L.A. Anatomía

Even though I like to think I have a taste that craves only the finer and more rarefied creations of mankind, I still love the show Gossip Girl. Or rather, I love how all the critics rave about Gossip Girl, critique it and pull forth the most amazing motifs, themes and other literary morsels that take the soap drama from, well, soap drama, to high art. My most favorite dissection of the show happens here, if you need a good read.

But anyway, the lives of the characters in the UES are much to be envied: They’re filled with fabulous clothes, people and fun. What to do on a Saturday or even school night? Why grab the clique and run off to some hotspot club in which you’ll be photographed in your fabulous designer dress, later to be displayed on Page 6!

When long-separated friends Serena van der Woodson and Georgina Sparks wanted to go out and have fun, they tossed on their slinky dresses and strappy shoes and made their way over to a bar where they were not carded, were hit on by attractive men and had the confidence that I never knew teenage girls could have in such a setting.

So, how does this take us back to the fabulousness of the O.C.? Well, the creator of Gossip Girl is also the creator of the O.C. Obviously, he wanted to put some of the magic fabulousness of his West Coast drama back on TV but in the East this time. However, my weekend in the O.C. once again proves that TV doesn’t necessarily capture the truth of a location.

This is what I mean:

I made plans to meet up with an old friend in the O.C. for a friendly catch-up chat. (Because we’re talking about Gossip Girl here, let’s call my friend S). As I don’t live in the O.C. anymore, I asked S to name a meeting point. S mentioned some sort of yogurt place, which I had to decline because I had a cold and couldn’t eat dairy. We passed a few more generic names between us, and then we landed on the only possible solution:

Target.

That’s right: We hung out at Target because a) it was the only thing we could agree on, b) it was a place we both knew the location of and c) S needed some stuff anyway.

It actually worked out well. S and I wandered up and down aisles, I tried on a pair of pumps I would never buy in real life, S bought some razors, and then we ended up sitting in the Starbucks located inside the Target. I ordered a cafe mocha. S declined any beverage as he had already satiated his hunger with yogurt. Oh yeah, S met me via public transportation. (Scandalous!) He used the bus to meet me. I took my car. We separated after a respectable time, around 4 PM. S went home and so did I. I went to bed at 10 that night.

Crazy times in the O.C. baby! And that’s the anatomy of this blogger’s post.

It’s officially fall, and though the sunny weather and the cool balmy nights may not seem like it, the retail stores are still on track with the seasons. Pumpkin patches and Halloween costume shops spring up out of no where to remind us that the yule-tides are just around the corner.

 And what’s the quintessential image of the fall and winter season that ushers in the holidays?

 A wood burning fireplace. Just the scent of that smokey musk makes one think of hot chocolate, warm sweaters, baking stuff, and over all fuzzy goodness. Well, all that fuzzy-goodness you’re inhaling are actually harmful particles, called PM2.5, that get lodged in your lungs.

Healthy Hearth, is actually a program initiated by the Air Quality Management District in So. Cal, that promotes, “Clean Burning.” Intense wood smoke can create immediately create bodily reactions, like stinging eyes, runny nose and even headaches. Scientists at the American Lung Association are actually concerned with traditional wood burning fireplaces, that can cause or lead to serious lung diseases.

 But you’ve got to wonder, who owns a traditional fireplace in So. Cal?

Aren’t most of the fireplaces gas?

And does this mean we have to invent a new entrance for Santa to drop off gifts for the wee ones?

And of course the most dangerous times to use your wood-burning fireplace or stove, is during the winter when cold air can trap these dangerous microscopic particles, when you need it the most.

So, the solution:  “Homeowners can get a $125 discount on the price of gas log sets for their fireplaces under a new program aimed at curbing wood smoke pollution…”

Somehow, I’ve managed to avoid all Proposition 8 commercials and propoganda; I think it must be because I watch all my TV over the internet. In fact, it wasn’t till last week that I finally caught my first for-Prop 8 and my first anti-Prop 8 advertisements.

