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?
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
THOUGHTS FROM A LOFT
I realized tonight
this is probably the closest to living in a garret
that I'm ever going to get.
this is probably the closest to living in a garret
that I'm ever going to get.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
SCULPTURE AND STARBUCKS
Reporting from Little Tokyo, Los AngelesI'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!
Saturday, July 21, 2007
A SCREECH WITHOUT A CRUNCH
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.
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.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
THE WRONG WAY ON A ONE WAY STREET
Heard on Hope Street today over a police bullhorn:
"what do you think you're doing? this is a one way street!"
Enough said.
"what do you think you're doing? this is a one way street!"
Enough said.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
WHO YA GONNA CALL? LINCOLN HEIGHTS LOCKSMITH TO THE RESCUE
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.
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.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
STAR LIGHT, STAR BRIGHT
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.
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.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
FOLLOW THE RED BRICK ROAD: LINCOLN HEIGHTS TIME TRAVEL
"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.’”
Sunday, March 04, 2007
INCONGRUITY AND HAPPINESS
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.
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
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!
Sunday, February 25, 2007
MODERN LUST: FURNITURE DESIRE
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
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.
Friday, February 23, 2007
BREAKING FREE OF LOFT FURNITURE STEREOTYPES
If this isn't love...
then winter is summer
If this isn't love...
my heart needs a plumber
-- Finian's Rainbow
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 AguÃñiga. 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" AguÃñiga 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 AguÃñiga)???? In any case, I feel an affinity a la great-minds-think alike.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
TWO BIRTHS, A FUNERAL & A WEDDING: LA STYLE
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:
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!
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!
Saturday, February 17, 2007
MORE MODERN LOVE: THE FRANK GEHRY STORY
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.
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
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 GehryIs 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.
"Simplicity requires a continuous shedding" Pam Ashlund
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
Thursday, February 15, 2007
THE QUEST FOR "SPACE" IN DOWNTOWN LA
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...)
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.
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.
Monday, February 12, 2007
LOFTY HEIGHTS NAMED LINCOLN HEIGHTS NERD
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:
"LA isn't a city, it's a moment"
And a '92 snippet from an anonymous friends poetry:
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?
"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.”
Sunday, February 11, 2007
I LOVE LA
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:
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."
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 PlacesBroadway 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."
Thursday, February 08, 2007
DOWN BY THE RIVER
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
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