches and a lounge fit for a kingpin. Located right next to the Orpheum Theater, the 50-foot circle bar, the chandeliers, the upstairs lounge bar make this a particularly appealing and successful example of "creative reuse."

DOWN BY THE RIVER

2007-02-08T03:46:00.000-08:00

Oh LA River/Fishless concrete channel
--p. ashlund

First there is a river
then there is no river

From alligator attacks in Florida, Coyotes in Beverly Hills, to Mountain Lions and Bears in backyards, the story of mans infringement on the native habitats of animals continues to play out.

In the case of the LA River, man finally beat the habitat into submission in the '50's and '60's...by paving it! To an environmentalist, the whole concept of flood control has no meaning. If housing wasn't built in a flood plain (even a 100 year flood plain) there would be no threat. It seems so simple, and yet...

Seemingly dead, does our River still have any hope? The LA River Master Plan proposes "yes". It seems to be a very savvy plan, to couch an environmentalist agenda in terms of "revitalizing the economy". After all, how can we build more housing on the River, if it is so darn ugly?

Bottom line? I'm for anything that removes some of that concrete. I've never known such a painful image.

Want to participate? It's not too late. Attend the final series of workshops on the draft Los Angeles River Revitalization Master Plan (February 24th, 27th and 28th).

Come to the meetings and learn about the five "Opportunity Areas where revitalization efforts will be focused. Public input is a critical component of the process.

Want a copy of the draft LARRMP? The Plan may be viewed online at the LARRMP website

CAN LOVE BE FOUND IN A LOFT? WEDDING FENG SHUI FOR DUMMIES

2007-02-02T20:26:00.000-08:00

Lookin' for love in all the wrong places...

Bought a little book on the Feng Shui of love: Feng Shui Do's and Taboos for Love. I can only assume it's over-simplified for pop consumption..but that I am the target audience. A once-again single, middle-class anglo girl with time on her hands (and who has $8.95 to spare for an impulse purchase).

The book offers do's and don'ts to help optimize your home for love. Intent on applying the advice as soon as possible, I poured over the text as if it might hold the answers to the universe.
My home is (as you know by now or could assume by the blog's title) a Loft. I soon found out I would have my work cut out for me!

Here are some of the do's and don'ts Angi Ma Wong offers:

Don't place your bed at the short wall of a pitched ceiling.

Do avoid geometric shapes, especially triangles in your bedroom...decor.

Don't make a room with irregularly angled walls your bedroom.

Don't choose a bedroom with high or cathedral ceilings.

Don't choose a home in which the master bedroom is in the front of the house facing the street. It should be protected in the rear.

To appreciate the relevance of this to my abode check out pics of the loft in question in these earlier posts:

LINCOLN HEIGHTS LOFT-MENT

LUMINOUS LINCOLN HEIGHTS LOFT

Angi goes on to warn:

Don't adorn your home with morbid or depressing ...images

Hmmm, do you think the skeleton wedding couple counts? Let's just say I have put away my Dia del los Muertos objects just in case.

A side note: Back in the early 90's I took a Feng Shui course of the discipline known as the Black Hat school. The teachers (two Berkeley-esque white guys) were a little defensive about their right to teach this traditionally secret material. After a disturbing experience after chanting the "Kundalini rising" prayer to raise energy, and the "heart opening" prayer to open to the pain of the universe, I decided the objectors might have a point.

I do recommend the following book (as opposed to the pop version above) for those interested in a less superficial pursuit of the art of Feng Shui. At first glace this book appears to be an interior decoration/feng shui text, but instead is filled with the rituals, chants and intents almost never addressed in the Feng Shui Fad Books.

TIFFANY'S: LA STYLE

2007-02-01T14:41:00.000-08:00

Originally, I met her at at a Christmas Crafts Fair. I came to buy gifts for friends, but all that went out the window when I saw the jewelry.

At the table by the door sat a beautiful young lady, Lisa Rocha, the owner/jewelry maker of Ilaments.

She was charming and her work was stunning. I went straight for a pair of drop earrings. She told me that they symbolized balance. She had me at "balance". They must have been one of kind because they aren't featured on the website (those pictured to the left are the same stone, but not the style mentioned).

The stone was Carnelian, which is said to have the capacity to calm a troubled spirit and bring about inner peace.

I was also drawn to a silver link bracelet, with a carved red wooden heart charm. Part of her Day of the Dead “Cempazuchitl” Collection.

As I picked it up to admire, she smiled and said "A kind of Latina Tiffanys yes?".

“Cempazuchit -Nahuatl word meaning “the flower with four hundred lives” referring to it’s seeds. Marigolds are a significant symbol for Day of the Dead and are known as the “flower of the dead”. Their scent is believed to attract the souls and draw them back home.

It's not too late to own a limited edition piece, and on sale too!

For more info call: 323.257.2512 or
Go to www.imixbooks.com

TIME, SPACE & UMBRELLAS: THE WORK OF SARA ZUNIGA

2007-01-30T19:57:00.000-08:00

"Nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide"
Martha and the Vandellas

There's a pattern to the challenges of living in a loft space. The available space is vertical, the space is open, the mundane objects of existence must be stored in plain sight. The nature of the beast demands attention be paid to the placement of every object. I find it alternately challenging and aggravating.

No matter how sparse I keep it, no matter how carefully placed each object is, there is always something jarring. Simplicity requires a continuous shedding.

The balance of functionality and beauty is a dance whose feet I frequently step on. The first rung of choice: keep or discard and the second: placement. That was why I lined up my martini glasses. I just didn't want to throw them away!

They'd been sitting there upside down for many moons when a houseguest came to visit. She stayed home while I was at work and always cleaned the kitchen to earn her keep. When I came home (to a spotless kitchen) I saw that she had carefully placed a colored cocktail umbrella on each of the glasses.

They really were a thing of beauty.

Here I was always so focused on subtractions and she made an addition to such a delight. I marvel when I meet someone with that "eye" for detail. When they arrange it, it seems obvious, as if it had been put in the only place it could be.

For me it is mostly an effort that comes from inspiration by others (and sometimes imitation). I've only met a few with this gift, my sister and two of my friends. But every time I witness it, it brings me back down to my place among the humans. Humbled and impressed.

Here it is (from several view points), may I introduce...the work of Sara Zuniga:

ONE STOP SHOPPING? WHERE LINCOLN HEIGHTS MEETS HOLLYWOOD

2007-01-29T19:16:00.000-08:00

One of the joys of living in LA is discovering the great shortcut. I hope the oft repeated notion that people will actually refuse to share these secret routes is an urban myth. What would the rationale be? Fear of some sort of stampede that would turn aforementioned shortcut into a traffic jam?

