Rainy Day Mind Game

The following is a repost from a Myspace blog I posted on January 2, 2006. If I'm not mistaken that was probably the last time Los Angeles experienced a significant rainfall. Call me nuts but I love this weather. I've been dying all summer. I'm not a fan of the sun, heat and uncomfortableness of triple digit temps. I love walking and/or singing in the rain. I prefer piling on the layers of clothing and blankets to summer wear. If you don't know me yet you will soon find out I'm not your typical California Girl. Tans and sunstreaked hair are not for me. Maybe I'm a descendent of the cave clans. I don't know, whatever it is I love the cold overcast days like we're having today.

*Rainy Day Mind Game *
Can you travel within your mind? Leave everything behind and find yourself in another city, state, country, and world. Today's rainy weather makes me yearn for the streets of San Francisco and I don't mean that 70s TV show with Michael Douglas and Carl Malden, although that would be a welcome relief to all the Rose Parade/Bowl crap on the tube. . Instead of hiding from the rain here at home I'd rather be pounding the pavement through Chinatown on Grant where I'll make a quick duck into LiPo to whet my whistle with a midday Gin & Tonic and rest my soles before continuing on to Jack Kerouac alley where I make a sharp right and soak in the spirits of the beat poets of years gone by. Up ahead, Columbus where City Lights awaits my arrival with open door and the smell of musky books and patchouli oil worn banisters. Shelves everywhere stocked with loads of literature. I could stay here the entire day browsing and making myself at home. Nowhere in L.A. have I ever felt this welcome. I'd buy a book or two from the poetry section, most likely one by a Chicano/a author I never heard of and another random selection because the title and cover caught my eye. I should have an appetite by then and will have to decide if I want to cross over to North Beach for Italian or stay where I am for Pan Fried Noodles at Chef Jia's. Noodles it is as I seat myself at a window table for good lighting and a view of the people walking to and fro. I'd crack open a book and begin reading while sipping hot green tea. Fed and read I grab my stuff and walk down Kearney to Market where I hop on the bus to the Haight to see what Amoeba has for me in way of bargain bin tunes possibly Tom Waits or Screamin' Jay Hawkins then off to People's Cafe for a boost of caffeine and flourless choco cake giving another break for my feet. Getting dark, time to head back to the Commodore for a quick nap and a hot bath before hailing a cab to Bottom of the Hill for more drink and live music or off to one of many dive bars in the Mission. Call it a night and tuck myself in for good night's sleep for another foot traveled journey the next day all by myself. I have been to SF on solo trips several times and I never once felt alone or lonely nor did I care how cold it was or if it was raining. No matter the weather or part of the city you plant yourselves you just can' have that sort of day here in Los Angeles. Sometimes I wonder what the hell I'm doing living in L.A. guess I may have left my heart in San Francisco but this is where my soul is.

Chinatown, S.F.

The Commodore Hotel was my lodging choice.. The Red Room bar was attached as was The Titanic Cafe. Great location and reasonable. Old boutique style eerie vibe.

Life As A WiFi Vagabond In L.A.

In mid-August of this year I decided to cut living expenses by canceling my land-line phone service along with the ridiculously expensive and seemingly unknown long distance carrier I had. It occurred to me that I was spending upwards of $100 a month for the sake of reporting spam to my email providers only to find the same messages in my box the following day. Seeing how I had access to the Internet at work I figured I could live without the nightly and weekend habitual mindless logons to email and Myspace. How was I to know that in a short couple weeks I would be dismissed of my position at Tu Ciudad thus finding myself without access to the Internet. Anyone in their right mind would be freaking out over the fact that they've just been "laid off" but that's where I'm different. When I was sitting in the office with my supervisor and the general manager going over the formalities of being let go all I could think of was how I had just been blindsided off the Internet Super Highway. Ironically, I had just submitted a 300 word article on how Latinos are closing the gaps in the digital divide and are showing increased numbers as contributors to the blogosphere for the Dec/Jan issue.

