Genius Loci: My L.A.

--The LMU Bluff in mid afternoon. Cliche, yes, but I am a nostalgic senior about to graduate, and our campus is undeniably breathtaking. (Also, I have my own personal reasons why this view is special to me).

--LACMA Light Exhibit, a beautiful classic.

--Mysterious, Unexpected and Eclectic Los Angeles street art.

--Veteran's Parkway, Manhattan Beach, CA.

--5700 Wilshire Boulevard. Home of Us Weekly, Wenner Media, E!, and countless hurried businessmen and women with large Starbucks coffees.

Photo Credit: Caroline Queen

Greystone Mansion

 A FEW weeks ago, I was headed to a party in the Hollywood area. After doing my usual pre- Los Angeles driving rituals, such as making sure I had enough good songs to get through the drive, filling up on gas in case I ran out on the free way, programming my iPhone GPS, and leaving about an hour earlier than necessary in case of excessive traffic, I was on my way to what I thought was Greystone Manor, the night club located on La Cienega. However, it wasn’t until I entered an upscale Beverly Hills neighborhood with old-fashioned mansions lining the streets that I realized I was in the wrong place. Obviously, I should have realized this sooner, but I thought, “This is L.A. Maybe part of the appeal of this apparently very popular night club is that it’s hidden away in Hollywood Hills…” No. I soon discovered that I was actually at Greystone Mansion, a famous and historical movie set and park. As we discuss frequently in class, many times the “hidden gems” of Los Angeles are found my accident, so maybe it was not a coincidence that I should end up here, in light of my “Telling L.A.’s Story” class. The next day, I decided to research this mansion and find out more about it. What is it? What’s its story? Why is it tucked away in a neighborhood? How interesting would it be to live next door to a historical mansion?

In 1892, Edward Lawrence Doheny, a successful oil migrant, discovered one of the first oil wells in Los Angeles. (L.A. Trivia: Oil gushers soon became part of the landscape of Los Angeles). In 1926, he gave his son and daughter-in-law a piece of land where the mansion was built. It soon became “the largest undertaking of a family estate in the city of Beverly Hills.” The story gets interesting and twisted when, after moving into the mansion in 1928, Doheny’s son was found in the mansion “in a murder suicide with his long time trusted family assistant” at the tender age of 36, just four months after moving in. (Upon reading this, I realized why, when I started typing Greystone Mansion into Google search, one of the automatic engines that came up was “Is Greystone Mansion haunted?”

Now, Greystone is owned by the city of Beverly Hills and is famous for being the set of movies and commercials, as well as existing solely as a historical piece of land and park for people to enjoy. According to “Friends of Greystone,” a website of people dedicated to preserving and taking care of this mansion:

“Today, Greystone serves as the setting for a myriad of cultural and educational activities. Movies, commercials, T.V. shows and photo shoots are a major source of revenue for the upkeep of Greystone as are the exclusive weddings and reception sites located throughout the grounds. Most of all, Greystone provides the visitor with the opportunity for a quiet moment in a pastoral park, offering sweeping panoramic views of the city below, moments away from a busy urban environment.”

--www.greystonemansion.org

The idea of Greystone existing as a movie set reminded me of some of our class discussions, namely Chapter four of “The History of Forgetting,” entitled “Movie Locations.” In this chapter, the author discusses Los Angeles as a movie set for movies such as Heat, and one particular quote stands out to me:

“The locations for crimes are traditional as well. Murders look best on the western fringes of downtown….The flatlands are lit for violence near downtown. The safe houses are always up on hills, facing the lights of Hollywood.”

“Murders look best” in a specific location of Los Angeles reminds me particularly that in many ways, Los Angeles itself IS a movie set, a playground, a site.

This lead me to research what movies have been filmed in part at Greystone Mansion or on its ground, and the results were outstanding. Dozens upon dozens of major films have scenes filmed here, including Spiderman, X-Men, What Women Want, Indecent Proposal, Town and Country, Gilmore Girls, and more. (For a complete list, visit: http://www.seeing-stars.com/live/Greystone.shtml)

But despite all of this, the website featured above claims that not too many people know about Greyston Mansion, and it is “one of L.A.’s better kept secrets.”