And in case you happen to have missed them to or live out of California, here you go! For your viewing pleasure I give you FOR:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0PgjcgqFYP4

 And now I give you AGAINST:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JHeTVAE4ZkY

I love how both campaigns completely walk around the actually issue: Prop 8 will amend the California constitution to prohibit gay marriages/civil unions/whatever you want to call them. I think they’re targeting undecided voters especially, which means that the campaigners need to use keywords to swing them over to their side.  Take the “FOR” commericial: it uses children, families, schools and education, making a viewer misperceive that Prop 8 infringes on what a parent has a right to expect their children will be taught in schools. Think of the poor children and the poor parents who will have to explain why some children have two married mommies or daddies!

I think the “AGAINST” commercial uses equally low tactics; it discusses how Prop 8 is discriminatory and unjust. It uses language in such a way that an uninformed, undecided voter might think, “Well, I’m not a racist or anything so I’m against this prop!”

They both are very underhanded in making their points. I wish the solution were as simple as that presented by a group of men and women I walked by today:

They stood on the corner of a major intersection, deep in Los Angeles suburbia, waving signs that said NO TO PROP 8! SUPPORT GAY MARRIAGE/RIGHTS! While they stood there, car drove by honking in support or pointedly ignoring them.  Drivers held their thumbs ups enthusiastically, stared pointedly, looked away in annoyance or rolled down their windows to catcall.

It was just a more descriptive scene of what’s really going on here: some Californias think it should be a given that same-sex marriage is protected by the state, some Californias don’t understand the fuss and don’t care, some Californians are annoyed and frustrated that they need to acknowledge this “problem,” and others are angry that it’s even thought possible.

Well, California goes to the polls in a few weeks and ballots are already pouring in. A few years ago, the general populance agreed that marriage should be defined as only between a man and woman. But we’ll see what happens this time. I honestly don’t know, but I hope for the best and I hope that you do too.

 The Virgin appeared in a window at Mercy Hospital in Springfield MA. The some locals went to “witness” her. Others had to see her on the front page of next days news paper. The picture was blurred.

“A photographer nun I know says that pictures don’t capture miracles well,” one lady said, tipping over her high heels while pouring soy milk into her venti 4-shot latte at the local Starbucks.

“Did you see it?” a man with an orange construction shirt in line asked the lady, overhearing the conversation.

“No, I didn’t” she replied.

“Oh, I did.” he said with a proud smile.

“Have you seen today’s paper?” an elderly man, asked the Batista as he was handing him his coffee. The elderly man was a regular there. Came in everyday and did his crossword. He had lived in Springfield all his life and watched the rows and rows of vineyards that stretched till the river, be bulldozed for the Starbucks that stands here now.

“No, John, I haven’t yet. But I know about the Virgin.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, they say a son was praying for his mother who had just come out of surgery in that very room,” said the young Batista.

“You don’t say,” said the elderly man.

The out of towner, who was sitting in the corner watching all of this commotion about the Virgin of Springfield, couldn’t tell if the chatter was all in mockery or in true belief. When they asked her if she had seen it or the picture in the paper, she answered in the most vague response as possible, not knowing how the locals would react if she told them what she really thought.

After a few hours, the buzz about the virgin was beginning to get sensational.

The out of town-er, decided to leave the Starbucks and go do her work else where. Away from the Virgin.

While AH continues to trot her little feet in places exotic, I’ve got some news of my own: I had a very brief trip to Chicago. It was very short, like a hop, skip and jump minus the skip. But, despite the brevity, I have a few observations to make about the Windy City, which, because this is a blog about LA, I can tie back to life in Los Angeles.

Downtown Los Angeles aspires to be Downtown Chicago. What a neat little urban area there is in the city! Great shops! Fabulous little restaurants! Diversity for palettes of all kinds — flavorful, fashionable and festival. Why when I asked my hotel to give me a breakfast recommendation, they sent me to NON-CHAIN cafes! I’m already thinking that I need to come back for a weekend, just for pleasure.

Despite diversity for sale, I did notice that there were no minorities in Downtown Chicago. The professionals, the servers, the retailers, the cleaners, everybodies all appeared to be of European descent. As evening approached, I finally saw some people of African descent….on the streets, with styrofoam cups in front of them and cardboard signs. In particular, a woman sat on the sidewalk, cradling her 10-year (?) child who was fast asleep. People walked by.

There were persons of Middle Eastern/Indian descent who I only noticed in cabs. It just reminded me of when you go into Los Angeles nether-suburban reaches…..white families own nice, white picket houses in which to raise and educate their white children while their latino maids/nannies/gardeners/etc putter around them.  I would like again to add, that I really just skipped into Chicago for the shortest of tastes, but the lack of multicultural diversity did make an impression on me.