Since Lincoln Heights sits at the center of the famous Glendale Junction, it would appear to offer access to every area of Los Angeles. It is after all a place where seemingly all the major freeways of Los Angeles converge. Somehow I have failed to find a satisfying way over to Hollywood...and then...it happened. I found the perfect shortcut.

Here it is in all it's glory: Jump on the 5 North, zip up to 134, take the Forest Lawn exit and sail down to Barham, which flows into Cahuenga, which flows into Franklin, which deposits you promptly on Sunset Blvd. Voila. I was no longer a world apart.

Like any secret route, I had to run it many times before I got the kinks out. One false move and you wind up in Burbank or stuck in a traffic jam at Highland and Hollywood Blvd.

Because driving at a cruising speed is a rarely experienced pleasure, I've come to really enjoy this run, especially at night. Forest Lawn, so named as it traces the border of its namesake, the Forest Lawn Cemetery. Appropriately, the road is as dark as an old country road, and curves gracefully across the miles of this peaceful place of eternal rest.

The remains of Bette Davis are entombed here, adorned by her epitaph "She did it the hard way".

Each night drive home, just as I come up the hill, I see the arch of an entryway, and it's white marble sign with its tag line prominently displayed. It reads: "One call or visit arranges all".

Better a truism there never was. One visit is all it takes.

PUT YOUR MONEY WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS: TREE PLANTING IN BOYLE HEIGHTS

2007-01-28T22:28:00.000-08:00

Enough complaining already! One of my co-workers heard me b---ing about the sick trees on my block. "Well if you want to learn about trees how about getting out there this weekend?"

Oh wow, you know me, I can't back down from a challenge.

The crews were out planting 37 trees in Boyle Heights. I participated in getting two of them in the ground.

Things I learned about myself: 1) I can't swing a pick axe to save my life; 2) this might well have been the first time I used a shovel; 3) I prefer accounting!

Yes, yes, I did feel closer to nature, but more importantly I feel a lot more hopeful about my ability to help "my" trees on Broadway.

BACK ALLEYS OF LINCOLN HEIGHTS

2007-01-19T22:54:00.000-08:00

Give me your tired, your poor,Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free...

Time to write "I love my loft" on the blackboard 100 times.

Looking over the street from my second floor perch gives me an eagles eye view of the world outside. Fearing inhaling the car exhaust, I don't open my window until the evening. I can tell it's all clear when I see the neon blue and red of the taqueria blink off for the night.

I sit by the window and listen to the quiet interrupted by the sights and sounds of the evening street. Occasionally the loud sucking sound of two gentlemen and their crack pipe. Sometimes I watch a man standing on the curb peering intently at his open cell phone. As a car drives by he steps back into the darkness and as it passes, back to the curb.

Last night by the window talking on the phone to my sister, the smell of "smoke" wafted up. "I think I'm catching a buzz Sis," as I burst out laughing.

"I swear I didn't inhale" (wink wink) I told her presidentially.

Just then my loud doorbell buzzed. "Identify yourself" I ordered. The familiar voice of my friend Jon, doing a poor imitation of a Monty Python dude, called out "It's a crack addict! Can I have some crack?" Sorry that's down the block now!

That was when it occurred to me: the intercom as social intervention. Now, when the mood strikes me, I push the "talk" button and intone "This is God speaking, step away from the doorway!!!"

I love my loft, I love my loft, I love my loft...

LINCOLN HEIGHTS LOFT LIVING: LANDING PAD

2007-01-19T20:50:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Lofty Thoughts!

If you’ve just landed here, Lofty Thoughts launched in July, 06. The blog is devoted to observations about loft living in Lincoln heights; especially the natural contradictions created by gentrification. I'm still in wonder of the neighborhood that envelopes me and the work of art I live in.

If you aren't a subscriber yet and want to catch up, here are a few highlights by topic to get started:
EXPLORATIONS OF LIVING IN AN ART GALLERY:

LA ART SCENE:

LINCOLN HEIGHTS VIGNETTES:

GENTRIFICATION TENSION

DIE YUPPIE DIE

SOCIAL ISSUES AND HISTORY

SNAPSHOTS

TRAFFIC TICKETS AND TRUE LOFTS

2007-01-19T09:48:00.000-08:00

loft [lawft, loft]

a room, storage area, or the like within a sloping roof; attic; garret.
an upper story of a business building, warehouse, or factory, typically consisting of open, unpartitioned floor area.
such an upper story converted or adapted to any of various uses, as quarters for living, studios for artists or dancers, exhibition galleries, or theater space.
Also called loft bed: a balcony or platform built over a living area and used esp. for sleeping.

Here I am writing a blog about Lincoln Heights Loft Living and I have yet to write a post on the Lofts of Lincoln Heights. Solipcistically, the only Loft I've featured is the one I dwell in. So let me correct that...

First let's talk nomenclature: Loft - an apartment with a "Loft", something maybe built in an old warehouse, maybe just the bed is above the rest of the room, just to maximize limited space..maybe originated in New York?

Now, my apartment, a cross breed, an apartment that is loft-like having some of the features of a loft, and some of an apartment, thus a "Loft-ment". Definitely a re-purposing of a building which has sat on Broadway since the 1800's. I get a kick out of living on part of the original route 66.

In stark contrast, there is Puerto del Sol, newly built complex, a hybrid of apartments, condos, low-income house and senior living. Took a tour of some of the condo units last month. The condos advertised as "Lofts" hardly seemed to qualify. Just doesn't seem right that you build something new and call it a Loft. At least some of the units had a "loft". The work seemed shoddy, the units had those plastic hardwood floors, an elevator that "wasn't working yet"; a courtyard that screamed "I'm a development".

Am I alone in thinking that you can't make a loft from scratch? Something is just so wrong. Especially annoying was the day I got caught in the infamous CD 1 speedtrap on Spring Street. After writing me a ticket, the cop leaned an elbow on my window and said "so...ya live over in those lofts?". God! You can give me a ticket OR you can flirt, but you can't do both.

I wanted to scream "those aren't lofts!" and yes I live over there, but in a REAL loft. Sigh. I decided it was better not to press my luck and just get the h*** out of there.

LINCOLN HEIGHTS LADY IDENTIFIED

2007-01-17T19:00:00.000-08:00

Every morning I look out my window; if it's a clear day I have a beautiful view of the downtown skyline. But even it's not a clear day, I gaze upon the face of "Our Lady of Lincoln Heights". This beautiful painting is displayed on banners all along Broadway and Main Street. But until today I did not know the artists identity.

