Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Under the Bridge

And now a slight break from the norm: Some outtakes from recent months, as framed by an iconic LA song.

Sometimes I feel
Like I don’t have a partner


Sometimes I feel
Like my only friend
Is the city I live in
The City of Angels


Lonely as I am
Together we cry


I drive on her streets
’Cause she’s my companion


I walk through her hills
’Cause she knows who I am


She sees my good deeds
And she kisses me windy
I never worry
Now that is a lie


I don’t ever want to feel
Like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way


I don’t ever want to feel
Like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way


It’s hard to believe
That there’s nobody out there
It’s hard to believe
That I’m all alone


At least I have her love
The city she loves me
Lonely as I am
Together we cry


I don’t ever want to feel
Like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way


I don’t ever want to feel
Like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way


Under the bridge downtown
Is where I drew some blood
Under the bridge downtown
I could not get enough


Under the bridge downtown
Forgot about my love
Under the bridge downtown
I gave my life away


But if that's too dour, far be it from me not to end on a lighter note.

“Under the Bridge” lyrics by Anthony Kiedis.

Monday, September 6, 2010

What I did this summer

With kids returning to their day jobs right about now, I thought I’d do my own version of the back-to-school essay; I stayed busy enough to come up with 1,000 words easily enough, I think.

For starters, if you ever doubted my ownership of LA, look—I used my magic Narnia door to kick everyone out of the city!


...or else it’s just a quiet Saturday morning in downtown a few months ago, when Rob and I came to the Disney Concert Hall. (Still, nice Godspell effect, I think.)


Rather than spend a beautiful day inside, we headed to the upstairs amphitheater to see On Ensemble as part of the music center’s World City program. On hybridizes taiko music with rock, electronica, hip-hop, and more, which is why you’re seeing not only traditional Japanese instruments but a drum kit, a melodica, turntables, and even Indonesian gong chimes. What a way to kick out the jams and kick off the summer!


The Asian acculturation didn’t stop there, however. Shortly after Disney, we visited Echo Park, in the shadow of downtown’s skyscrapers, for the annual Lotus Festival. Unfortunately, budget issues meant no dragon-boat races this year, but at least there was the usual gauntlet of vendors and food booths. What’re we doing first, Rob? Looking at toys? Having tempura? Getting ice cream?


...Chinese dance presentation? Oh, fine. But we better be going for candy after this.


Weirdly, Rob developed a sudden interest in succulents after seeing what the Lotus Festival plant sellers had to offer, so soon we were off to Cactus Ranch in Reseda for supplies. It was like wandering into a spontaneous patch of badlands in the middle of suburbia.

What? Is there something behind me?


Turns out metal dino sculptures are merely part of the Ranch’s decor. A whole pack of  ’em, actually—besides my new stalker, they had a stegosaurus, a spinosaurus, even a parasaurolophus! I don’t see those every day.

Er. Yeehaw?


And from that point on, we were kind of all over the place, starting with our own neighborhood. I’d actually never seen the Capitol Records Building, onetime home to countless recording acts and such a local landmark that the blinking light on the spire even spells out “Hollywood” in Morse code. Rob says this was the first circular office building in the world and was intended just to look cool; the fact that it resembles a stack of vinyl records is apparently a coincidence.

Hey, Rob? I’m not sure I know what vinyl records are. I barely remember what CDs are.


And from where we took that photo, we looked down and found the star of one John Bunny, looking a little neglected. I had to go to IMDB to find out who he was: a major silent-film actor who died fairly young, with the New York Times saying at the time, “The name John Bunny will always be linked to the movies.”

Um...yeah. Perfect example of why it’s a good idea to keep your iPhone handy on the Walk of Fame. Or “Fame,” as the case may be. Not everybody out here is a Chaplin or Keaton.


In fairness, though, how many people see their work endure fifty, seventy, a hundred years? At least John Hughes is solidly on his way—a free open-air screening of Sixteen Candles at the Century City mall can still draw a very healthy crowd on a balmy weekday night!


But for me, the biggest highlight of the summer involved an older film icon and was a little closer to home—both literally and personally.

Oh yes yes yes yes yes.


After all, the Hollywood Bowl is always fun, but what better reason to go than the LA Philharmonic performing the scores of Bugs Bunny cartoons? Quite the turnout, too—look, even Friar Tuck showed up!


The LA Phil performed a number of classics, including “Rabbit of Seville,” “Long-Haired Hare,” and, naturally, “What’s Opera, Doc?” What a fantastic evening. I had delusions of grandeur for a week afterward.


