4:45 AM - As West as the West can be
Current mood: blissful
Category: Travel and Places

Greets from Dubai, where I had nothing better to do than write a blog about what I did a couple of days before leaving El Lay. Seriously, what do you do in the shopping capital of the world when you have no money? And you've already shot that amazing hotel that looks like a sail?

So today's blog is about another El Lay museum, which is perfect because I'm writing from the Middle East, right? Anyhoo, the Autry Museum of the West, located in Griffith Park, across the parking lot from the zoo. Go see it. But first read about it. . .

* * *

The first bus of the day smelled like a Christmas tree!

Got to downtown with fifteen minutes to spare before the other bus was to show up, just had to cross the street. I saw the giant dragon peeking above the buildings of Chinatown and figured it was worth a photo, but I barely had enough time to get the camera out and grab a quick shot before the bus showed up, either way early or way late. I'm guessing late, because the driver kept looking at notes and took a few wrong turns through the myriad little streets of Chinatown before getting on the freeway and then Riverside Drive. And it was a damned minibus, with no aircon or way to hold on, if you're standing.

As we got to Los Feliz and waited for the light, the first green area of Griffith Park revealed itself to the right, where a women's soccer game was being played: pink against aqua. Mmm-hmm. . .

On a very bright note, the miniature train I rode on as a kid is still going!

Okay, after a half hour ride and a five minute walk across the zoo parking lot in 90 degree weather, I finally had the Autry Museum of the West in front of me. It looks like one huge building as you approach--careful crossing that street. You go through the small tunnel that continues the pedestrian walk and a statue and come out in a courtyard with a statue of Gene Autry and his horse. Behind him is the auditorium, but you instead turn left to go into the museum.

Come on in, y'all!

The man himself. . . or a reasonable facsimile

I don't know if you can call it a huge waste of space or a beautiful area with natural air conditioning, but the visitors services atrium is lovely to behold, albeit tough to photograph.

I'll tell ya ahead of time, as an art museum, this place rocks! The two current exhibits, one on cowboy Presidents, the other I simply couldn't tell ya, sucked, and I thought it was gonna be a long day. First thing that caught my attention was a lonely sculpture all alone on the stairway. Up to then I didn't know there was a lower level, but don't forget to go down there, and also take in the architecture from every possible angle, it's as amazing as the Getty's in its own way. And not a Western way either.

He looked so lonely. . .

The other thing of interest in the hallway where the stairs begin is a stick horse very similar to the one in the Sculpture Garden at UCLA--look at my El Lay blog for that puppy, or foal--except this one said it was made of bronze! Wanted to rap my knuckles against it, but this is a don't-touch museum, at least most of it. More on that later.

Skinny equine

Finally went across to the permanent collections, and let me tell ya, this is where it can be one of the most impressive art museums in the world. And I enjoy that it's not just cowboys and Indians, anything that happened in the settlement of the West can qualify. And then there's the gorgeous landscapes of waterfalls and Pueblo ruins and such. On the other hand, there's plenty of cowboy stuff as well, my favorite being an entire wall ad of Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show. There was a neat little exhibit on Annie Oakley, whom I love, as well. There was even one of more than 300 casts of Bronco Buster, Remington's first and most famous work; there was another one in the President exhibit. You might remember me saying, in the LACMA blog, that this is the only piece of art I ever want, but to find that there's over 300 of them, and at least 3 in El Lay, diminishes that a little. On the other hand, it would make it easier to grab ahold of one, once my bank account moves past 4 figures or so.

Yee-haw, partner!

After the art is a Hollywood mockup of an Old West town; you can tell because there's a sign at the start that says "Quiet on the Set!" And if that doesn't convince you, there's a director with a megaphone on the second-story balcony of the saloon, so don't forget to look up! There's also a guy across the street poking his head--and a gun--out the window; I'm guessing he's the bad guy. And as you approach the end a startling voice begs you to mosey along to the lonely saddle in an alcove so you can have your picture taken.

The next room is also Hollywood West, but this is artifacts, especially posters. Some of these were truly fantastic, and I can't imagine how much the Japanese print of "Dances With Wolves" would go for. And in the small alcove before the exit, just past the little theater, there's more paintings, including a beautiful rendition of a ship in rough waters. I guess they did it so you would start with the art work regardless of which door you came through.

Redhead cowgirl? Yummy!

That's a sure hit!

LOVE this shot!

How many yen will that go for on eBay?

After that I needed a rest, and I remembered passing a sign that said "outdoor lounge." It was nice to sit in a cushioned chair for a while--and not the tiny rocking chairs you see in the photo--but it was hot and humid compared to inside--this place is so big and airy it doesn't need air con.

Okay, break's over, as the Devil said in a Sting song. Time for the downstairs exhibits, starting on the west side with the Opportunity Gallery, although they're all so well connected they seem to be just one. This is more what you'd expect in a museum of the West, with plenty of big--prairie schooners and Gatling guns and stagecoaches--and little items on display, a lot of stuff that you wouldn't think about. There's also a running audio of diary entries about the trail west, most of them sad, as you'd expect. The biggest room had an old fire engine in the middle, but on both sides there were small displays dedicated to each of the large immigrant communities that helped build the West: off the top of my head I remember Native American, Mexican, Chinese, Mormon, Eastern European. . . and more. I would be remiss if I did not point out the white lace Mormon dress that would look so hot on certain models I know. . . but I digress as usual. At this point I was shooting everything in sight--took over 500 shots!--and a guard--Black lady jivin' if you know what I mean--asks if I'm starting my own museum. I told her I didn't have enough room to start my own. Another security person ambled by, but this woman had headphones on and didn't seem disposed to talking, or listening to her boss on the walkie-talkie.

Mmmm, shapely. . .

The next room was a saloon, which meant I would have fun with my best friend the next time I saw her, because she usta bartend and even wrote a song called "Jim Beam." In fact, we once spent hours in the little bar at Genghis Cohen with the Cheers book, looking at all the weird names for drinks--some favorites: Gorilla farts and Sex behind the Bubblegum Factory. As it happened, there was just such a book, 1800s edition, open on display, and the top entry was a drink called Bosom Caresser! Yum! In a non-alcoholic way, of course. And on the other side of the room is the gambling section, which includes dominos, which got Dawn Mitschele's song playing in my head. . .

Bosom caressers for everyone!

The next room was all about law enforcement, and of course they had to have a whole show on the OK Corral, though you gotta give them kudos for telling it like it was--the event has been so overdone and blown out of proportion from the moment it happened. I particularly enjoyed the huge wall display of sheriff's badges. There was also a mini-Gatling, just the firing mechanism, in the Colt Firearms section, and since I'd never seen one this close I had some fun shooting it.

Next was all Cowboys all the time, but quite correctly concentrated on ranch life; there was even a display of different types of barbed wire. There was also an amazing painting called "Western Jury," by John Dare Howland, which you can see below--had an earlier shot of a similar painting, with a dog howling over its dead master, but it didn't come out.

Not for ranch work. . .

As if to prove no museum is perfect, look down at the photo of a woman's leather jacket and skirt as worn in a Wild West show, in bright orange; you'll know it when you see it, can't miss it. You might notice the swastikas around the waist. The display says this is a "Native American tradition." NOT! Here's what I think happened--someone read that it was an "Indian" tradition and translated that into "Native American," except it was the New Delhi-Bombay typa Indian that has had the swastika for thousands of years in their religion; it's a good luck charm that stands for vigorous life and energy. Oops!

Look at her waist. . .

The last section was the family center, which I actually found the most intriguing. It was made by a blonde woman today--there's a video of her explaining it--who researched her family tree, found a Chinese branch, and discovered they had run a restaurant in El Lay in the 30s. This is a recreation of their house and business back then, and it's really quite fascinating, except that I thought the appliances in the house looked more 1950s than 30s. This is also the place that I mentioned earlier was "hands-on," including costumes you can put on as long as you take your shoes off first, so the sign says.