Luckily I'm a resilient person. I've had a lifetime of experience in finding ways to make things work and how to get around a system set up to keep people like myself out. In the past couple months I've managed to sneak into my mother's house with my laptop and use her phone line to dial up to the Internet. I wasn't breaking in or anything like that -- I'd usually arrive with offerings of sweetness in the form of pan dulce or a video I checked out. I also took to reserving computers at Central Library in downtown until I figured it would be worth purchasing a PC laptop complete with wireless access. Great thinking -- that is if you lived in an area surrounded by airwaves thriving with connections. If you've read my earlier blog about finding myself in socioeconomic quarantine you'll know what I mean about Boyle Heights being left out in the dark. There is one link in the immediate area but the chicken shits have it secured -- the nerve!

So, back to square one. If and when I want to check email and surf the net I must pack up my laptop and drive into downtown to the one coffee shop with free wireless access. A good system, that was, until my car broke down. I've been backpacking it on foot through Boyle Heights these days making semi-daily visits to the neighborhood library. This morning though I decided to hit Central Library by taking the Metro Red Rapid. The unseasonably hot weather has eased up over the past couple days and today is the sort of day which makes people in the Midwestern states pack up their stuff and move to L.A. From my seat aboard the bus I can see that the sky is a crystal blue, from the open window I feel there is a soft breeze, the sun is gently leaning on my shoulder and the chemtrails are nowhere to be found. I'm finding myself experiencing the love part of my love/hate relationship with the city and it feels good.

Off at Grand and 5th I disembark and cross over to Central Library where I see people sitting on the steps and benches with bewildered and somber expressions. I figured the library wasn't open yet seeing how it was barely after 10 AM until a fellow bus riding back packer informs me that the library is closed in observance of Veteran's Day. As much as I was bummed out over the news I hung around a while and had a brief conversation with a woman who walked up and sat near me. She too had taken the Metro, only she was in from Long Beach and was visiting the library to find directions to a clinic in East Los Angeles. She couldn't have chosen a better person to spark up a conversation with seeing how I knew exactly where she was going and even gave her the correct bus route. For that she gave me the most incredible persimmon fresh from her tree. I normally don't take fruit from strangers but the gesture was sincere and I had to imagine it was destined for me when she plucked it from her tree. Back to my dilemma, at this point I'm still trying to figure out a way to hack into the wireless network and see a young woman with a laptop situated right outside the library door. Figuring she too was looking for a WiFi hookup I kept an eye on her. When I finally did blink I noticed she was gone. I waited a few minutes and then I sat in the same spot and powered up only to realize the signal didn't work.

Surely, in a city such as Los Angeles there must be hotspots which don't require fees and then I remembered hearing how Pershing Square had officially been declared an Internet hotspot. Seeing how I was only a couple blocks away I packed up and headed out. Once at Pershing Square I was directed by park security to a location known to have the best reception. I must have really been Jonesing for a logon because there I sat amongst a line up of homeless men. With laptop running I see one of them eye me and make his way over. I looked at him with my no way stare and said I had nothing for him. He was curious about the way wireless works. We actually had a good conversation. I was about to offer him the persimmon and then realized he was missing a good portion of his chomping teeth -- besides, that was an offering of appreciation to me -- an omen of sorts. The WiFi gods must be having a good laugh at my expense today because once again the signal was dead.

Okay, by now I could be frustrated and/or even pissed but as I said it's much too beautiful a day for me to toss in the towel and retreat back into the no WiFi zone at home. Besides yesterday I sunk into a feeling of total isolation and there's no way I want to fall back into that mood. I had one last option -- take the Metro Red Line one stop over to Civic Center and take the A Dash into the Artist District to Groundwork. The Dash leaves me off right across the street from the place plus they have free WiFi and a pretty damned good selection coffee -- Bitches Brew is my favorite. So this is where I've been the past couple hours.

When my day got started I had no clue this is how it would end up. Getting around downtown L.A. via public transportation from one place to another has helped me reconnect with a city I've been less than friendly to lately. My journey in search of WiFi this day would have made most people I know give in to frustration. I took it as a challenge and am glad I did. The interactions I had with the people on the street has been a hell of a lot more rewarding than feeling invisible at home. Think I'll update my current resume to reflect a sense of stick-to-it approach to life and an ability to accomplish tasks without guidance.