Then for a change of pace, friends recommended Heritage Park in Cerritos, with its American Revolution-themed play island. Tired of conventional playgrounds? Bring the kids here, where climbers and jungle gyms are housed inside miniature replicas of colonial-era Boston buildings! I couldn’t believe my eyes until I saw Old North Church outfitted with a pipe slide.


Any last requests, my red-coated friend? Is that all? Denied. Fire!


In fact, Cerritos doesn’t appear to skimp on the municipal facilities, period. This is the first public library I’ve ever seen that seemed to be modeled directly on Xanadu—I was surprised the librarians weren’t wearing roller skates and ribbon barrettes.


And the adjoining sculpture garden ain’t too shabby either! I can has fake flame?


So that was a very full afternoon, but other daytrips—such as Redondo Pier—were a little more whirlwind.

Yeah, I see the sign. Do you see me moving?


In fact, that visit was basically just Rob running in and out a few of the shops while I waited idly.

What the...? I’m a rabbit—I should automatically rate Love Machine on these things.


For that matter, one funny thing about being a rabbit in a human world is that often people are so thrown when they see me out and about that if I tell them I’m a dessert inspector, sometimes they’ll just go with it. And here’s a real score, two specialties of Patisserie Chantilly in Lomita: their signature choux puff with black sesame cream and an equally tasty mont blanc garnished with gold foil. Talk about a classic moment of indecision!


Then over at Bombay Sweets in Artesia, we have some fine samples of Indian barfi, but don’t let the Urdu name throw you—it’s just condensed milk and sugar cooked into something like shortbread but with the density of cheesecake. Here we have both chocolate and pink coconut varieties...and more indecision.


Finally, to wash it all down, let’s swing by Stewie’s at the Americana in Glendale for some shaved ice—they have even more flavors than advertised, but during our latest heatwave, a classic fruit blend of raspberry, blueberry, and lemon was just perfect!


And as it happens, right across the street from the Americana is the Left Coast Wine Bar, where Rob’s friend Donna performs as a jazz singer. I’d heard her music at home, but this was the first time I’d seen her live. She does Joni Mitchell proud!


Let’s see, what else have we been up to—well, everyday chores, I guess, but those hardly count. Give or take Rob sneaking the occasional candid shot.

Man, Kristen Stewart needs to eat a burger. That salad does look awfully good, though...oh, I’d better put a divider down.


Nor am I counting the things I hoped to do while we were on the go but ultimately couldn’t...like serenade the shoppers at Nordstrom! Thwarted.

I can’t believe they actually locked the piano when they saw me coming. I was only gonna do one sonata.


But obviously, summer has to end sometime. I mean, climatically LA has about six more weeks to go, but already some of the leaves are turning brown, family vacations have ended, and the year is moving on. Soon all we’ll have are photos, fading memories, and the idiosyncratic spelling of “California Gurls” giving way to the grammatically incorrect chorus of “California Dreamin’.”

Good thing we have Christmas to look forward to, then!


Ohhhh, man. Oh, dude. The last train left without us. We gotta take your dad’s flying car to school.


Oh, and I also went to the Getty, the county fair, and several botanical gardens this summer, but the essay assignment was only for 1,000 words and I’m very, very, very, very...very...done!

Monday, August 16, 2010

Stopping to smell the roses

Having covered the fauna of LA to some extent, how about the flora? We’re probably due for a return trip to the Huntington, but Rob and I thought we’d check out some of the lesser-known options in the area first—these places are pretty mercurial, and I’d like to see them in summer.

One specific reason to get going now: It’s matilija season! Matilija poppies are distinctive not only for their blossoms—which resemble fried eggs and are the largest of any California native flower—but for their seeds, which are hard to cultivate because they have to be exposed to the heat of a wildfire to germinate. No wonder they do so well in SoCal, then!


So we begin at the Los Angeles Arboretum in, fittingly, Arcadia. Befitting LA’s diversity, the Arboretum has a particularly global mindset, with entire areas dedicated to individual continents. The African Garden is rich in succulents of all shapes and sizes, some so unlike anything else in the world that you could probably create a whole alien landscape out of them...


...whereas the Asian Garden might be more familiar-looking, but the viewing deck is as attractive as the view itself. Dibs on the yang side!


The Arboretum is also distinguished by its greenhouses, filled with carnivorous plants and tropical species that thrive on greater humidity than the local climate usually delivers. I thought we could save ourselves a grocery run by snagging some vanilla orchids, but Rob just isn’t any fun.


And they even have installation art here! Patrick Doughtery’s Catawampus is described on the placard as “a whimsical journey through natural structures that evoke the primitive and modern.”

Oh. I just thought it looked cool.