Accept no substitutions. . .

Beyond the stairs and another chance to get on a fake horse to get your picture taken is Trails West, a tiny but seemingly bigger-than-it-is outdoor area, with a stagecoach you can climb into pressed against the glass wall and a general store next to it. As you walk around the edges you come to a lovely little waterfall, unfortunately throwing some humidity into the heat mix, especially after the very cooling inside of the museum. There's a display of rocks, believe it or not, including a mockup of the famous Vasquez Rocks, where tons of TV shows, nowadays mostly sci-fi, have been filmed. Then you get to the little lake in the middle, fed by previously stated waterfall, with koi trying to swim upstream! It's the funniest thing I've seen in a month of Sundays, lemme tell ya. Gotta wonder if they've been talking to the salmon, or maybe whitewater makes them horny, ask a marine biologist, but seriously, this might be worth the trip alone!

Frisky horny koi

Okay, one final section to look through, the "Heritage Court." Back inside, this airy courtyard is nothing more than one long mural wrapping around the three walls, but it's seriously beautiful. In chronological order, it starts with cave paintings and dinosaur hunt--not really, it's a mastadon--and goes all the way to the movies, including an exquisite Grace Kelly from my fave Western, High Noon. I am not joking when I tell ya I shot literally every inch of it.

View from the top

Mmmm, Grace Kelly. . .

That's me 100 years ago. . .

I rarely, if ever, go into, let alone mention, museum gift shops, but this one, while looking like all the others, had a sense of humor, especially the pretty obvious but still chuckle-worthy clothing section: Ranch Dressing. The first item you see on entering this is a Scully leather jacket, so buttery looking and feeling, without a price, so I know I can't afford it. Besides, I wouldn't want a jacket like that, just a small piece of fabric, like a face towel, I could run over my. . . er, my current play mate's body. . . touch is a very underused sense, in case you didn't know. Among the Georgia O'Keefe greeting cards and the tons of CDs--the song playing when I entered was pretty good, "Lay Down Your Heart On Me," gotta look for it {somehow I don't think it's W.A.S.P.!}--there were two display racks of animal fetishes, the kind I got at the UCLA pow-wow for three dollars. Here the exact same ones were $66. And that is a perfect example of a museum gift shop. . .

It took me five minutes to walk back to the bus stop in the stifling heat--passing by the entrance to the zoo, which had misters--where there were about 30 people waiting, including too many babies. Luckily the bus showed up in less than two minutes--so this one WAS on schedule, hmmm--and I snagged a seat. And even though it was still a minibus, it was bigger than the morning's edition, with air conditioning, looked and acted like a real bus. And there was a serious chuckle all around when a tiny Asian girl got on--with her tremendously tall and skinny Anglo boyfriend, good for them--carrying a purse in the shape of a poodle! That is literally a doggie bag, and I'm sure all of you Paris Hilton wannabes want one now.

Despite all that entertainment, there was so much baby wailing I almost got off on Los Feliz to take that long bus to Pasadena. Instead I persevered on to downtown and got off a block after my usual Pershing Square/Central Library stop. By the way, I had no idea there was a currency exchange behind the Biltmore; huh. Walking on 6^th toward Pershing, I came across Showbiz Ribs, with the ad outside screaming "Starving Actor's Special!" Can't wait to bring my starving actor friends here. And it sounds perfect for a review, huh? Maybe later, because instead I went on to my favorite eatery of all time, Clifton's Cafeteria. . .

{For more photos, go to http://www.travbuddy.com/travel-blogs/39130/As-West-as-you-can-get-Autry-museum-Los-Angeles-6 }

{And for all of you idiots who are refusing to admit you were totally wrong about that "lipstick on a pig" thing, you don't need an apology, you need a life! What do you have against thinking?}

Currently reading : Spy Dust: Two Masters of Disguise Reveal the Tools and Operations That Helped Win the Cold War By Antonio Mendez

5 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

3:51 PM - Tourist at Home
Current mood: sleepy
Category: Music

Simonides

A FRIDAY NOT SO LONG AGO. . .

There is no better feeling--transportation-wise, anyway--than hopping on a waiting train that closes its doors and takes off as soon as you take a seat. Cold as anti-hell in there, though.

Before going on to the good stuff of the day, had to get off the train to drop off some library books. Despite it only being three blocks each way, the sun was fierce enough to leave a lasting impression; when I got back on the train, I coulda sworn on a stack of bibles that high that I smelled bacon. . .

There's an. . . um, lady sitting across from me on the train who's wearing more makeup than. . . I am at a loss for an appropriate simile; I couldn't even describe those heavy massacred eyeballs that seemed to be on me the whole time. She looked great below the neck, but seriously. . . well, I very much doubt she was a bit interested in me--maybe she was just practicing her moves, or whatever--but on the remote chance that she was dropping her metaphorical handkerchief in front of me. . . why is it the only women interested in me are those that are exactly not my type? {Don't you dare answer that!}

Waiting for the Wilshire bus at Western instead of Vermont was a mistake; bus came too full, when it finally did, after about a half hour wait. So instead I crossed over to catch the non-express, which was also a mistake. Sitting in the back across from me was an old guy singing, under the delusion anyone--in the world--wanted to hear it. Luckily Rush's La Villa Strangiato was playing its ten minute guitar love in my ears and I crank it. And the driver looked just like Ali Handal's {http://www.myspace.com/alihandal} husband, the magician known as Golden Hands. Which is a good thing for a driver to have. . . An express catches us at Fairfax, but we pass it right back at the next stop, until an old lady with a walker needs the elevator, so we're stuck there for a while. When she got off she wanted to cross right in front of the bus right away, even though it was red, so Goldenhands honks her awake. Another express passes us, then a third in Bev Hills, while we catch ALL the reds! A fourth express zooms by in the curlies after Santa Monica Blvd., but we still made it in only 45 minutes! Shocking.

Took a while to get my order at In-'n'-Out--Mmmm, Jessica the Burger Girl!--but ate pretty quickly, and it was a whole lot better than last time I was there. So that blood donation that netted me the gift cards paid off.

Cheap panel truck with number keypad for lock. . . that's suspicious, right?

The corner of Westwood and LeConte now has all-at-once pedestrian crossing, along with diagonal; nobody got the point, but it kept the 761 express from leaving so I could catch it in stride.

Passing over the freeway, the 405 south is stuck! At this time of day?

By now you must be wondering where I'm going. You know the old story: go to all these museums when you're traveling and totally ignore the hometown ones. Despite it being a few years, I still haven't been to the Getty since it was built.

Lemme tell ya right now, there's no way you should be paying $8 for parking. The bus leaves you right on Sepulveda where you simply cross the street, go under the tunnel, and turn left. Take the elevator or stairs and there's the tram {oops, wrote "tramp" accidentally}. The ride up to the museum is no big deal, other than it's really air-con freezing--cold as anti-double-hell--and slow, and it makes a funny sound when it brushes against overhanging leaves. There's a nice view of all the rich homes amidst the brown grass--brush clearing, anyone? Fires? Hello. The only greenery is what appears to be a grapeyard. To the west is the beautiful campus of Mt. St. Mary's, though since it's an all-girls' school I shall refrain from saying anything else about it.

Going up the steps and into the greeting area you're immediately struck by the architecture. For the most part it looks like concrete blocks, but suddenly there'll appear a beautiful curved balcony or a wall of black glass that'll look so fascinating. Plenty of fountains in the central area too, as well as umbrella-covered chairs to rest your weary feet, especially on burning days like today. I would have expected a little more coolness with the altitude, possibly some marine layer, but no, it was hotter here than in Westwood.