For a beautiful urban center with fabulous skyrise buildings, there was a shocking lack of neon signs, billboards and advertisements….at least around the Magnificent Mile. I wonder if its city ordinance? If it were LA, there would definitely be gardens of disgarded ads on the sidewalk, and tapestries of billboards falling over each other. I poked on the internet, but I didn’t find an answer. Does anyone know?

No sunglasses. No one was wearing them at all. Ok, I saw some people….like five. But they could have been tourists. It was a bit distressing to go outside and not wear my shades.

Anyway, the weather was beautiful, the city intriguing, and I would definitely come again. Oh the wonders of travel, even if it is for all too brief a time!

P.S. The airport must be made by the same architect or firm as the Twin Cities airport. They both have a neon underground walkway.

Out.

DZ

Still here and kicking. AH’s not in the state, which is why she’s hasn’t been updating. I’ve been lost in the TV series Mad Men, which is no excuse unless you’re also lost in the show.

This long silence of updates means that AH and I must go back to the drawing board again on the “What?” “Who?” “Why” and etc of this. Such is the joys of blogging, it’s an evolving little space that doesn’t promise anything but that there might be a post.

In order to tie myself to a vow, I vow that readers shall learn something about AH and my sleepover at an aquarium as well as the gastronomic delights of food on Fairfax and wine in Culver City.

Soon, soon. Hold your breath and see!

All the “To-Do” blogs of the Los Angeles said, “Go to Sunset Junction!” AH said, “Come to Sunset Junction!” Santa Monica beckoned, “Forget Sunset Junction, and run away to Sri Lanka Day!” They all promised music, food and fun in the great outdoors on what turned out to be a lovely, mild summer day in California, and I said nay to them all. I turned my back on the great Silverlake event, which enjoyed food booth reviews in the Los Angeles Times. I even pushed away the allure of SE Asian cuisine–and I do love it so. I did it all for there was a prize that had snagged my attention for months now, and it was to be found on the top of the Hollywood Hills (are those the Hollywood Hills?) in the J. Paul Getty Museum.

I’m going to wander off on a tangent here. When you drive around Los Angeles, the arts of the city post banners on lightposts and the like to tout their events. That’s actually how I found out about BodyWorks at the California Science Center and many other delightful, chocolate-covered treats. On my wander through Farmer’s Market in Santa Monica a few weeks ago, my eye was caught. My attention was arrested. What did my eye espy? Bernini at the Getty!

Who is Bernini? He’s like one of the most awesome sculptors in art history. Don’t believe it? Bam! Bam! Bam!

What sets Bernini’s work apart, and also squarely in the Baroque, is his interest in turning blocks of marble and blank canvas into a record of a dynamic, emotional, human moment. The Getty did a good job comparing and contrasting Bernini’s style to a few of his contemporaries. For instance, Bernini liked to sculpt people as if they were just about to speak. He felt this was the moment that a person was most revealed. Getty signs say that two busts in particular: of the pope and Bernini’s mistress, stand apart as the finer (or even finest) examples of Baroque marble portraiture.

Constanza Bonarelli and Cardinal Borghese

If you look at these two busts, notice how both subjects are not looking straight ahead but off to the side — like they’re talking/seeing someone. In particular, Constanza Bonarelli looks surprised, as if at a vulnerable moment, when she’s not quite put together, while the Cardinal looks like he’s multitasking — sitting for his bust, talking, and etc.

My one disappointment about the exhibit was that it was only Bernini busts, and even then, not all the busts were by Bernini. But I did enjoy learning to appreciate Baroque art even more.

Afterward, I wandered through the Getty gardens, and it seemed to me as if, like Bernini who tried to capture the attention of his audience by capturing a dynamic moment from his subject, the Getty was on the hunt for the same thing. The last couple times that I’ve been here, I’ve been surprised by how many families come to spend a weekend afternoon. The gardens especially are enticing to families — there are open lawns, flowers and a beautiful view of the city. How easy to come with the kids, see a few pieces of art and then chill on the grass! Instead of trying to catch movement, the Getty’s trying to capture an idyllic weekend moment for families. They even have a children’s musical show. I remember hearing a tune about a rabbit.

