LIGHTS OUT FOR VONS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MEN IN BLACK: IMAGINARY CRIME IN LINCOLN HEIGHTS

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

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

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?

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

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

LINCOLN HEIGHTS AT SUNSET

SCULPTURE AND STARBUCKS

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

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

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

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

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

"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.’”