Right now the main guest exhibition is busts, which I find boring and hard to tell one from the other. The biggest permanent collection is French works--paintings, sculpture, even decorative--and that is not at all my style, preferring the Flemish and German schools. But that's not to say there weren't interesting exhibits, just not as many as I would have expected. Not as many as in other places, put it that way.

The one thing the Getty has going for it that most, if not all, others don't is the skylights, at least on the second floor. The lighting is so much more beautiful than any other place I've seen, with the exception of the lattice holding the skylights in place casting shadows. Stainless steel restrooms stalls. . .

In between all the buildings are lookouts, with more views of the hills across the 405 and more importantly the entire El Lay basin. Westward I could see Santa Monica and even caught some sailboats in my camera. To the east, amazingly visible even through the haze, were the buildings of downtown El Lay. The skyline of Century City looked amazingly close, as did UCLA--which I guess really is close, I could actually make out Royce and Bunche Halls easily without the camera--and the Veterans' grounds. And then you go to the next viewpoint and everything looks closer and better, especially on the southernmost point, just above the cacti display.

But in my opinion the best feature is the garden, which has the added benefit of being small, at least compared to the foot-wearying up and down of the Huntington, for example. Though you might be tired from walking past all the paintings here as well, so we'll call it a wash. I've been photographing flowers for a good 20 years and there are some specimens here that I'd never seen before. There's a lovely little hedge maze, but since it's in the water it's a complete waste of time. There's even a lawn, but I don't know if they let you picnic; they don't at the Huntington, despite the square miles of grass they have.

So yes, in my subjective viewpoint, I was disappointed with the artwork on display. LACMA, Huntington, and Norton Simon all have better collections for viewing. I don't know what the Getty has in reserve, but I would hope there's something in the bowels of these beautiful buildings that would spark my interest more than the current crop does. Perhaps there's better stuff at the old Getty Villa in Malibu, which I haven't been to since high school.

However, the architecture, gardens, and views of the El Lay basin merit more than a five star-rank. So I can certainly picture myself coming up here just for that, especially since it's free. And I would imagine at night--Fridays open till nine--checking out the garden and/or the views would be very romantic.

So I'll split the difference and give it a four. Though if I was still comparing, LACMA and Norton Simon would get a 5, with the Huntington earning a 6.

On the way back the bus shows up in five minutes, but then takes fifteen just to get to Sunset; not even stop and go, just stuck there. Even though the freeway was, if anything, worse, there was a huge double line on Sunset waiting to get on, so once we swung past that there was nothing but empty road in front of us. And as always it's a surprise to see Pauley Pavilion through the trees, which you can't really spot down low in a car.

Across Wilshire and catching that bus in stride, but standing, leaning against the thing behind the driver for a while. But at Bev Hills I move back and am stopped by a guy taking up whole row, but right at that moment two guys get up to leave and I get to sit for the rest of the ride! Yes! You gotta celebrate all the good things in life, they never last and there's never enough of them.

Jumped off at Western, and just missed the subway! Damn! Keep going to Vermont, fool!

Tallest Asian chick I've ever seen outside of a basketball or volleyball court on the subway, had to be at least 6'2. Sigh, I love tall girls. . .

A curious musical coincidence: Morningtime, by Sarah Dashew, and Morningside, by Sara Bareilles. If only their last names were similar. . .

The damned last bus came three minutes early and I just missed it! Half hour wait. If I count all the extra time I had to wait for buses this week. . . I don't know, I'd have a nap? When I finally did on the bus, the guy sitting next to me checks his watch and opens a beer! Shit, that stuff stinks at such close quarters! And he looked drunk enough to have his equilibrium spill the shit, no doubt on me. . .

8 DAYS A WEEK. . . ER, AGO

As I walk to the bus stop, two buses in a row from the other line, the one that's never on time--huh. I'm sure that's some kind of omen, but can't figure out how.

"This is the CHP. We have a female Asian in a red Honda heading west on Huntington Blvd. ON THE WRONG SIDE!" Um, does the fact the other cars are dodging you as they go past you nawt give you a clue? Or did you just assume everyone else was going the wrong way?

The streak continues--as soon as I sit on the subway, it takes off.

As usual I had my MP3 player set to alphabetical by song, and Raining Jane's Out Loud had just finished, so I imagined Shannon Hurley's Overboard was next.

Not so. To my amazement, the theme from Out of Africa, Cheryl B. Engelhardt's Out There, and Arden Kaywin's Over You showed up before, and I mighta missed another in there.

After a very satisfying meal at McD's--I know, I'm surprised too--walked along Crescent Heights north of Wilshire, where every corner had a turret. Funny to see these tree-lined streets and fancy buildings just a couple of blocks off one of the major streets of El Lay.

There's a new fun doorman at Molly Malone's, so much different than that punk hillbilly. Tonight's hand stamp is a spiral--maybe a conch?--sun; it has rays. The sound guy is a small hairy Brit I remember talking to before.

Opening is a band called Public Jones, with a front guy loaded with keys, guitar, laptop, loudspeaker, three boxes, backing tracks. . . and if you thought I was going to finish that with a pear tree, you overestimate my Christmas spirit. And because of all that equipment, the show started 15 minutes late, of course. This front man was way too dramatic, obviously thinking he was the next Freddie Mercury, which is not a good thing no matter what you think. Did I tell you that when I was on Zanzibar there was a plaque saying that was where he was born? Queen boy, not this guy. This guy also did not get that a voice is another instrument. The second song had a cool Arabian ending, but that's all I remember. Bass guy might have had an extra long guitar. The lead guitarist looked exactly like someone I went to junior high with; he was pretty good, but relied too much on effects from his huge board.

After that a bunch of airheads sat behind me and I had to listen to their drivel while waiting for the main show. Sound guy is breaking the drums down--to cut out vibrations? Shannon takes her shoes off, but later put them back .. playing.

Shannon Curtis {http://www.myspace.com/shannoncurtismusic} is definitely a YAY girl! As she proved many times. Amongst my favorite musicians for stage presence, she's more like Kat Parsons than my all-time fave, Genevieve, but just as fun. Her stories about where her ideas come from are classic.

Told Shannon that after a month of diligent research Before the Sun was my fave, closely followed by Boomerangs, but the fact is she doesn't have a bad song in her set or on her discs. You'd think there has to be at least one tune that didn't make the CDs that sucks a little, right? Just on average. . . {Well, you know how I feel about Paris. . .}

I'd been wanting to see Shannon live for so long I didn't even think during the first song.

She said this was a song about breaking up with your boyfriend, "So if you're in that situation, go get some whiskey in the other room." I don't think anyone did, but then I was in the front row.

This was about a friend of hers who has a lover from NY who comes to LA for biz, and always calls her to hook up. Then she added that a lot of people on the road know what she's talking about, so she figures this guy really gets around.

Explaining that she gets her news from the magazines at the supermarket checkout, specifically the Ralph's on Wilshire a few blocks from where we were, this song is about a Cosmo article. But that can't be all there is to the story, right? Nope: when she was playing in Boston and she rhetorically asked the question in the title, some chick in the audience, and I can so picture the accent, yelled, "Big tits!"

Just awesome, especially how it sounded so much like the recorded version, even though she was solo on stage. A lot of her piano composition is on the low side, both hands to stage right, though its mostly about her voice. And lyrics. To my amazement, no one in the entire room is talking!

Gershwin style. Afterward she went into this thing where she says everyone should yell "Woo-hoo!" instead of hello when they meet; she loves that. I may try that next time, if you think she might remember.