An anonymous Lofty Thoughts reader clued me in. The artist who brought us "Our Lady" is Irene Carranza. I am awestruck by her work; checkout her gallery.

Her painting, Cariño Maternal, won the 2001 Mujer Award.

Her work is currently showing at Carlotta's Passion in Eagle Rock. I missed the reception last Saturday, but I will be there before the showing ends on February 14th!

All Hail Irene!

See my original post at: Our Lady of Lincoln Heights

LA VIRTUAL PHOTO OP: GET THE PICTURE?

2007-01-15T19:19:00.000-08:00

"The sun is shining.
The grass is green.
The orange and palm trees sway.
There's never been such a day
In Beverly Hills, L.A.
But it's December the twenty-fourth,
And I'm longing to be up north." from the "lost" first verse of "White Christmas"

I haven’t had a camera around lately and so I’ve been taking some mental “shots”. They exist in my memory just as I had captured them on film, sadly, I can not share them with others, in fact I can’t really keep them at all, as they were moments, gone and unlikely to be repeated. Here are a few:

Lincoln Heights, today, Saturday, January 13, 2007, walking home down North Broadway from the LA Bakery with my morning coffee. I walked about a block behind a man in a cowboy hat. Even from behind I knew he was a vaquero—the Mexican variety of cowboy. His gait was bowed (as from a lifetime of riding a horse). His hat was red (i.e. decorative not functional), and he sported a matching red scarf in his back pocket. What really struck me was that as I saw this figure ahead of me, was a mental flash I had, of the archetypal western cowboy. “There’s only room in this town for one of us” I thought. The reason? He walked with his arms away from his body, bowed similar to his legs, as if poised to reach for a pair of pistols. John Wayne would have approved. And me without my camera.

I was heading for my ex’s house, traveling down Alameda from Downtown towards South Gate. The neighborhood (if could call this industrial strip a hood) gets increasingly (shall we say) rough. Here vendors walking the median strip are common place, selling anything and everything, from socks to incense. But it was nearing Christmas and the goods were aimed at last minute shoppers. At a stop light, up walked a heavy set Mexican vendor, leather bag slung over his shoulder, and on his hand…a bright yellow duck puppet. The ducky was so cute and fluffy, and the man so grimy and gruff, I couldn’t stop laughing, which unfortunately only encouraged the salesman, who then quacked his duck with ever more fervor. I would have died to have a camera with me for that one.

I made a wrong turn coming home from just before Christmas, and ended up driving through Burbank I came to the intersection of the roads, a brightly lit area, and noticed a crowd gathering. I looked over and saw a brand new red Miata convertible with the top down, driven by Santa Claus. Only in LA, Santa in a Miata (which makes me wonder what it would be in Northern California: Santa in a Prius? – in Chicago, Santa in a Buick? - In Manhattan? Santa in a Taxi? There is such potential here.

A tall black man dressed in red from head to toe. A red suit, red hat, red socks, red shoes. I really, really wanted a pic of him, because my father has a great shot of what he calls the “blue man”, shown at right, and it would have totally cracked him up. If only I could have had a shot of "red man". Too bad. You'd think I'd learn!

CHOP WOOD CARRY WATER...LINCOLN HEIGHTS STYLE

2007-01-14T09:43:00.000-08:00

Before enlightenment chop wood and carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood and carry water. -Wu Li

What would Wu Li say if he lived in Los Angeles Lincoln Heights neighborhood? How about: Dead Tree, Broken Meter?

In April of 2003, Council District 1, City of LA, planted five trees on North Broadway. The budget was small, small enough that the trees that were planted were only 15 gallon plants, not the 24" boxed trees that the downtown lofts have ponied up for. Price difference? Under $100 for the 15 gallon's; $250-$750 for 24-36" boxed.

The 15 gallon tree is the minimum size the City of LA's Street Tree's Division permits; and the trees shall be secured to the stake with two rubber trees ties (as you can see, ours have only one tie.

Here's the 2007 tree report (four year update):

The tree on the East side of the street in front of the gas station: snapped in half (vandal? car impact?). The tree was removed (source unknown, the gas station owners, the city, a passer-by?). Tree's on the west side of the street: Of the four trees, one dead, three sickly. We can only hope that the semi-living trees rebound come the spring.

I could go on and on about what's wrong with the town but..What's good in the City? Tree People

Their mission? "..to inspire the people of Los Angeles to take personal responsibility for the urban forest..".

Consider me inspired.

LIVING THE BOBA LOCA

2007-01-12T18:22:00.000-08:00

Boba-boba, fa-boba, Boba! In Chinatown the other day (for the Jackie Chan film festival) I ordered a smoothie. "Would you like Boba with that?" the proprietor asked. What the heck?

Boba, I now know, is an interesting thing, part food group, part desert. I would describe Boba as a small gelatinous ball made of tapioca. These little balls rest at the bottom of your drink (iced coffee, fruity drinks, etc.) and are chewed slowly after slurping your drink. Unfortunately the straws are so wide that one can (as I did on my first try) suck one straight through the straw into ones windpipe!In large parts of LA, the Boba place has supplanted the coffee shop. Even places that still call themselves coffee shops offer Boba.

The Boba stores have names like: Bobalicious, Boba World, Bobapioca and the perfectly cross-cultural (and my personal favorite) Boba-loca.

Perhaps this delight might sound more appealing if one thinks of them as gummy-bears (but not as good). Boba is sometimes known as “bubble tea” or “pearl tea” and is typically served in iced tea, now can be found resting at the bottom of anything from a strawberry smoothie to a cafe latte.

There is even a web site called boba-fate which offers (if you can deign to email them a photo of your Boba, (and by-the-way they suggest you use your camera phone for this)) a fortune-teller to study and interpret your Boba image. You will receive a return email with your fortune (in less than a day)! How about that? I can’t say I ever considered my future might lie in a Boba (except that one that landed in my windpipe)!

OUR LADY OF LINCOLN HEIGHTS

2007-01-11T19:10:00.000-08:00

Anybody know who she is? The artist I mean.

I never stop marveling at the existence of a winery in the Los Angeles city limits. Kind of ironic that I moved all the way from Sonoma County (wine country) to land within a mile of a winery!

WHY DOES THE LA CORONER HAVE TO ADVERTISE?

2007-01-08T08:34:00.000-08:00

Defying logic, every once in a while I still get lost in Lincoln Heights. This time the goal was to find the Macy's furniture outlet. At the point where Broadway branches into North and South Mission Blvd. I made the wrong choice. It was twilight as I cruised over the bridge past the beautiful Lincoln Heights park. For the first time I saw open space instead of urban grit. I had a flash of times past, a time when Lincoln Heights was the chic "IT" place to live.