But most unique of all: You know how TV is, like, kind of fake? Behind me is the Queen Anne cottage that served as Mr. Roarke’s house on Fantasy Island; those clips were then grafted onto actual Hawaii footage to make it all seem like one piece, but in reality, here’s the house, nowhere near the tropics. There’s Tattoo’s bell tower and everything. So I can’t resist...


Smiles, everyone, smiles!

Sorry.


And one more Arboretum quirk: The joint is all but run by the peacocks. They mostly hang around the administrative buildings, but you can hear that distinctive call from quite a distance.

Hey there, birdie. Is there a peahen over my shoulder, or are you just glad to see me?


In contrast, when we head down to the South Coast Botanic Garden in Palos Verdes, we find a humbler kind of bird life dominates. What’s up, duck? I got nuttin’ for ya.


But believe me, South Coast has definite charms of its own. One of them is a dial-in audio tour, available at different spots throughout—here, near the entrance, is a sign for the Japanese garden’s call-in number. It’s a unique feature among all the places we visited, and I’d offer my thoughts on it if our carrier hadn’t dropped us every time I phoned in. Get a better plan, Rob!


Built over a onetime sanitary landfill, South Coast actually struck me as the most kid-friendly of all our stops. For starters, there’s the Mother Goose Garden, filled with dioramas depicting various nursery rhymes, such as Mary tending her little lamb at school—they’ve planted a bed of lamb’s-ear out front as a tie-in—and then right next door is the Old Woman’s shoe, with the Pumpkin-Eaters, the three kittens (sans mittens), and others just around the corner.


It makes for a nice little neighborhood, actually—white picket fences, miniature brook, the whole nine. I have to admit, it even had me wondering what’d it be like to get a place of my own in the suburbs and commute to the city. But then I remember how much I enjoy living with all my brothers, plus it’s just so much easier to make Rob pay for everything.


Still, though—tempting. You can’t find perfect Poohsticks bridges just anywhere!


Not far from Mother Goose’s is the Garden for the Senses, full of plants to touch and smell, with many in elevated beds for your sniffing convenience. Lots of herbs, of course, but also lavender, chocolate daisies, and all kinds of scented geraniums—lime, coconut, strawberry, orange, ginger, even one that smells like chocolate mint! Good thing I know a couple of local bakeries we can hit on the way out.


And beyond those two areas, so much was in bloom at the time of our visit that the air was practically swimming with butterflies and bees. The eyes got as much of a workout as the nose; these dahlias didn’t have much of a scent, but that shade of cranberry is to die for.


As for the roses, well, those were simply sublime. Any rose garden that makes you feel like you’re trespassing on a wedding is a successful one, right?


Hoo boy. Not a word to the Heavenly Bamboo about me, okay?


So that’s two down, but our third and last stop is perhaps a bit less obvious: the Donald Tillman Water Reclamation Plant in Van Nuys. We heard they have a classical Japanese garden attached to it, and if you’re like me, you think: Really? At a sewage treatment facility? Random. And I’m not gonna lie—you can tell from the look on my face that up here on the viewing catwalk, one errant breeze just hit me with a whiff of ammonia or chlorine or whatever it is.


So that does lower my expectations of what the garden will be like, because what could the backyard of some industrial plant possi...no way.


Ground level. So at one end of the lake, you’ve got this highly modern building edged by the rock garden...


...and at the other, it’s cypresses, irises, water birds, stone lanterns—it’s like something out of a storybook.


Compared to the other gardens, this one is tiny—only six-and-a-half acres, versus eighty-plus for the others—but you can’t say they didn't nail it in the space allotted. The brochure says the main structure of the garden is a shoin, modeled after the kind of residence an aristocrat or samurai would have had. Shall we go inside?


Breathtaking. This would enchant even my brothers into silence. And then they’d start playing ninjas, but nonetheless.


Wow. I see this as proof that I should go chasing waterfalls. Why stick to the rivers and the lakes that I’m used to? And I guess it just goes to show: Nature is awesome, but what humans sometimes do with it shouldn’t be undervalued either.


And just as it’s nearly impossible to go to the pound without bringing home a stray, after visiting all these plantyards, Rob decided to try his luck with some miniature succulents, all small enough for us to help with them. Kids at home likely can identify these by their unscientific names: “pink butterflies,” “pearly moonstones,” “baby toes,” “living stones,” and “Buddha’s temple.” What, no “bunny ears,” Rob?


Cute! But my brothers have already started a pool as to how long Rob will be able to keep them alive—Bedlam has the low bet, with a guess of four weeks.

That’s so cynical. I said five.