10,000 miles on the road and she's sick of herself; no one mentioned Cindy Alexander. All of those miles were done safely, but a cabbie in NY crashed into guy in front of her; after talking to the other driver, the cabbie came back to her and told her she'd have to get another cab, then said, with a dramatic pause, "You don't have to pay."

"This was a request, not sure if he's still here." That's some spotlight; I was in the front row!

"I'm on vacation as soon as this is over."

New song, didn't title.

There is nothing as surreal as hearing a Suthin' blonde saying, "Au revoir, y'all."

Considering what happened the last time I was at Molly's, I dashed out and got to the Wilshire bus stop in a hurry, noticing how lively the corner looked with all the neon at the defunct Johnnie's restaurant all lighted up. The sign at the top of the bus shelter said the next express would be there in nine minutes. . . and here it comes! Maybe nine seconds.

On the morning bus ride there had been this gal in jeans and tattoos and most noticeably a Cleopatra haircut, possibly wearing even more makeup than the famous Egyptian queen, and there she is again on the way home. Of course it was a total coincidence, never would the thought of her stalking me enter my mind. . .

Argh! The last bus didn't wait and I had to spend an hour in a dangerous neighborhood waiting for the next one, my only companion an old guy who works at jail whom I frequently see on the bus--let's just say he goes to Thailand all the time, if ya get my drift--and was soon joined by his crazy Vietnam buddy. . . the sanest person in the area was the guy's little beagle. Then the guy takes out a beer--shit! The fumes are bad enough, but if a cop comes by and sees me there in the same area. . . This is the second time in a row I've had shit getting home from Molly's. The only bright moment was lying on the bench and looking up, then looking down the street upside down--an interesting perspective.

At least it is now. . .

SATURDAY. . . THE ONE THAT JUST PASSED

Some coincidences are fun, some are scary: As I was looking at a website for tours in Charleston, South Carolina, I went over to check my e-mails and found one from their chamber of commerce. Spooky.

Waiting for the bus at Huntington, there's a fire truck doing laps; three times it u-turned in front of me. Must be wasting a lot of gas. I'm enjoying waiting for the bus here--there's a poster of the Little Mermaid.

For the first time I notice that the Huntington Blvd. median, at least in the San Marino area, had trees in a triangle pattern, though alternating as to which direction it points in. Seemingly for miles. . . I know, not that important, I just notice stuff, and can't help but feel bad when I don't notice, or haven't noticed for years. Like the really funny Hispanic/Asian airhead on the subway--so sad. . .

Okay, onward to today's trip. As far as science goes, I am an enthusiastic nincompoop, so I can enjoy shit like a trip to the Griffith Park Observatory without thinking about it much.

If my calculations are correct, I got out of the Vermont/Sunset subway station one minute before the bus was due. Since the odds of me being incorrect aren't worth mentioning, it must be said the bus was late. And it's not a bus, it's a trolley. . . which didn't say it was going to the Observatory {on the return trip it did, dammit! So I have no photographic evidence.} So waited a lot longer than I should have, plus being chased all around by smokers. There was one fun moment when a guy with an FBI cap, $tanford shirt, and unfathomable accent asked me for directions; almost sent him the wrong way just on principle, but I'm not made that way. . . sometimes to my regret.

Just as I was thinking I coulda walked to the observatory by now--you could see it from the bus stop, along with a billowing cloud of mostly white smoke behind it--the damned orange trolley finally showed up. Even then they took their time changing drivers, with an inspector sitting right behind her; that must make for some fun driving.

Kinda eerie going up Hillhurst in a vehicle, considering I've walked it countless times to get to da Doyby {Boston for "The Derby"}; might have seen Cindy Alexander on the corner there, and she does live around here. Takes forever to turn onto Los Feliz, then go up past countless big houses/mini-mansions, including one where there was filming going on in the front yard--the tourists loved that--then the Greek Theater--Gipsy Kings playing tonight--before going through the famous tunnel and up into the parking lot.

For those of you who have been to the observatory before, as in before the millions of dollars of remodeling, the first floor exhibits are exactly the same as before. Other than thinking the Tesla coil, which usta be my fave, looked like one of those huge chucks of meat from which you get carnitas, there was nothing new to this. Onward.

You have to be in explorer mode to go into the little room next to the passageway that leads to the theater, because that's the only way you'd know there were stairs. And even there next to the stairs was only a tiny sign saying, "More exhibits downstairs." Way to publicize, especially since that's where the new stuff is located. As you would expect, I found this a lot more interesting. First up is a looooong corridor featuring the history of the universe. There's a lot of things at the beginning, but after about twenty feet it's just a very long corridor filled with kids toys and jewelry--mostly stars and moon earrings--signifying how long the universe has been around. After you walk for a good minute or more you get near the end of the corridor and there's stuff happening again, around 9.1 billion years after the big bang, with titles like "Getting a Life," "Bright Young Stars," and "Rocking the Cradle." Best one: when animals came out of the sea and perched on land--"High Plains Drifters." {If you didn't get that, consult your spaghetti westerns.}

The rest of the exhibits were pretty basic, though of course I took a shot of the "wormhole stairway," and then past the gift shop and cafeteria you're outside and looking at the leftover morning fog/haze and hopefully, beyond that, some buildings. Also hopefully, I trust Douglas Adams' estate got something out of the food area being called "The Café at the End of the Universe."

From there on it was just scenery, a lot like I'd shot at Getty. I even went down the pretty steep path below the observatory, and luckily there were no snakes this time {don't ask}. I did not traverse the parking lot to get to the trail up to the Berlin Woods, although I haven't been up there for decades; it'd be hell coming down that thing if your fucked-up knee gets even more fucked-up.

Either it was hotter than expected or I've gotten unused to the weather; waiting for the bus back down was no picnic, though I did get some shots of a girl on the lawn drawing the observatory. Hope the ink or graphite didn't melt. And when the trolley did get there, the air con did nothing to soothe. Though I would be remiss if I did not point out how hot the driver was. . . Hey, had to, gotta be me. . .

This must be new, never noticed it on my Hillhurst walks: Lucifer's--damn fine pizza. With the F a pitchfork. Nice. Not at all nice was the place that was either called or claimed to be "The best fish taco in Ensenada!" Say who to what now? Do they actually think there's such a thing as a good fish taco? "We have the best nuclear waste in the entire world!" Triple-yuck! By the by, the trolley has an old-fashioned and really loud bell to ask to be let off. And somehow I scraped the back of right calf on a bench; you know who to sue if blood poisoning or tetanus or, hell, scurvy, sets in.

Hey, there's the Goldenhands driver again! The thinnest woman I've ever seen--and I hope to never see a guy like that--on the Sunset bus, though I'm guessing she'd rather be called small-boned. She wasn't anorexic, couldn't see any bones, she was just naturally skinny. As well as massively freckled, though with dark hair, so I guess she was black Irish. And to top it off, so to speak, the hair was cut unattractively short, as well as what in the Marines was called birth-control glasses. Her boyfriend, who was very redhead Irish, took the empty seat and read a mag while she stood before him, or rather danced before him in the aisle, twice stepping on my boot. I have to say I cannot remember ever seeing a less erotic groove in my life. Still, the pixie looked completely in charge, almost like he was an autistic boy in her care; the dynamics were interesting to watch. Then an Asian tourist with a huge 400mm lens came on and stepped on my other boot; he was small but still had a lot more weight than the mini-pixie. On the bright side, the mag the guy was reading was about college campuses, where u$c was named "Most superficial." And they wondered why I was laughing, though in retrospect the choice was pretty obvious. What other school can have a Wal-mart heiress be found paying someone off to do her work and go to her classes, and no one's surprised?

Yes, I was on my way to UCLA. . .

I am not going to describe a football scrimmage--the most entertaining sight was a baby with a sweatband on its thin wrist.