It was getting dark, and I drove a while and when I reached Soto, I circled back down Mission. It was after work and I was getting tired, so I ditched the Outlet quest. In the darkness, the glow of a large red LED sign caught my eye. Words scrolled by...Los Angeles County Coroner.

I had to wonder, on the heels of my recent encounter with a coyote, was somebody trying to tell me something? Maybe this is how the angel of death lets you know it's time....with a message on a scrolling LED sign. Anybody remember Steve Martin's talking sign in "LA Story"?

The message scrolled by, and another appeared: Visit LACoroner.com

"Somebody is pulling my leg!" I thought. Why in the world would a coroner have to advertise? It's not like they need to drum up business and even if they did, how exactly would that be accomplished by a website?

Laughing all the way, I couldn't help rushing back home to my computer to check out the website. Just when you think you've seen everything...there it was at the top of the page: "Skeletons in the Closet--for those of us with dubious taste". I'll let you see for yourself, but in case you don't have the time (or have good taste), you are invited to open the closet. Inside you will find such cheesy options as "BOOverley Hills Drive, Pacific Ghost Highway, Earthly Remains", etc.

The point of all these corny puns? A store of course. I have to admit, I have my eye on a toe-tag keychain. Can I interest anybody in a "Body Bag" garment bag to carry their suit on the next business trip? Try that one on homeland security!

Mercifully, profits go to a drunk driving prevention program for young people. Whew!

Now you know what I want for Christmas next year!

THE WILD, WILD NORTH EAST SIDE

2007-01-08T04:42:00.000-08:00

I heard a howl on Broadway last night. Yep, you heard right, howl. I had the TV on low while a car commercial ran. I figured the howl was part of the commercial and disregarded. Then it came again. Awooooooooooooooooo. It's true I have my share of drunk guys stumbling out of the Social Club downstairs, and so far I've heard a few songs belted out, but never a howl. I looked at the television, no sign of a werewolf.

Awooooooooooooooo. That time the howl scared me. I ran over to the window and pulled up the blind just in time to see a dog running across the street to the gas station. I felt a chill, fearing that the poor baby had been hit by a car. As I watched, he stopped by a pump, sat down and raised his head and howled. He didn't look hurt. He howled again and then loped away into the dark neighborhood.

Loped? Loped. Not ran off. That's when it occurred to me that maybe it wasn't a dog. Had I had a wolf sighting on Broadway? It looked like a wolf, it howled like a wolf, it loped like a wolf. Dog or Wolf? Or...a Coyote.

I admit I'm a bit of a Castaneda fan and even superstitious on occasion. Maybe it was a vision? my spirit animal come a calling to remind me that there was still mystery in the world. Howling to tell me to turn off my television. I obeyed.

But in the morning, the timer turned the TV back on. There on the news ran a teaser: "Coyotes in Los Angeles? More at the end of the hour".

This from the Associated Press:

December 7, 2006
HOLLYWOOD, Calif. -- The number of reported coyote sightings has increased in West Hollywood, the Hollywood Hills and Beverly Hills, officials said Thursday.There have been about seven coyote sightings in the last seven to 10 days, said Sam Baxter, West Hollywood's facilities manager.

I didn't report the Lincoln Heights sighting. Who says only the rich people see Coyotes?

CHINATOWN ON A HOT SUMMER DAY

2007-01-07T22:07:00.000-08:00

Cultural diversity is one of the things I love about living in Lincoln Heights (and LA in general). Our area is a mish-mosh of ethnicities. A bit of self-segregation happened at the opening of the new State Historic Park (Phase I). I sat to the left of the aisle and looked over to the right and saw a beautiful display of parasols across from me:
The scene led me to ponder the origins of this custom. Tonight with the photo above in mind, I checked out "umbrella"on WikiPedia ( know, I know, by its very nature it's a fallible source), but veracity aside, I really enjoy it.. You can read the whole thing yourself at WP, but here's a slightly hacked quote:

The...umbrella (was) invented...in ancient China, roughly 1,700 years ago. The Chinese character for umbrella is 傘 (san) ...a pictograph resembling the modern umbrella... (The) tradition(of carrying an umbrella) ...originated in ...banners waving in the air, (and) the use of the umbrella was often linked to high ranking (though not necessarily royalty) in China."

I myself thought it was something more simple, like keeping out of the sun.

LA HOTDOGS! GET YOUR HOT DOGS HERE!

2006-12-22T11:27:00.000-08:00

Oh why, why, why do I forget what city I live in? It's true I moved here from Chicago in 1983, so I've had some time to get adjusted, but still... One thing I miss from Chicago (besides the pizza and the gyros and the Chinese food) is a good hot dog!

That is why, when driving to work down Spring Street, I was excited to to see a new banner flying announcing the opening of "Lofty Dogs" at 7th & Spring.

But on closer inspection, "Lofty Dogs" was no hot dog stand. Instead, a place for wannabe Paris Hilton's to purchase an outfit for their pooch. I couldn't go out without a doggie outfit to match my handbag darling! We aren't even going to talk about the stores that sell lovely leopard print boots to go with the doggie coats! This from a sister blog "View from a Loft":

"you can see the opening line of Christmas canine clothing at...(with) "grooming...by appointment only"

Just as the sigh of disappointment passed my lips...and before I had left the unofficially named "gentrification zone", there it was, at 5th and Spring: Weenez.

Alas a suspiciously yuppie name apparently betrays not so good hotdogs. Weenez only ranked a 2 star on Yelp.Of course, in the name of research I'll have to try one myself. Not sure if I'll try the Chicago dog or the LA version (which hopefully doesn't come from Lofty Dogs down the street!).

Catch a mini-review in the post "Downtown Dogs".

GONE FISHIN'

2006-11-05T22:50:00.000-08:00

EXTERIOR: Manhattan Warehouse District. Apartment dwellers live above boarded up shops. A row of grimy windows with chipping paint line the third floor.

A man stands by a door leaning on the buzzer.

A woman's voice over the speaker approves the visitor

The window opens and a woman's hand reaches out and tosses a set of keys down. The man catches the keys with a one-handed scoop.

How many times have I seen this scene in movies? More than a cliche it is a defining mood-setting essential for all city folks living in walk-up apartments.

That being said...I now live in a walk-up, and having walked up (and down) and up to greet a visitor, receive a package, retrieve a newspaper..I was looking for an alternative. I could toss the keys down, but had to go down to lock the door behind anyone leaving.