Griffith Observatory: Face Lift or Slap In the Face?

Don't know about the rest of you but the Griffith Observatory has been a trusted fortress over the years -- a place to retreat when feeling like taking a break from the gridlocked streets below; a place to take first time visitors to L.A. for a spectacular panoramic view of the city from the valley to downtown and out into the ocean; a place to make out like crazy teenagers with a date no matter your age; a place to obsessively stare out wondering where in the hell your mate is on that star glittered night; or a place to reenact the famous knife fight scene from 'Rebel Without A Cause' -- come on Angelenos...you have to know what I'm talking about.

I can't tell you how many times I came upon a spontaneous impulse to make a sharp turn up Vermont from Hollywood or Sunset for a visit to the Griffith Observatory. Most of the time it was to clear my head of some dumb situation I was in or it was to get my son out of the house on and off the sofa on a Friday night. Part of the beauty of making that spur of the moment call was knowing that I'd most likely be shit out of luck in finding a parking space. It was all part of the experience and made the visit that much more rewarding when you actually did find a spot to park and took the barely lit stroll over to the monumental domed building alongside the others -- the others who flocked for whatever reason their own. Didn't matter if they were there for checking out the Tesla Coil or waiting in line for a shot at peering through the massive telescope to view Jupiter or whatever planet its site was focused on at the time you felt a camaraderie with these folks because you knew they understood how special this place was and how it belonged to us...no matter where you came from or if your car barely had the punch to make it up the hills.

That is until now. Leave it to Los Angeles to go and blow the beauty of having such an easily accessible place for it's residents. With the long awaited reopening of the Griffith Observatory comes the news that all visitors will need to make reservations in advance and will be expected to board a shuttle at 8 bucks a pop for adults and 4 for kids. I'm not only appalled, disgusted, and angry, I'm disappointed. By initiating this rule the city of Los Angeles has again taken something once available to all and turned it into something accessible to the few who are able to dish out the dough for a spot on the shuttle. No more teaching your children about the stars for families on a budget. As far as I'm concerned the 5-year clean up did nothing more than leave a much greater tarnish on the Griffith Observatory than it had naturally built up since its initial opening in 1935.

Where'd You Go Joe?

These days it's harder and harder to find a good cup of old fashioned coffee shop coffee in Los Angeles. It's hard to believe there was a time when coffee wasn't served by Barista's at caffeine pusher chains into cardboard cups with sleeves to protect your hand from burning. I'm talking about the days before the fancy latte and Tall, Grande or Venti servings. Ordering a cup of coffee was just that -- a cup of coffee poured into a heavy duty restaurant-style cup set nicely on a doily lined saucer. What was best about the deal is you could usually get an entire breakfast for what the average cup goes for now. Sure, I may be holding onto the past with an over glorified sentiment but I can't help myself. The impersonal interactions I've encountered when getting my morning rush fix have left me feeling weak. I miss the days of Norms, Chips, Googie, Tiny Naylor's and the rest. I've got a problem with leaving an obligated tip for someone who does nothing more than hand my order to me over a counter cluttered with CDs, breath mints and an array of over priced brand products. I have no problem leaving a tip to someone who returns to my table now and then to freshen up my coffee and knows just how much to pour.

Back on the Chain Gang?

A year has passed since the board of directors initiated lockdown of Self Help Graphics & Art sent a shockwave through the East LA arts community. In that amount time a series of scandals have rocked the fragile multi-colored building with the magnitude of a 10 point quake on a finger shaking who's fault is it line.

The summer of 2005 will be remembered as one of unraveling a tangled web of deceit created over the years by a dirty handed game of giving and taking archival prints; of signing contracts and checks on the dotted line in invisible ink; of taking funds from artisan sales to pay bills and staff; of bad management and neglect by the governing board, the artists it served, the community and the politicians whose district the property falls under.