Missed two Sunset buses while waiting to cross at the new 5-way crosswalk at Westwood and LeConte, so walked on to Wilshire, where I missed another two buses, this time long expresses, while waiting to cross there. Would have been three, but the light finally caught one and I was able to hop aboard the almost-empty bus. Sometimes you're the windshield. . . Old black guy on bus who was listening to a cassette player! Really, I can't think of anything else to say about that. . .

The Big Boy's on Wilshire is gone! Did they at least save the statue?

Going up the stairs on the back end of Union Station, next to the fountain, a huge drop of what turned out to not be poo--hi Erin--smacked me in the head hard enough to hurt. Can't help but wonder exactly where it came from, but was afraid to look up.

Pretty chick on the bus. . . except for the tattoo on her chest. Bleh.

And just like last week after Shannon's concert, the final bus had already left and I had to waste an hour in a dangerous neighborhood for the next one. Should have kept going and walked it. . . I think every decision I made today was wrong, one of those days. . .

Though it was funny when two Mormons on bikes whistled by and then came right back because one of them had spotted me looking through the photos I'd taken and wanted to talk photography. It does make me wonder how they choose where to go on their missions--can you imagine one guy getting sent somewhere in the middle of Africa and another Los Angeles?. . . hmmm, I think I just insulted myself. . .

Man, I am so obsessed with the "Internet is for Porn" song from Avenue Q!

Currently reading : History of Modern Espionage By Allison Ind

3 Comments - 7 Kudos - Add Comment

7:10 PM - Death in China
Current mood: betrayed
Category: Life

I don't know if you've heard about this yet, but an American tourist was killed in China while visiting a famous tourism site. His wife was also attacked and still might die.

Maybe if it hadn't been during the Olympics, this wouldn't be a big news deal, but there's a famous saying that goes: it is easier to feel the death of one person you know than a million you don't.

Most of you know how much I love my alma mater, UCLA. What you probably don't know is that volleyball is my favorite sport, both to play and watch. I've met every volleyball player to play for UCLA in the past 20 years, and have become friends with some of them. One of them is Elizabeth "Wiz" Bachman, who was the face of the program for years. You often hear people described as "incredibly nice, one of those people for whom no one has a bad thing to say." That's Wiz. A truly amazing person.

It was her father, Todd Bachman, who was killed, her mom injured. He went to all of his daughter's college games, commuting from Minnesota to El Lay half the time, as well as with the national team. We'd met at UCLA games, but I mostly remember one time in Eugene, Oregon, when UCLA was playing against the Ducks. As avidly as we would watch the game, during time outs and switchovers he and his wife would talk about keeping in touch with former players, like Chaska Potter and her new music career with the band Raining Jane, and showing pictures of Kara Milling's wedding, and on and on. He would go to the snack bar and without asking bring you something. The last time I saw him was at the Athens Olympics, where I was down on the sideline taking photos and he walked by and we saw each other and smiled in recognition.

What's really amazing is watching the US Volleyball team playing on TV. Perhaps they weren't told about the news before the game, but if they were, it's pretty amazing that they could play. Wiz was on the '04 Athens Olympics team with more than half of the girls on today's team.

Well, I really don't know what else there is to say. It'd be pretty easy to put some blame on China for this, and I'm no fan of the country--usually I'd be there in Beijing shooting again, but passed. It's so cliché, but it's always true: don't take life--and the people you know and love--for granted.

7 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

7:56 PM - The original Genghis never had it this good. . . I’m guessing
Current mood: yawny
Category: yawny Music

David Gerrold

Jackhammers right outside my window at 7:40 this morning! On my sleep-in day! Someone's getting fertilizer in their coffee. . .

I told a girl "We could make a beautiful blog together. . ." {the rest of this thought has been edited because she might read this.}

Didja hear about the senators who had to make an emergency landing when something went wrong with the plane? They were on their way to DC to vote on an AIRLINE SAFETY BILL!

Gee, I wonder which way they're gonna vote. . .

For the second year in a row we're having a strange summer. Usually the beginning is cool, thanks to June gloom, then it heats up in July and really gets horrid in August and September. But last year it was deadly hot in June and mild the rest of the way, and so far it's looking that again this year.

Walking to the library, I stopped to watch a huge battle between moose and squirrel. . . I mean, a bird and a squirrel. Rodent was a wuss, the bird ran him off so easily. Also on this walk, I'm listening to music alphabetically, as always, and it starts on Rush's Bravado and finishes, after about an hour, at Raining Jane's Browntown. So a helluva lot of you are starting your song titles with BR.

While waiting for the bus, sitting on a bench, I had a flashback to the time after Katrina's last concert, when the bench I was sitting on rocked and rolled. Then I noticed it wasn't a flashback--hey, guess what, earthquake! The lamp posts were swaying a bit, but there was no snap or bang, just a rolling motion that seemed to keep going and going. Objectively about 30 seconds, felt like a lot more. A young Asian guy was walking by, texting and not noticing a damn thing, and seemed surprised when I asked him to confirm. He said he didn't feel it, then something happened and his eyes grew wide. "Dude, it is!"

There's a dog on the bus! Big black lab with woman in wheelchair, stands up every time someone comes aboard.

Walking behind a lovely redheaded braid. . . um. . . times like these I wish I had a small digital camera. . .

Waiting for bus back form the library, managed to sit on fire hydrant just at the right height, so I don't screw up my back so early in the morn. It was actually extremely comfortable. . . except for the screw digging into my thigh. That's why it's there, to discourage people from sitting on it.

High school groups heading out passing me, easy to notice they're mixed by race but not by gender. And no couples.

Same painted blonde latina driving, but no dog this time.

With all the earthquake coverage, the news did leave it for a few minutes when there was a brush fire in El Sereno. Later, on the bus downtown, we passed right by it, right where Huntington splits. Kinda spooky seeing all that yellow grass and then a big black spot like something on Darth Vader's head.

On the bus going down Wilshire, there was this cute gal on a bike, playing tag with the bus--when it stopped, she would zoom ahead, then we'd pass her, until the next stop. Approaching the museums we left her behind, but I got off at Fairfax and she didn't catch up. Oh well, her loss.

What the hell is tri-tip?

While eating at Du-Pars, at Farmer's Market, looking out the window I think I see my buddy Christiane walking by--she does live across the street, but neither Zaiden nor Sean with her. If I had a cell phone I woulda called her and said, "I see you!" Or "Marco!"

Wow, talk about a disappointing dinner. I could hear the staff arguing about what fried eggs are. And fried chicken? No, chicken-fried steak, idiot, don't ever get that wrong! At the entrance they now have a big screen showing a loop of publicity the restaurant's gotten, though I couldn't tell what most of the food was.

Old couple leaves, making me the only person in the place for a good 20 minutes. The guy who took my order wasn't around anymore, leaving only a Russian-sounding waitress who seemingly hours later brought me my steak. . . Dammit, I said no gravy! Argh! Well, at least the toast was excellent. When it finally came right, the steak is huge, but not nearly as good as Denny's or IHOP. The only positive moment was when I slurped loudly: she heard me, checked the order, asked me if I wanted more Sprite. Since that other waiter had taken my order. . . good waitress. None of this was her fault, but considering how much I'd enjoyed eating at this place before. . . eh.

Got on the Dash to go up Fairfax to Melrose, and the thing is freezing. Wasn't even that hot outside. And heavy traffic, took us three stoplights to get past CBS TV city.