A friend of mine (let's call him "McGyver") constructed a clever weighted device; a long stretch of fishing line, with a weight at both ends (a screwdriver attached to the bottom end, was a place-holder for the test run).

I waited anxiously as McGyver lowered the screwdriver down to street level. But just as it reached the desired level, he felt a tug. "I've got a big one!" he cried. But before the words left his lips, the fishing line fell lifeless.

Someone had stolen the screwdriver!

MODERN LOVE?

2006-10-11T06:26:00.000-07:00

Years ago, my father introduced me to Modern Art. As a little girl, I remember the impression seeing Mondrian at the Art Institute of Chicago made on me. I also remember being bored to tears when he dragged me around exhibitions of modern furniture. I may have, if I had any reaction at all, wondered why anyone would care who designed what chair. I didn’t get it.

But suddenly the idea found purchase, when at forty years of age, I found myself sitting in front of a furniture store looking at what I somehow knew was known as the Barcelona chair—in red leather no less!

That chair simply had to come home with me and then little memories from the past emerged and I began to read about the designers and to discover that so much of what I had seen in stores and homes had been, in fact, classics of the modern variety. The mind twisting part was that I found that so much of the distinctive furniture in the trendy high end stores today were designed back in 1925.

TANGENT: This led me to wonder about the word modern. I have to admit—to not do so would be dishonest—that my perspective on the subject had been formed when reading Tom Wolfe’s fabulous send up of the art world in 1975. At the time, the New York Times called Tom Wolfe’s book "The Painted Word" his “…most successful piece of social journalism to date". What fascinated me in the book—which I fixated on from that point forth—was that the word modern, wasn’t modern! I really enjoyed his discussion of the post-modern, etc. and the art worlds struggle to find the right word to describe what was actually current. How could modern be old-fashioned? We are certainly in a fix.

As usual, I am taking forever to get to my point, which is this: my house was finally shaping up, clean and flowing, punctuated by the “metro” coffee table and “Barcelona" chair. One evening I walked out into my living room and was startled by the starkness. It gave me a cold frightening feeling. Instead of the peace of openness and the calm of nature, I had a feeling like cold steel, like hospital. Now what in the world does temperature have to do with feelings? All I know is that it was opposite of that cozy warmth you get when you come into a friends tiny living room and plop onto the tweed sofa. This is NOT what I was aiming for. I wanted beauty; I wanted something free of clutter, a perfect simplicity. But what did I have? I was scared to be in my own living room. Hmmmm.

EL 7 MARES LA PLAYITA

2006-09-16T20:37:00.001-07:00

BLADE RUNNER or LA: WHEN EXACTLY IS THE FUTURE?

2006-09-16T20:36:00.001-07:00

Living in LA makes me think about the future; evoking endless possibility. The City built on a desert without any water; the dreams built in Hollywood (the real Hollywood being a rundown dusty place, punctuated by shuffling homeless).

But when exactly is this future? So many visions of the future are already in the past. Orwell’s “Nineteen Eighty-Four”? a horrible version of the future where Big Brother was always watching; The Y2K? a problem that would shut down the modern world; “2001: A Space Odyssey”? a computer that would kill before you could turn "him" off...

The sci-fi version of the future painted in Blade Runner was set in 2019; another future I have a reasonable chance of living to see. William Gibson must have been thinking about the sky in Blade Runner (or the LA sky) when he penned “the sky was the color of a television tuned to a dead channel” in Neuromancer. In a funny synchronicity, Gibson's book was published in 1984. I think Orwell would have approved.

Blade Runner was loosely based on a novel by Philip K. Dick “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” Although "Androids" was set in a fallout-clouded future version of San Francisco; when Ridley Scott made Blade Runner he moved the scene to Los Angeles--a City more plausible given the air quality of Los Angeles.

Even the history of Los Angeles somehow evokes the future. It must have spoken to Ridley Scott too; because he chose one of LA’s oldest buildings as the set for the home of the creator (of the androids).

As if history does not turn in on itself enough, the Bradbury architect cited Edward Bellamy’s “Looking Backward” as the inspiration for his design. If Bellamy’s novel wasn’t the first science fiction novel (circa 1887), then I don’t know what was. In his novel he put forth his vision of the year 2000. Thus we have a novel written in 1886 about the world in 2000, influencing a design in 1895, used for a movie in 1984 about a future in 2019.

DIE YUPPIE DIE

2006-08-12T10:07:00.000-07:00

It all started with my article on Silver Lake and Lincoln Heights. Understandably, my comments touched a nerve in the community. I would leave it at that, but in pursuit of a deeper understanding I read through one of my critics website. At first I found that we had a lot in common (favorite local restaurants, similar experiences, etc.). Even (to my surprise) this description of what I had notoriously referred to as the "Ghetto Vons".

On his "Tour of Lincoln Heights", the second entry under "Places to Avoid" was the very Vons I made reference to:

Grocers (or is that gross-ers?) to the ghetto, the local Von's is stocked with the items they figure "ghetto" folk consume: isles of Kool-Aid, Instant Noodle cups, bargain brand sodas, cookies, and chips. And they sure do get consumed as those are the only items they put on sale every other week. But despite the fact that the locals spend their cash and food stamps at this warehouse of carcinogens, the Von's bureaucrats are still scared by the events of 1992, the potlatch of commodities that nullified the exchange economy, and have equipped their local outpost with the imagined defenses against bread riots. Yes, this Von's is surrounded by the giant black gates meant to keep out rioters and looters.

El Chavo (the author of the quote above) said it much better than I ever could:

It is one sad excuse for a grocery store and typifies the commercial offerings made to the poor and disadvantaged.

Buoyed up to find we had so much in common, I continued browsing thru the website. There I found thought provoking comments on gentrification (something I give a lot of thought to these days), but then....I saw it--a link to a website called Mission Yuppie Eradication Project.

Before I get to the "good stuff" on that site, here was El Chavo's lead in to the link:

... note to arty rich kids: don't stay here...(laugh) at the kitschy-ness of East LA and then go back to Silver Lake. I've seen how quickly you spread in an area, drive the rents sky high, infest the place with tacky pop culture and dis-connected cynicism, and then boot the locals out. Don't make us start a chapter of the Mission Yuppie Eradication Project down here! You've been warned. (emphasis mine)

The Yuppie Eradication site was hilarious and representative of the wit that makes Northern California so unique. But as I read on I got a creepy feeling that this wasn't tongue in cheek. It was a website that advocated violent resistance (what they refer to as "controversial methods") as follows:

Tips on Making Yuppies Pay

Vandalize their cars: Mercedes, Lexus, Porsche, Jaguar, and anything that your family wouldn't be able to afford. (emphasis mine)
Throw shit at Yuppies as they drive by, especially if they are on their cell phones.
Don't patronize Yuppie establishments.
If you are sitting with friends near Yuppies, spread rumors about increasing crime in the neighborhood.
Organize your community against developers who help gentrification.
Organize your co-workers against your Yuppie boss.
Work with your neighbors to find out who owns what in your neighborhood
When Yuppies invade it means higher rents, so organize a neighborhood Tenant's Association to keep a lid on rents.
Don't listen to Yuppie radio stations, which includes your local NPR affiliates.