It was also a time of finding out who your friends really are; of learning who was always one inch away from shoving a dagger in your back; of realizing who merely wanted to ride your back; and of seeing who had your back all along. It was also a magical time when disappearing acts were performed by board members who snuck out from their seats while a $25,000.00 Strategic Plan scam was being implemented; when financial and incriminating documents vanished into an air of mystery behind locked doors with no one but the parlor ghosts to witness the tricky going ons. It was a time of mass hypnosis when a community was zombiefied by their loyalty to a nun named Sister Karen and the mission she created for which Self Help Graphics was to stand. But who was really fooled? You? Me? Yes, I sat on the board of directors for a brief period until I could no longer force myself to believe my being there had any relevance.

There's been a recent development on the part of an ex employee who came forth with some serious accusations of drug use on the site against the current Interim Director and Vice President of the board also included was a complaint of a lack of follow up to a sexual harassment complaint made to the board's current President. Is one year too soon for history to repeat itself? What lessons have been learned in this short amount of time? Who will dare come forward this time around to speak up and demand answers; to make noise and hold persons accountable for allowing the only Chicano art center in East LA to be locked into this vicious out of control cycle.

Socioeconomic Quarantine

Last night was one of those humid L.A. summer eves that can easily drive you out of your mind and/or drive you out of your house in search of basic hydration. It was so bad I would have settled for anything liquid be it coffee, juice, a cocktail, water…whatever, just to get away from the cucaracha breeding stickiness of my floors and walls and into an air conditioned cool L.A. social setting. Seeing how I live in an area which has no such establishments catering to these needs I stayed home sweating up a thirst beyond reason. Within minutes I began to pace back and forth like a caged beast out of its natural element all the while pondering the reason for this sudden feeling of being under socioeconomic quarantine. In a city such as Los Angeles, why should I have to get in my car and drive 4 miles to the nearest Starbucks for a cup of coffee; 5 miles to browse a real magazine rack; up to 8 miles for a gin and tonic at a bar with a good selection on the jukebox; 9.6 miles to stock up on my favorite Trader Joe’s items; 10 miles to catch a movie in a theatre that shows independent and foreign films; 10 - 15 miles for dinner at a decent sit down restaurant? The answer is simple I live in Boyle Heights -- a neighborhood which has been stripped of all things which make for convenient living. Being a lifer in the area I have been witness to the removal of all major supermarkets over the years. Nowhere in the area will you find a single coffee shop. Gas stations are dwindled down to just a few. Restaurants are pretty much nonexistent. Lounge bars went out with a trigger happy bang in the late 60’s and early 70’s. Even if I did want to take a walk I’d have to do so in the dark seeing how all street lights running the distance of Whittier Blvd. from the eastern tip of the 6th Street Bridge down to Indiana St. have been blackened out by the powers that be. Maybe I’m just being too impatient. Haven’t I heard that Boyle Heights is being targeted as the new “it” location on the city map? Don’t I know that soon will come the hipster diners and cool coffee hangs with bright colored walls and scones scattered with blueberries. Am I not aware of the change to come? The gentrification on the horizon will be met with a bittersweet welcome. On one hand it would be a relief to be in the midst of a community that makes my life easier but on the other I know that none of the pending changes are being made with me or any of the current residents in mind.

Wilshire, what a miracle mile that once was.

One Wilshire Blvd. is located in the financial district of downtown Los Angeles at Grand. If you drove west to its very end you find yourself up against a decision of which way to turn on Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica. A left takes you to Venice Beach and the funky locos on rollerblades; a right heads you to PCH and up the coast as far as you are willing to go. How much more L.A. does this get?

I have always had a fascination with this route, mostly because of it's ability to get you from Point A to Point B, which at one time, felt like a major excursion like the time my friend Val and I made our way to the Santa Monica Civic for a Mink DeVille concert with the help of a Thomas Guide and sheer luck. Hey, we were teens. Now it has become a daily routine for getting to and from work riding Metro's Red Rapid (west) from Boyle Heights, over the 6th Street bridge, smack down the crusty crack of skid row, through downtown, along the Miracle Mile, and finally to the pits of La Brea where I disembark. Normally I tune out with whatever CD I can grab before running out the door or keep my eyes focused on the pages of a book I'm struggling to finish. Today, though, I kept my head up and eyes open studying everything in sight.