Got to Genghis Cohen eventually, with about fifteen minutes to go before game time, though there's no way they started at seven. So I sat to listen to the sound check disguised as a jam. Andy Catt, our perennial bassist, started playing Rush's Natural Science, and I recognized it from the bass line only! Awesome. Even Andy was amazed, though also amused. Then he quizzed me on another, and it took me a while to recognize it as Vital Signs, though I was singing along. Then Shawn Cunnane {http://www.myspace.com/shawncunnane} started playing Just the two of Us. Jimi {http://www.myspace.com/mtnbch} joined in, then gilli moon {http://www.myspace.com/gillimoon} humming because she didn't know the words. Shawn had a mandolin with him, which he wields awesomely. Jimi was wearing teal canvas sneakers, which he probably borrowed from one of his daughters. Gilli was draped in a t-shirt that read "Future Mrs. Walker." I knew she was getting married, but I did not put it together that her fiancee was sitting at the other end of the stage, J. Walker. Bob Leggett {http://www.myspace.com/bobzpersonalpage} and Chelle, along with Jack "Par-3," show up just in time.

1 Tiny Diamonds

My fave of Gilli's songs, and this time I get to her show in time to hear it, unlike the last two. Jimi with background vocals, but couldn't hear him, so maybe he was just moving his lips. Bob orders some stinky food.

1 Infinite

In the round, which explains the repeat numbering. There's an accordion in front of Amy Raasch {http://www.myspace.com/amyraasch}. As is required by federal law, I have to give you the requisite quote every time I see one: A gentleman is one who knows how to play the accordion, but doesn't. Amy does some great a cappella parts in this song, nicely surrounded by Shawn's mandolin, and as she mentioned after, neither he nor Andy had ever heard the song. True jam artists.

1 God'll Be Around

Jimi was reciting his website, which is his name, of course--Jimi Yamagishi--only Amy thought she heard "jazzy," and she thought was very cool until told she got it wrong, which took a few minutes, at which time she said, "I'll shut up now." There's a line in there about parking in the handicapped zone, so of course I wondered if JJ had mentioned it--you can bet she'll mention it now! She's consistent like that. Shawn had another killer solo as everyone snapped fingers, mostly their own, to Jimi's guitar.

1 ?

J. Walker--or Mr. Gilli if you prefer--is a spoken word artist, and of course goes too fast for me to write down, so I'll have to skip this part. It was funny watching him standing about four inches away from Amy, who was watching him intently, rapt and maybe a little scared.

2 Be

Shawn. . . What else can I say about him? I'd previously stated I have five favorite guitarists--Mark Knopfler, Alex Lifeson, Ali Handal, Cole Coleman, Abby Kinkaid--but now I have six. Don't ya feel special, Shawn Cunnane? Lots of banter in this wonderful song between gilli and Andy, who of course has played it a ton of times with her; he even air-keyboarded on his bass.

2 Rooftops of Babylon

New song, about Iraq. Partly about one of the women in the Abu Garib scandal, though not the famous one, and partly about a friend of Amy's who is ½ Iraqi. She really made her guitar sound Arabic, as did Andy on the bass, somehow. And of course the mandolin has an easier time at that. Very nice song, though it did make me wonder if Jimi was going to follow with "Azerbaijan." Actually, when she'd been changing the tuning on her guitar before this song, Andy asked, "Zeppelin?" She said "I wish!" Now I know why.

2 ?

Jimi spoke about inspiration for songs, all leading up to his joke that this song was motivated by his dirty garage. The song does a similar trick, with him talking about the memories inherent in the yearbook he found in an old box, until he mentions the book wasn't his, but rather the homecoming queen's. During his finger-pickin' solo, aided by Shawn's mandolin again, Amy mentioned, "I thought you were going to be peeking through her window," while gilli sighed, "I'm worried about you, Jimi."

2 ?

As before, don't know how to title the rapid fire spoken word, though this one was interesting because Andy came forward with his bass to join gilli in some background vocals. . . should I call them that when there really weren't any of what you would call foreground vocals? Amy had to move out of the way so Andy could move up, but I spotted her in the back and can report she danced very sensuously to the cool groove the instrumentalists were banging out. What, I'm supposed to notice things like that!

3 Temperamental Angel

"This is my song for residuals; the rest is in the heart." Now we know who's paying for the wedding. Gilli stopped the song very quickly into it to talk about the ubiquitous earthquake. During the first chorus she stood up to play the keys, growling, "I wish I had my grand piano!" In a total role reversal of the clichés, it was bass player Andy who was rocking out and lead guitarist Sean who was basically standing still and gone away, as was Jimi. Another big groove which had the audience clapping, and despite what had to be a lack of rehearsal, the ending was perfectly tight. Gilli punctuated it with, "I feel so much better!"

3 Man of Steel

When first sitting down on the long benches which Adjoa later appropriately called pews, I'd been talking to a guy who looked like a bit of an escapee from the 80s, with the long big hair and blazer and such. At this point in the concert, Amy called him up to play guitar for her, and don't quote me on the spelling of his name: Gar Robinson? Okay, I'm pretty sure I got the last name right, and she mentioned he was building a recording studio in Joshua Tree, so I guess that's enough info to go google him and get the spelling right. I guess. . . Yawn. Anyhoo, Amy picked up the accordion for this, explaining why she needed a guitarist, and making me thankful it wasn't going to be accordion solo. The accordion, by the way, is named Rose, though with the white inlay I woulda gone with Pearl. But then, I'm silly. She mentioned she walked around the house with it so she didn't get lonely; I waited for her to add "naked," but no dice. False start because she was stepping on the guitar's cable, but they finally got it underway, a soft sweet song that you wouldn't expect at first blush from the title {I think I said blush there because of the Rose thing}. If I'd had the camera, I would have tried to shoot her hair falling on the accordion's keyboard, but her depressing the keys anyway.

3 ?

Jimi did a song, something about sunshine in his heart or some other organ, but by then I was too needy for some bathroom time and not really paying attention; I dashed off as soon as the song ended, since I really wasn't going to mind missing the next round of spoken word.

On the way back through the surprisingly small dining area, there was Marina V {http://www.myspace.com/marinav} and her partner in crime Nick Baker {http://www.myspace.com/nickbaker} polishing off their meal, so I sat with them a while, surprisingly not affected by the smells of the food. As usual with people you've known for a while, one topic led to another tangent and soon I was telling them about Azerbaijan being the most polluted spot on the planet, which led her to mention her grandfather had visited and talked about it, and so on. Then, because I was sitting there, I got one of the fortune cookies brought by an obviously attentive waiter: mine said "Fortune is smiling upon you," which Nick instantly pronounced, "Pretty lame." This will give Christiane a chance to remind us about her lame fortunes blog from some years ago, but in the meantime I was busy looking around in case one of the waitresses or someone else in there was named Fortune and was actually smiling at me.

When I got back to my previous empty pew, it was filled with young ladies who were obviously ignoring the presence of my drink and notepad and even Jimi's digital camera there in front of them. When I called the closest gal on it, she instantly got up like she'd been expecting to get kicked out--yeah, some people are that easy to read, and why didn't you scope out another place? But since I'm a softie I just told them to slide over and I sat at the end, squeezed up but not really feeling her, so to speak.

As I came in Andy was doing a big bass solo and hamming it up in typical Andy style. I'm sure I missed something because he was telling gilli she needed to see other people, and that he didn't mean to sleep with her sister. Hopefully this had to do with the song and not the presence of gilli's future husband a few feet to his left. He slapped the bass HARD a few times before giving way for Shawn's awesome solo. Amy mentioned at the end that as soon as she got home she was putting some black toast on the ceiling, and for once I'm glad I'm not in the loop on that one!