"That does it", I thought, bashing Porsche's AND NPR??? To quote a favorite movie "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!"

Oy. Signing out.

CHINATOWN REDUX: POLITICS, PREJUDICE, PERSEVERANCE AND THE RAILROAD

2006-07-31T21:41:00.000-07:00

Waitin’ for that train
Waitin’ for the train, yeah
Take me, yeah, from this lonesome place
--Jimi Hendrix

“you have rented space in the imagination of the city”
-- Joseph Giovannini, Architect

Preface: Why is it that every LA story seems to have a seamy side? OK, I have to admit that’s part of the charm of this city. Maybe a seamy side of New York or Chicago is just so…expected. But something about the image conscious city, the glitterati, the posing and the California dream (one of plentiful orange groves, palm trees, bikini clad babes and idyllic beaches)…is the perfect setup. All is not as it seems. It seems appropriate to quote Jack Nicholson playing Jake Gittes in Chinatown here "You may think you know what you're dealing with, but believe me, you don't." Noah Cross (John Huston), 1974

Foreword: The ink is not yet dry on my post on the recent demise of the South Central Farmer’s Garden, when another chapter of LA History (featuring doomed gardens) has captured my imagination. Oddly enough the Annenberg Foundation features a role in both garden stories. This story is one about corn…or at least I thought it was about corn when I started to write. I now know it is a story about politics, prejudice, perseverance, and …the railroad.

Beginnings: The story begins a long time ago in a far away place. It was San Francisco in 1870. Southern Pacific was going to build a railroad and they needed cheap labor. Enter the Chinese immigrant. They came by the 100’s and then by the 1000’s and they laid track and they built that railroad and they didn’t stop until they reached Los Angeles. And when they were done, tired and broken, the idea of a return passage to the old country was a cost prohibitive dream. So what did they do? Well, the ones who could farm leased land and grew vegetables, and those who could not, set up shop. Those shops ran the gambit from mysterious apothecaries to illicit dens of opium.

And so was the birth of the first Los Angeles Chinatown. By 1890, a community of 3,000 Chinese lived in a 15 block neighborhood with over 200 businesses.[1]

It began with a train and it was to end with a train although that was to be some sixty years later. It was 1933 when the demolition began. Southern Pacific railroad had brought them there and now it was Union Pacific that wanted them out. So eager were they to begin construction of what was to become Union Station, that they actually began the demolition a week before the City Council approved the action.

The story of where the people went is at least a book chapter in itself. A story well told by Lisa See in her book “On Gold Mountain”[2]. The short version (so that we can get on to the corn) is that a new Chinatown was established in it’s present day location, in 1938.

The Present: this is not a cornfield?

First there is a mountain, then
there is no mountain, then there is
---There is a Mountain, Donovan

In May, 2006 I moved into my new place in Lincoln Heights. On arrival, I complained about the neighborhood, the gangs, the graffiti, the dirty sidewalks. Fearing I was missing something very special, my visionary landlord (and favorite architect), wrote to me:

“I see the area as a jambalaya of industrial, residential and commercial properties with a mixture of communities (Chinese, Hispanic and artist/gentry), and urbanistically, as the junction of the Arroyo and LA River (and therefore the oldest settled part of LA, occupied for millennia by the Indians), and the birthplace of modern LA, because of the railroads”. [3]

He continued:

“I actually prefer this grit to suburbia…I don't see the area for the stereotypes but for the infrastructure because it has the depth of history and the making of diversity.”[4]

And the truth was that as I looked more closely…I did become captivated with my neighborhood. Every day I drive across a bridge over the Los Angeles River, past old railroad yards. To my left, an old warehouse just purchased by a local nonprofit and now adorned with bright green and yellow leaves, and to my right an… old … ugly … patch of land. Or is it? (Look closely Pamela).

Sometimes it is hard to hear the whispers of history when looking at something as bleak as 32 desolate acres of mud, gravel and weeds. And maybe I wouldn’t have listened…if it weren’t for the artistic inspiration of Lauren Bon. Looking at that same land, where I saw an ugly strip of dirt, somehow, Lauren conceived of something quite different…She envisioned corn…and a lot of it. And she turned that vision into a reality, first forming a limited corporation, NotaCornfield, LLC., then garnering a grant from the Annenberg Foundation (okay it probably doesn’t hurt that she was an Annenberg granddaughter and a trustee of that foundation), but funding opportunities aside, this artist brought the necessary public attention to the land that would herald the ground breaking of what will soon be an urban park.

My father took this shot of the Los Angeles skyline when we walked through the corn last August:
I don’t know if I can describe her project…I mean… it IS a cornfield, it’s NOT a cornfield, it’s a “living sculpture”, it’s a “potent metaphor”, it’s “land art” blah blah blah. Maybe I’d better let Lauren (or her web writer) say it:

Extending environmentally, socially, and spiritually engaged art practices of the late twentieth century into the specific circumstances of contemporary Los Angeles, Not A Cornfield operates in a controversial arena where still-cherished assumptions regarding the nature of art as a pursuit devoid of practical or social goals, and of the artist as a singular, disconnected, image-maker, are being powerfully challenged. To cite the writer Gablik, this is an arena where artists are performing a "new interpretation of the relationship between artist and society, based on a sense of ethical responsibility toward the social and environmental communities."

Huh? Okay, I admit it, I picked that quote on purpose. Let’s try an easier one, this from the site as well:

a transformation of a 32 acre industrial brownfield in the historic center of Los Angeles into a cornfield for one agricultural cycle. This temporary project is located just North of Chinatown and South of Lincoln Heights on a large stretch of land well known as “The Cornfield."

Had enough? Alright, now I’ve given her version. Here’s mine: 32 acres of corn was planted, allowed to grow up, opened to the community for artistic endeavors and then cut down (not eaten because the ground is contaminated) and recycled (don’t know what they made out of all that corn but I’m sure you can find out on their website). I have to admit that despite my skepticism, all that corn did make an impression.