People, so many people, some sleeping on the filth of the streets waiting for their morning rations at the homeless shelters, others carrying lunches in recycled plastic supermarket bags heading off to do some form of slave labor in downtown sweatshops, teenaged kids ditching their last day of school headed to the beach -- summer is here, the occasional suited man with a stiff upper lip about to enter his heart attack of a work day, and me...wishing I could join the teens and forget my adult responsibilities...my own 9-5 routine.

Beyond the foot traffic I see the facades of buildings erected during the hey-day of Hollywood. This is the other reason I loved Wilshire Blvd. so much. I still admire the 1929 art deco magnificence of the old Bullock's Wilshire where customers like Mae West and Greta Garbo were catered to by young sales clerks, possibly Angela Lansbury, displaying designer gowns in the loungy woman's department now the site serves as Southwest University's law school.

I cringe to see the hideous strip mall where the famous Brown Derby once stood with the insulting miniature derby perched in the corner as if paying homage to the piece of L.A. history it destroyed. On my left stands the remaining walls of the Ambassador Hotel currently being demolished to make way for Central Los Angeles Learning Center. I wonder if the children attending this new school will be educated in the event which took place on that very land on June 5, 1968 when Democratic presidential candidate Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated before the eyes of BBC reporter Alistair Cooke and football star Rosie Greer tackled the gunman, Sirhan Sirhan.

Luckily the Gaylord, Talmadge and Los Altos apartments have survived the wrecking ball which is more than I can say for Perino's restaurant. In the year and three months since I've been taking this route I witnessed the destruction of Perino's restaurant and the construction of the condos planned with the same name. This was the place where Tyron Power had a booth and at any time you could see Frank Sinatra lift a martini glass in toast to his pack of rats. If I'm not mistaken, a couple of my uncles worked there when they train hopped their way to L.A. from El Paso, TX, so yes, there is a bit of personal history here.

Los Angeles, the city with a short lived history is not very kind to the things and people who helped create it. I can bitch and moan all I want about the changes to the things and places I remember and none of it really matters. It will all be history some day just like the fossils that get regurgitated in the pits of tar right in the heart of Museum Row on the Miracle Mile.

Introduction

It took a recent (and first time) trip to New York City for me come back to Los Angeles feeling as though I need to pay more attention to my hometown. Up until this point my visits to San Francisco made me yearn for living in a true metropolis -- a place where you can walk to just about anywhere and/or utilize a public transit system which makes sense. Even Seattle hit me in that way. But NYC topped them all.

I've always considered myself an observant person. One who appreciates the glory of a lone Victorian home tucked away on a neglected street or someone who still likes to take an occasional ride up the coast to Zuma Beach just to smell the ocean from up close and not have to wait until a fog brings in the scent to Boyle Heights on a summer night. I am also one who likes to peer into the crusty nooks and see what goes on within the shadows. Witness the underbelly of the city not glamorous enough to make it on the cover of a glossy mag or postcard. But lately though, I've found myself turning a blind eye to Los Angeles. Maybe I became bored. Maybe I've become disgusted. Maybe I just needed a break after 46 years of steady residence.

It wasn't until just now as I am typing this that I realized what it is I've been missing here in L.A. I miss the days before the introduction of the mega shopping and mini strip malls. The pre-stucco days when homes were made of wood and there was a sense of a short but important history to each building. The days before the nomads arrived and created their version of Los Angeles in places like Sunset Junction and now the Bankers District in downtown. What it all boils down to is this...Los Angeles had become a stranger to me. Maybe it's time for me to familiarize myself with this place I call home. Embrace it and accept it for what it is.
I'll be using this blog format to post journal and creative writing on a semi-daily basis. All this blog stuff is new to me so don't expect wonders. Oh, and one last note, I have a tendency to be brutally honest with my views and opinions. I will write about the things most people don't want to admit are true. I will bring to your screen the smell of wildflowers one minute and the next you'll be stricken with the stench of skid row. I hope you come back to visit often.

Didn't make it to any of the museums but this doorway made up for  it.

Lakeside Lounge - Alphabet City, NY

Typical neighborhood market.

Times Square