4 There Will Never Be

Amy again, saying this song was returning the vibe to love after gilli's breakup song. Strange sound on her guitar, almost mariachi, but her lyrics mentioned going to Mozambique and watching a lion eat a zebra. I don't remember safari animals in that country, but then I guess they don't need to show passports, so okay. Next came a lyric that where I totally heard "Like a slut" only to realize it was "like a slot. . machine." So in order to save anyone from embarrassment I shall repeat my latest mantra: Life's a bitch, because if it was a slut, it'd be easy. By the way, Amy sings a lot higher than she talks; it's a bit disconcerting.

4 Count Your Blessings

Needing to be quick and get off the stage, Jimi most likely only counted half of his blessings, or else there were less in his life than any of us realized. He claimed at one point he was gonna be a preacher--it's okay, you can laugh, I sure did--so this was his benediction, whatever that means. I just listened to Shawn's mandolin one more time.

Then came some admittedly cool rhymes from the future hubby in question, or else I want to use flowin'/Cohen in some future work. As well as Shawn Cunnane/insane!

Quick breakdown of the set, and instantly Adjoa {http://www.myspace.com/adjoaskinner} comes to a stop right in front of me; by now I had moved to the front row after some ladies left, so as not to be squished. She only smiled when I called her Princess, when she sat on the keyboard case to shut it tightly and ended up with her face a few inches from mine. This allowed me to see she did indeed look better than the last few times I've seen her, without the heavy makeup, wearing her hair in a softer style, and a nice grey dress with an admittedly silly big-buttoned vest over it. The high black pumps--oops, spelled that pimps at first--didn't quite fit the rest, but you just can't convince tall women that they should save their backs; I know a six-foot-six basketball center who insists on wearing stilettos, so I question that she ever attended a class at Vanderbilt.

"Are you as excited about this sound check as I?" Then, when everything was set up, she did some bumpers for a show. . . at Molly Malone's! "This is Adjoa Skinner and you're listening to. . ." etc. and at the end of each one the crowd cheered. Silly fun.

1 ?

She started in right away without mentioning the title, and I really couldn't tell ya from the lyrics, because I didn't hear much of them, thanks to a drum-heavy mix; I think the drummer only played cymbals--loudly--throughout this song. But Jimi was sitting next to me--after spilling my drink--and made no complaint, and he's a sound geek, so I didn't say anything. I think I heard "Playing by your own rules" in there, but don't lay any bets on it {I like messing with clichés!}. She's very playful with her eyes here; she'd always been a bit of a ham, while at other times shy on stage, but now she seemed to have hit a happy medium. By the way, her brother, whom I'd seen once during her show at Bubek's, was on electric guitar, making me wonder if she had to pay him. Though I would imagine Mom would have a fit had he insisted.

2 Fly to the Moon

Which I insist on calling the "heartbeat song," because she still pounds her chest during the chorus; I keep perversely hoping she does it too hard and has to stop for a moment to catch her breath. {As some of you who know me have found out, mostly to your detriment, I'm exceedingly, disgustingly honest and forthright. However, it is extremely hard to keep such a high moral compass 24/7, 365, so some days you have to take yourself out of the lineup for a day, rest up those ethical muscles. This was that moment. Carry on.} Once again the drummer was heavy on cymbals, and even though there was a moment when he played three of them in a row, I could not tell them apart sound wise. Though I did notice one of them had holes in it, making me wonder if Neil Peart had heard about this. As she switched to guitar after this song I realized she hadn't brought her djembe or other percussion; that might be a first.

3 ?

Since I'd been noticing it all night, I saw she wasn't using a pick here. She was getting really playful up there now, of course talking about the earthquake. Lincoln, the brother, looked completely different with long wavy hair; the other time he was practically shaved. But then he'd just come back from the Amazon, and you do not want those insects hiding in any part of you. Or perhaps they did and he had to shave off the nest, who knows.

4 Sunset

For once I recognized this song instantly, and got it right. Wow, she really brought it up after the first chorus, on what is usually a soft tune.

Next up was "Gritones and Teclas," which translates--as I told Marina, who knows Spanish but didn't get it--as "Screamers and Keys," as in piano keys. The next half hour got very religious as it was explained that these two gals worked--and apparently lived--at a skid row soup kitchen or such, and there were 11 people in the audience--including the row that took over mine--supporting their buddies. They sure were screamers--the audience, I mean--and one was a wolf howler, and he kept screaming and interrupting Marina when she was up, which was annoying and not really up to the standards of all the religious things they were talking about all night, but then I'm sure he has no idea what Jesus would do. Rant over.

There was another accordion, plus a banjo, that the two ladies played beside the guitar and keyboard. At one point Adjoa came over to move the mic stand closer to one of them, and I noticed she was as tall off the stage as the girls on. I spent most of the time taking half of the shots with Jimi's small digital camera, the good ones, I'm sure, so if you want photos to accompany this blog, JJ, ask him. The most exciting moment was the mic stand and mic crashing down at my feet.

Okay, time for Marina. Started with Adjoa, who has turned into a good MC, saying that Marina grew up in Russia and was always in a hurry. I didn't get it at first, but Marina booed it, especially when Adjoa started trying to blame her corniness on her father. Marina then explained that she was responsible for the little "houses" around the candles; at one of her concerts, someone's hair had caught on fire. I can totally picture it. . .

She tried to play Adjoa's guitar, but apparently the guitar's neck was too wide for her; Jimi explained it, so go ahead and ask him about it. So instead she called Nick up to play it while she stayed at the keys.

1 Killing My Dream

She was wearing a long, as in almost floor-length, black strapless dress, and sandals, perfect for this song. She made the mistake of asking if it was okay to play a sad song, setting that wolf off. Luckily Nick was wearing a black Marina V t-shirt, which she was able to mention. Nick also doesn't use a pick.

2 Sunshine Guaranteed

"The opposite of the first song," she grinned. She did a bit on how musicians are mostly neurotic, though I forgot where she went with it; she did not tell the story about how in Russia they seeded the clouds for parades, or how Shannon Hurley came up with the title. Nick did something on the guitar, then smiled over at Jimi.

3 Babushka

Song about her grandmother, don't ask me to tell ya the lyrics, since it's in Russian, but you can probably guess.

4 Wilhelmina

Yes, I've been wanting to hear this one, spooky as it is. And she was in the right dress for it. After the first chorus, it seemed like she forgot the lyrics. A cellphone beeped, and she milked it tremendously, with a long silence to make it even more spooky.

By that time I was music'ed out, and Jimi wanted to leave too. Just about everyone left, leaving Adjoa nonplussed as she took the stage again. A lot of goodbyes before getting to Jimi's car, where we listened to Genevieve's new CD--my first cover!--on the ride.

A last thought: Do you realize that for the price of buying every CD that all my myspace friends have put out, I could FINANCE a new CD? Think of that before you beg my to buy yours, please.

Currently reading : Black Satin By Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

6 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

2:57 PM - Top 15 places for live music in El Lay
Current mood: ashamed
Category: Music

{I just did this for a travel website, figured I'd throw it up here too. . . not throw it up like that. . .}

15. Malls

Plenty of places like The Grove and Century City mall have outdoor shows, especially in the summer--great for photographs. Get there early for a seat in the shade, though.

14. Borders

Any of them, as long as the air conditioning is on in the summer.

13. Da Derby

On the list simply because of the music. Hardly anywhere to sit and you can barely hear the music for all the talking; people seem to think this is a place to be seen at more than listen to the music. And the place is so old and probably not up to specs that any loud note will shake the rafters.

12. El Cid

Most nights it's a flamenco show at this old warhorse on Sunset east of the hospitals, but once in a while the musicians take over. Plenty of trees and outdoor patios from which to hear the music, if not see it.

11. Cat Club

Just about the only place I will go to on the Sunset Strip, right next to the Whiskey. For one thing, they don't force the artists to pay the place for the privilege of playing there, then passing the cost along to the fans. It's tiny and looks a little bit like a dive, but actually a cool place to hear indie music. Just beware of the sliding restroom doors!