But hold on, about that space for community artists…The project was advertised as “open” to community artists. At least that’s what Aaron Landy thought when he showed up to film “a dancer in a colorful, flowing gown near a row of cornstalks”.[5]

Leave it to Angelinos, they can’t resist a good pun…or a really bad one for that matter. So it wasn’t too surprising when LA Times staff writer Bob Pool went cornball, by starting his coverage on the Aaron Landy scandal with the following line: “It was an accusation of porn in the corn that aroused Aaron Landy's scorn.”. I don’t know if he wrote the matching title, or if we can blame that one on the editor, but the headline read: “Porn Talk Stalks L.A. Art Project”. Stalks? Get it? (Rim shot) Maybe we’ll never know if Aaron was clandestinely shooting pornographic films as alleged, or just a misunderstood artist with every right to be there (as he alleged). I can live with that.

Was it after that incident that they put up the “Corn Cam”? Probably not, it was probably just someone trying to make the security camera part of the art project, or maybe part of the web cam that let web users watch the corn grow? How high is it today I wonder? As high as an elephant’s eye?

Art Imitates Life: This wasn’t the first time an article ran on the illustrious topic of porn and corn! On November 1, 1991 “Lawmakers from Western states abandoned Sen. Jesse Helms (R-N.C.) in droves Thursday, accepting a "corn for porn" deal that preserves grazing subsidies in exchange for keeping new anti-obscenity restrictions off federal arts grants”. Do you think Lauren might have known about that? A deal that swapped corn to save the arts? You never know do you?

[1] Los Angeles Chinatown Business Council Official Website

[2] On Gold Mountain: The 100-Year Odyssey of a Chinese-American Family, 1995 Lisa See
[3] Private correspondence, Joseph Giovannini
[4] Ibid
[5] Porn Talk Stalks L.A. Art Project Managers of a temporary cornfield say a filmmaker was shooting adult films on the site. He denies the charge.By Bob Pool, Times Staff Writer, November 15, 2005, LA Times

A SILVER LINING IN LA

2006-07-29T22:14:00.000-07:00

OK, one month in my new place, and one month of shopping at my "Ghetto Von's grocery store and I had had it. I made a desperation call to a friend, where’s the nearest Trader Joe's?”. Honestly, I was willing to drive back to the Marina just to pick up some milk and bread! “Duh” my friend replied, “you’re right near Silver Lake!”.

I knew I had found Silver Lake when I spotted a trendy furniture store called simply “Grain”. The whole tenor of the neighborhood shifted into a minor chord. The barbers became stylists; the stores became shops, the purses transformed into handbags. Sigh. How happy it all makes me!

So many “shops” had one name, a block away from “Grain” was one called “Salt”. I looked everywhere for the store called “Of” but no luck.

When I saw Trader Joe's ahead I felt a sense of relief, but across the street, even better—was Gelson’s! I was like a kid in a grocery store. I ran around picking out organic items in cute little overpriced jars.

Perhaps this is a sad reflection on me, such a victim of consumerism. But, as my mother always said, I was born with “champagne taste and beer money”.

LUMINOUS LINCOLN HEIGHTS LOFT

2006-07-09T17:19:00.000-07:00

On my dad's first visit to the Lincoln Heights loft the first thing he asked was "are you sure this isn't where they made Klute?"

Though most other visitors focus only on the interior, Dad was struck by the qualities of the "haunting hallway" as he called it. He snapped these shots, one of the stairway (with the doorway eerily reflected on the black granite on both left and right; and the other of the glowing red square in the hallway.

I could see the wheels turning as he roamed around the place. In under an hour he was out in the hallway with a dust mop. On our first trip out the front entrance he wrote "wash me" in the dust on the granite trim.

Five trips to the nearby Home Depot later, he had (not in this order): caulked the bottom of the shower where the tile had separated from the floor; carefully scrubbed off the most egregious paint spots on the floor and then filled in each gouge with a perfect match of plastic wood; created a simple shade for an exposed fluorescent light in the bedroom, with a beautiful curve that matched the room; bought a hardwood floor compatible vacuum, a new string mop, a new cover for the dust mop in the hall; put up rack shelving to hide some of my storage; covered the plastic connector to the air conditioner with insulated foil to prevent the heat from emanating back into the room; hung my silk Persian rug and my photos of Prague and Chicago; and replaced the dead orchid with another bloom.

Needless to say it was a whirlwind. I tagged around trying to stop him from throwing away everything I owned, handing him screws or extension cords, etc. etc. I was so exhausted by the third day that I called my sister in Chicago to plead for advice. In a hushed voice, indicating the utmost gravity, she said "you haven't been giving him caffeine have you Pammi?".

THE GRAFFITI PROBLEM IS A VERY SERIOUS ONE (AND OTHER EXCUSES FOR INACTION)

2006-07-09T17:12:00.000-07:00

Moved into the Lincoln Heights area of LA recently. The first thing I noticed about my building was a corner of Graffiti “art” gracing the wall. The second thing I noticed about the block were the much less artsy scrawls tagging almost every building in the vicinity. The tags on Michaels Furniture Store had been painted over, leaving only the rectangular square of a lighter shade of tan over the rest of the tan wall. The liquor store on the corner was painted with a mural, but every part of the mural was tagged. I counted over eight unique tag signatures. Some made reference to gangs in other areas; some seemed to be individual names. Whatever the meaning, the mural was completely defaced.

After a month of pondering the graffiti, I decided to contact the City. I could have called the “311” graffiti hotline, but it seemed so impersonal, so instead I walked over to my local Councilman’s office. This wasn’t difficult to do since the office for Council District 1 was on the other corner of my block! I asked my father to accompany me, hoping he would add a measure of maturity and gravity to my case.The secretary at the Council office told me that the Councilman wasn’t available but I could speak with a “Case Manager”. The Case Manager for my area wasn’t available but another area Case Manager came out to hear my plea and then told me to wait for a moment to speak with a “Deputy”. A few minutes later, the Deputy came out and said that the City could provide some rollers and paint, but that it would be a standard color (not custom) or I was welcome to call the “311” number.

I had come over to the office only intending to offer my help, but frustration overcame me when I felt what seemed to be a very familiar bureaucratic apathy. As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions and I found myself crying out “but don’t you think even if we can’t solve the whole problem, the Councilman could just keep his own little block clean?” “Well” said the Deputy, “the Graffiti Problem is a very serious problem in the City”. Luckily my father intervened at that moment, interrupting what could have been a disastrous tirade with “Well, anything we can do to help, we have to get going now” he cheerfully offered. And that was that.

