Not Arizona, Not Maine

I was driving up La Brea and stopped at a light. There was a Trader Joe's on my left and I stared at the weather vane. A bear was attacking a lion on the east/west axis. The wind shifted and the scene disappeared. The light changed. I continued north.

I'd heard about an old vaudevillian named Ben Blue who'd also had some success in the movies and later on in television. He was able to travel during the Depression, and made a trip to Norway in nineteen thirty-four. He was taken by the culture and history and in particular the sod houses. When he returned to California he decided to build himself one, in Encino. The roof is covered with seven inches of sod, and the exterior is clad in simple slate flags. The interior is almost completely constructed of pine and Blue had traditional Norwegian murals painted throughout. He lived there with his wife until he died in nineteen seventy-five.

I sat in traffic going up the hill in Laurel Canyon and peeked up at the houses ascending the steep grade on either side of me. There aren't many really impressive houses on such a busy street, you have to go looking for them in the winding cul-de-sacs. The facades are often deceiving in the hills, though: most are squat and narrow. It's only when you enter that the houses open and sprawl for seeming acres.

I was looking for an immediately impressive house. Driving along the wide avenues of the Valley I thought about a movie I'd seen about Los Angeles. One line had stayed with me. "Roland thinks L.A. is for the brain dead. He says if the sprinklers stopped you'd have a desert. But I think, I don't know. It's not what I expected. It's where they've taken the desert and turned it into their dreams. I think it's also a place of secrets: secret houses, lives, pleasures. And no one is looking for verification that what they're doing is okay."

I found the address in Encino and parked across the street. A tall hedge surrounds the property. I hesitated going in. I lit a cigarette and looked across the street. It only occurred to me after a moment that the grass hill I was staring at above the hedge line had an extraordinarily straight edge and a chimney coming out its middle. I moved over a few yards and was able to see a section of the house set back behind a circular drive. I walked halfway across the empty street and stopped again.

I realized that Steve Martin was right. This city is a place of secrets. Ben Blue was dead, but now mowing a sod roof was someone else's idyll, and without being invited I'd never want to see the Norwegian murals.

Mid-Wilshire - 2/17/07

Scientific American

I was at the Farmer's Market on Fairfax eating at Du-Par's. They've only recently re-opened and I wanted a tuna melt. It was terrible. The people around me were terrible. I wanted a cigarette when I left, but restaurants don't give out matches anymore. Du-Par's is indicative of the entire Market which has been surrounded by an outdoor mall named The Grove. There is a certain variety of person who shops at this mall and he can be found anywhere in the country, from Mizner Plaza in Fort Lauderdale to the Westwood in Seattle. Du-Par's has died and business has never been better. The Farmer's Market is a left-over, the city has grown around it. When I first started eating at Du-Par's the Market was stranded in the middle of an enormous parking lot belonging to CBS. You could leave the Market and smoke a cigarette leaning on your car and gaze at the massive studios emblazoned with the unblinking eye.

I went for a walk. Walking is surreal in Los Angeles. Since one drives almost everywhere distance is measured only in time which is relative, depending on traffic, weather, and time of day. I walked up Fairfax to Beverly and thought about cigarettes, fruit salad, and television. The noise was surprising, another consideration not noticed while driving.

I looked into the movie theater at the corner and had seen every offering, it's a second run place. I'd never walked down Beverly and felt like seeing what it had to offer. There is a western apparel shack, really, a shack, called Kowboyz which has an amazing selection of boots, snap button shirts, and leather jackets. I'd never noticed the store before.

I was struck by a store named Empiric at 7918 Beverly. It sells home furnishings. An all encompassing store, Empiric offers couches, lighting, sand timers, urns, earth map globes, scientific measuring equipment, and vintage printed images of Los Angeles. I'd never noticed this store, either. Empiric opened six years ago selling only interesting-looking vintage laboratory equipment meant for display in the home. It was only in the past few years that more traditional items were added. There has recently been a demand for taxidermy, so vintage antlers and squirrels under glass domes have appeared. Empiric embodies a trend I've seen develop in this city which strikes a chord in me, but am afraid to name it. It's a mixture of modern urban design with the almost Victorian flavor of a cabinet of natural curiosities.

I left and turned right onto Fairfax. I bought a lighter at a gas station and smoked a cigarette on my way back to the CBS parking lot. I only had twenty minutes left on my validated parking.

Redondo Beach - 2/6/07