10. Whittier College

The amphitheater, the chapel, the little room next to the cafeteria--you can hear some good live music almost anywhere on campus. And for Spring Sing you can catch an all-day show for free.

9. Rusty's Surf Shack (or Ranch, whatever)

Right on the Santa Monica pier, okay food. . . Oh yeah, really cute German blonde waitress. . . but I digress.

8. Westwood Brew Co.

Had anyone working here remembered me from my college days, it would not be on the list. There was a time when my photo was posted by the door, all due to rumors by jealous rivals, I assure you; there's only so much you can do to clear your name when vicious tongues wag all around you.

7. UCLA {DeNeve Plaza, Royce Hall, Schoenburg, Tennis Stadium}

Drops on the list because there's no place to sit at DeNeve other than on the grass borders, BEHIND the band. But Royce Hall is a famous place that has hosted people from Hilary Hahn to Steve Martin to Nelson Mandela. Schoenburg, being the music school's building, always has cheap or free shows given by the students. And the tennis stadium hosts Spring Sing, where Sara Bareilles and Raining Jane and Maroon 5 and Linkin Park and all the UCLA bands got their start, and every year there's a huge guest star, like Stevie Wonder.

6. Hollywood Bowl

The last two times I was at the Bowl was to see Hilary Hahn playing Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto and Rush on the Snakes and Arrows tour. Not that many places that can say that, as well as having a great fireworks show. And bring your own booze!

5. Genghis Cohen

Just about everyone I know and like in the music world has played here, but it loses points for the uncomfortable benches and for not realizing not everyone can stand the smell of this food. . .

4. Temple Bar

On Wilshire, 10 blocks from the ocean in Santa Monica. It's mostly a cave, but plenty of standing room--and a few tables and booths--to watch many different types of music, from rock to reggae and everything in between.

3. Molly Malone's

Except for one surly and overbearing doorman who luckily is hardly ever there--or maybe got fired, knock on concrete--it's all green heaven at this Irish bar one block north of Wilshire on Fairfax, just behind and to the west of LACMA and the Tar Pits. Caught plenty of great Irish acts here, but all kinds of bands play here, including many of my favorites.

2. Karma Coffeehouse

Half a block away from the 1, it's where the acts playing there go after their shows for tea or whatever soothes their throats. But Karma is a venue for music as well, with plenty of couches and chairs for the fans and a lot of art on the wall behind the stage; I'm told it's like the coffeehouse in Friends, but I wouldn't know. And if you want to know more about the artist--or get bored--there's wireless.

1. Hotel Café

As of this writing I have been to this place 57 times--James the doorman knows me--and the most famous name I've seen here is Rachael Yamagata. If you haven't heard of her already, Meiko is going to be a big star in the music biz, and I met her when she was a waitress here. {Update--saw Sara Bareilles play there last week!}

Currently listening : Backwards into Beauty By Karmina Release date: 2008-06-03

1 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

10:58 AM - WORLD’S MOST BEAUTIFUL DORK
Current mood: drained
Category: Music

Anonymous

The other day I was coming up the stairs to my apartment when I saw this squirrel squatting right in my path, and he wasn't moving. I go on the first step, he moved up one. I'd go up another step, so would he. He was as scared as he usually is, but apparently not enough to get out of the way! Okay then, you've been warned, little one; I stopped being solicitous of his feelings and marched up, and if he got a little heart attack it was his fault. Finally he went to the edge of the stairs and made a huge 10-foot leap to a tree and held on to the trunk, barely. Go back to your survivor instincts, little dude, and leave the attitude at home.

Two Saturdays Ago

Running late, so had to power-walk--I know, I look silly--to get to the bus, and just did--if I hadn't just made that green, I woulda missed it. So, was my running late an indication of a bad day, or was my lucking out with the green light a meaning for a good day? Right, neither. It was way too early to be so tired and sweaty, but the air con certainly helps, if the bus you're on has it!

As the bus is going down big bad Mission Road, heading west toward downtown, just before Lincoln Park we overtake a wedding party on horse and carriage; very fancy, but very dangerous. I would make the horse go a little faster than that. . .

Since I was on my way to see Lauren Barrett {http://www.myspace.com/laurenbarrett}, I was playing her stuff on the commute, and I got the whole subway car to myself, but it's Lauren's softest song, so there's no shouting along, and by the time the next song starts, we've got people.

"Murky Waters" has a shaker throughout--I wonder if she can play it alone while on the guitar, like with an ankle or headband. Of course I forgot to ask her.

Coming out of the subway I reached for my sunglasses and then made sure the bus pass didn't come along with them--it was gawn! Found it quickly, though, and some guy saw it and might have thought about grabbing it, or maybe didn't know it was a bus pass, but anyway, I still had two hours to get to Lauren's show at the Century City mall.

Which was necessary, because I had to wait for about half an hour, with some foreign gals whose accent I could never quite figure out. The trash collector guy parks right there in the bus stop, and there's a lot of trash, but he's just sitting there on his cell phone! Ten minutes later he finally picks up the trash and goes away, but the buses are coming in too full, and not at all according to the timetable given on the message board above the bus stop. Finally got on, and it only took thirty minutes to get to Santa Monica Blvd., but I had to stand the whole way, and got nowhere with the tourist gals; oh well.

Still got to the mall early, and the first act cancelled, so it was a long wait anyway. Luckily David Harbaugh, in charge of the whole thing, kept me entertained, or vice versa. There was this really built brunette--yes, got her photo!--who kept walking around, apparently came to see the first act but hanging around for Lauren. All over the food court, inside to the restaurants, but always popping into my vision. One time she walked right in front of me, turned alongside the tent where the performers sit, showed me her denim-covered ass, then came back my way; I'm sure I smiled. Don't know how pretty she is, with those big shades, but she certainly knew how to work what she had, but she was a bit blasé with her attitude, like she was playing with me. Or else it had nothing to do with me, of course, but our eyes met a few times; maybe she was teasing, but more likely is she just ignored me the whole time.

Lauren finally shows up, in a baggy dress and big hoops on her ears, and finally there was some music.

Yeah, go ahead and start with my favorite, whatever. Having seen her in concert before and having heard this song a good five times on the way, I knew her emotional spots, and got them, as you can see.

Yes, the Eagles. She only played the first ..s before moving to guitar.

Announced she was getting married in two months--she really tried not to flash the ring around, but I still got a shot of it--and this song is about that: jazzy, playful. But then you get to a later verse and find out it's about golf! Tiger's in the lyrics! Argh! For the first time I notice she has green eyes; she claimed later it was because she'd never seen them outside in the sunlight. Sure, why not?

I think she's happy with the size of that ring. . .

Another emotional song, she's easy to shoot! And not because her dress was blowing up.

"Am I revealing myself?" Me: "Not yet." "And he's got a camera!" Giggle.

Written with guys in Nashville, so it definitely sounds country

Troop of kids marches by, one little girl asks, "Why does it have to be the last?" "Because there's someone else playing after me!" "Okay. . ." I don't remember this one, but I like it. {Ha, It's not on the CDs!}

Dave hard at work. . .

It was a lot easier walking on the west side of SM, along the golf course, in the shade, though I wish I could photo that building on the east side with the shimmering dots. Let the regular bus pass by, looked like no seats available, then two full expresses that didn't even stop, before getting a great seat on the one right behind them. The driver stopped right in front of me so I could be first. So patience IS it's own virtue.

At 7P at Union Station, the sun is blasting through the west doors and especially off the pavement as I go to the restroom, and right in my eyes on the train. Can imagine how anyone can drive in that direction and see a damned thing, or even an undamned one. On the escalator was this big guy with the tiniest bag ever,