I’m a nonprofit accountant by trade and, as I pay the bills, I too have contemplated the “graffiti problem”. We pay the paint companies over $100,000 a year for the paint to cover over this “problem”. To sit at my desk and moan about what a waste it is to spend this money for paint to paint over paint, is one thing, but to look at on my own block is a different thing entirely.

Hoping to find some more innovative solution, I set out to do a little research. To my surprise I found a man named Ward blogging about the subject in a blog called “The Subconscious Art of Graffiti Removal”. His blog took it’s title from Mark McCormick’s 2001 award winning video. This video (summarized in Wards blog) “makes the observation that the process of destroying one art form unwittingly creates another”. An idea I certainly never considered before.

Ward, it seems, in addition to blogging, is also a Graffiti artist himself. His work (painted on walls around Atlanta under the pseudonym “Canon” is a bit reminiscent of Picasso in his Blue Period. As a fan of Guernica and the Portraits of Sylvette, Ward/Canon’s art holds appeal. Sadly most has been painted over, but are recorded in his photo journal. That would be the downside of unrequited wall painting.

The next week, as I drove around the block, I noticed that the mural on the corner liquor store (in all its vandalized glory) had been painted over. I will probably never know whether it was our visit to the City, or the liquor store owner, who brought about this little bit of social change...but...who cares?

LINCOLN HEIGHTS LOFT-MENT

2006-07-09T17:08:00.000-07:00

It's a Loft, it's an apartment, it's, it's...a loftment! Moving toward the next adventure in my life, this Sunday I take occupancy of my new domicile. Escher-esque design by architect and critic, Joseph Giovannini.

Will the glasses slide off the counter tops? Will the cabinets fall off the wall? No, it is all optical illusion with color and light. I wonder what the cats will think when they try to jump on the counters?

And if it is "Escheresque" who would this Escher character be? 9 out of 10 people I asked did not know, leading me to believe maybe my one year as an art major may have taken me farther away from general public opinion than I had thought. Scroll thru Wikipedia's entry to see some of the most famous Escher drawings.

Another feature--shapes that when viewed from one specific spot appear to be one object. The blue shape shown here is actually three blue shapes painted on three different walls at different depths. Well, I'll see what happens to my brain when I move in this Sunday! This is your brain, this your brain on Escher!

I'll part with my Dad's remark "don't come home drunk darling"!

fin

HEAVENLY MOVING DAY: MODERN DAY CHALLENGES OF ARCHITECTURE AND INTERIOR DESIGN

2006-07-09T17:06:00.000-07:00

"Heaven, heaven is a place, where nothing, nothing ever happens..." Talking Heads

Yes, yes, I know, I'm supposed to be packing! Today's the day I move into the loft-ment. Walked around my future home last night and noted (again) just how small the place is. The storage spaces are ingeniously hidden, but also small. I was reminded of the house Frank Lloyd Wright built with no closets and his remark in response to criticism "people in California don't wear clothes". Don't know if that is apocryphal or not, but funny. Also reminded me of a quote from my favorite comedian Steven Wright "You can't have everything...where would you put it?"

So it is time to scale down (again). All this evokes the problem identified by philosophers as the mind-body problem. Here is an architect who appreciates space, form and simplicity and in that pursuit has (of course) embraced "whiteness". The forms are white, backlit by white light. The white walls "float" in white space.

And of what is all this"white" reminiscent? Why heaven of course! White fluffy clouds, white angels, white feathers, presided over by a supreme being wearing white robes, etc. etc. Now here is the thing about heaven, it is not occupied by earthly beings, beings that (for instance) eat, sleep, wear clothes, read books. It's true there may be a harp or two, but other than that--nada.

You see, the mind, when considered without the body, is both simple and expansive. It may need care and feeding, but one thing it does not require is a shoe rack!!

So today, corporeal me, shall try to move in to this white space and see (along with my soul) if my body can find purchase here.

FROM WE-HO TO EAST-LO

2006-07-09T17:03:00.000-07:00

When Matthew Arnold wrote about "Wandering Between Worlds..." he was writing about the struggle between traditional religion and the theory of rights, the two worlds "one dead, the other struggling to be born".

This week, I find myself wandering between two worlds of my own... When I left Hollywood for my new loft "near Chinatown", I didn't realize how far a world I was about to travel. That was until my boyfriend arrived and said "Pam! You live in East LA!". I raised one eye-brow as I turned the deadbolt on the front door behind us.

The first time I heard West Hollywood called "We-Ho" I rolled on the floor laughing. I also assumed it was a joke; but I was wrong. WeHo.org is the City of West Hollywood's official website. So it wasn't as big of a surprise to hear my new neighborhood (East Los Angeles) called "East-Lo".

In WeHo you sip cappuccino at a bistro, in EastLo you order carnitas at the taqueria. In WeHo the restaurants start with the italian pronoun "IL", in EastLo, the spanish "EL". In WeHo, dress-up means go in drag, in EastLo, a zoot suit and a classic car. WeHo, gay, EastLo, gang, WeHo, fabulous, EastLo, fabulosa.

Of course that's all just the stereotypical gloss on the surface, but under every gloss a little truth must shine. Sometimes an image can be so, so wrong though. Ever since I saw Allison Anders' film "Mi Vida Loca" in 1993 (which was technically set in Echo Park, not "EastLo", but...) I have romanticized the stylized gangland Latino world. I was in for a shock when I met girls from the area who told me that to be tattooed with the three dots symbolizing having lived a "vida loca" or "crazy life" meant you gangbanged and lived to tell the tale. The three dots were like tear drops tinged with regret and pain. It wasn't at all like the crazy life I talk of, laughing and rolling my eyes. I felt very bad for joking about it. I also loved (LOVED) the soundtrack, especially "Suavacito" by the 4 Corners.

Anyway, I am here, all moved in, part of that insane part of urban living known as "gentrification". I guess I'm the "gentry" (which has at least two layers of irony, being both female, and a poor inner-city girl myself).

BULLETS OVER BROADWAY

2006-07-09T13:24:00.000-07:00

Last night I was awakened by three loud noises. I lay in the darkness frightened by the sound of gun fire. But something in my brain told me that noise was too…plastic. I decided it had not been gun shots and fell into sleep.

In the morning, I padded down my stairs to pick up the Sunday Times and… there it was—Yellow splats of paint on the door like tiny bright sunbursts. Indisputable evidence of three…paint balls!

A brief flashback followed--a traumatic moment of childhood, being hit by an egg on Halloween, faded with the relief that my neighborhood choice of weapon on a Saturday night was paint guns!