The day ended on a decidedly more bohemian note. I enjoyed savory crepes at Manhattan Beach, and then sat with friends at the very comfortable and trendy Coco Noche–a wine bar. I love how wine bars are popping up all over the place, and Coco Noche is a bar apart. Aside from a selection of wines, they offer gourmet chocolates. And this is how I shall end this post–with very unique flavors. Imagine a dark night, the sea breeze and three glasses of wine carefully paired with three gourmet chocolates.

The first is a Pinot Noir paired with a spicy cinnamon and chipotle dark chocolate.

The second is none other than a Frontier Red Blend complemented by a very delicious coconut curry chocolate.

And the last is a Cabernet Sauvignon, with a dark chocolate slightly salted and tasting of bacon. When you bite inside, you see the bacon bit, and you wonder at that moment: a) What does your face look like? How would it be captured? and b) Are  you tempted to stick around and try another bite?

The answer: Oh yes. You caught, mouth open and vulnerable to the gourmet delight.

I read somewhere today that Americans drove less than 12 billion miles or something this month than they did last year. Holy crap! 12 BILLION MILES! That’s a lot of not driving!

Question: Do you feel like you see more people on the streets doing the alternative driving deal? I know that I know of more people who carpool. I know that I know I see more bicyclists and persons waiting for the bus than I used to, but this is northern Los Angeles. I don’t attempt to classify our habits as the habits of an entire metropolis.

Your input?

Women

who wear nails,

claw at things…

In the early 20th century: “It’s such a gay thing, those farriswheel rides!”

In the early 21st century: ” That’s so gay.”

This weekend seemed to have a lot of quintessential Los Angeles in it.

It started off with an art show in Los Feliz, that bohemian bureau in which parking is scarcer than celebrities. (AH and I saw Keifer Sutherland there a few months ago. We were dining on wine and cheese and exchanging books at the Alcove Cafe and Bakery, when Jack Bauer himself walked right by!) At a very nice space that seems to have no name, young hipsters, poets, artists, musicians and art lovers wandered among original pieces, listened to original music, and enjoyed original reading. Oh yeah, AH performed, and totally rocked it! She read this piece.

The following day, I spent at Hermosa Beach, a true seaside beachtown for families and sunlovers by day and partygoers by night. Several friends had rented a beach house just yards from the sand. It’s quite common for people to own beach houses, which they only use during the summer. Like many of them, ours was decorated in a beach theme–seashell chimes, Hermosa Beach-related reading, sand and palm tree towels and framed pictures, etc. What was also fun, aside from sitting on the sand and sunning with the rest of the population, was sitting on the beach house’s patio. Like most beach towns, there are pedestrian walkways build right along the houses, so there is quite a bit of traffic. While sitting on the patio, flipping through a magazine and sipping on some juice, I watched toned runners jog by with their dogs, families on bicycles glide by, half-garbed surfers and girls in sarongs saunter by in their flipflops. It’s really amazing how toned and tan some people can be in Los Angeles. I subscribe to a regime that requires wearing 150 SPF and sitting in lots of shade, while others seem to be braver and toast to a very warm shade of brown.

Sunday, I went to the Farmer’s Market in Santa Monica while I waited for my friend to get a Brazilian wax. While she pampered her body, I went to pamper my stomach, wandering along a crowded sidewalk of persons of all persuasions, passed trattorias, cafes, indie clothes shops and bicycle valets and into the heart of the market. There were all the regular booths of fruits and veggies at the market and then some–gourmet French crepes, aqua-farmed oysters and other shellfish, organic hot chocolate and raw-food finger foods. It was a small space, as generally seems to happen in the beach communities of L.A., but the lawn was crowded with all kinds of people chowing down on local produce.

Despite the heat of the weekend, it was just a nice mellow, truly L.A.ian time. And then, while driving back to my northern hermitage, I saw a sign on the 10 Freeway that I’d never seen before. It said that the 10 was a transcontinental highway! I never knew that! In fact, it is the southernmost east-to-west highway in the United States, connecting cities like Phoenix, AZ., Houston, TX. and Jacksonville, FL. And I thought, how L.A. is that? Here was something that had always been right in front of my face, and I’d never known to connect the dots until now.