--Photo Credit: greystonemansion.org

"L.A. Just Won't Be Boxed In" --Race in L.A. Mag, April 2012

WHILE PURSUING, the selection of candy and magazines by the checkout counter at Bristol Farms, I happened to stumble upon an issue of Los Angeles Magazine with a cover that relates to many of our class discussions on the diversity of L.A., as well as our specific discussion of the riot and how race plays into Los Angeles identity, or identity in general. Obviously, from the cover picture, it's easy to see why this cover stands out, but what I should mention is that in addition to this particular cover, there were a few other covers on the same magazine issue, but with different people and writing; "I am Latino. I am White. I am L.A. or I am Korean. I am White. I Am L.A." to name a few. Below this, the cover reads, "20 years after the riots, the city has a different complexion. So what does race mean anymore? Everything." Inside, the issue features a series of different essays on the subject of "Race in L.A., 20 years after [the riots.]

The introduction reads, "Ours is a city of many voices and cultures, of disparate backgrounds and conflicting interests. Twenty years ago this month, those fault lines ruptured. Whether you call it an uprising, a riot, or a civil unrest, what happened on April 29, 1992, changed Los Angeles and the people in it, prompting Rodney King to famously ask, "Can we all get along?" We still want the answer to be yes. But it's complicated."

From there, there are eight essays by people of different races who were alive during the riots, serving as a sort of "where are they now?" series of portraits. The people who were interviewed and wrote these short essays provide commentary and stories that are thought-provoking and powerful, and made me feel downright embarrassed, if not overwhelmingly angered at the Los Angeles police force, who seemed to at the time turn a blind eye to what was going on in terms of violence and looting, especially when it came to people of other races. It reminded me of the article we read on the zoot suit riots and our corresponding class discussion-- why didn't the police do anything? More importantly, why did they go so far as to feed into the violence, not only turning a blind eye and ignoring what was going on around them, but directly participating by brutalizing innocent people? Obviously, we have learned that Los Angeles used to be a very dangerous place, but to read these accounts from "survivors" or "veterans" so to speak during the time made the 1992 riot and the racial inequality much more real and personal.

Below are of the most powerful excerpts from the different profiles in this issue of Los Angeles magazine:

"On Venice Boulevard about 50 looters had smashed into a Kim's TV warehouse. As we were taking merchandise from the looters, two carloads of men with rifles arrived across the street and began shooting. I yelled for help to a police car down the street, but it kept going. And then I was hit--on my thigh and my ankle. Blood was coming out of me like a faucet. Because of the barricades, it took five hours to reach Hollywood Presbyterian. In the hospital I was upset. Korean Americans had paid their taxes but received no protection from the U.S. government in the rioting. In Korea the country is the parent. It takes care of you. But in Los Angeles in 1992, our parent, the U.S., did not protect us. We had to do it ourselves."-- In-Ha Cho, the Survivor

"In 1985, I got a job working as an LAPD operator. Typically I get at least 100 calls a shift, but I don't think the light ever went out that day- a few hundred calls just to me, at 6am to 6pm. Calls were, "my house is on fire," "I've heard someone is going to blow up this building," "this group is on the way down from the north to start a revolution." I'd grown up in Leimert Park in the 1970s. I used to ride my bike everywhere. There were Irish households, Japanese families, a Chinese-owned grocery store called the Blue Star. Everybody got along...When I called my dad, he said, "They burned the Blue Star down." The black-owned barbershop next door was gone. All the buildings I remember growing up with--gone." --Rhonda Mitchell, the 911 Operator

"At Newton station I was shocked by the guys I worked with, guys with zero respect for people we policed, guys who have since been retired or fired. I'd apologize to someone on the street or offer help, and another officer would say, 'Why do you talk to them like that? These aren't your friends or neighbors. These are just Newtonites.'" -Commander Andrew Smith, The Cop

"We had a brand-new constituent services center there, the first achievement I had as a new city council member. That business core--all 22 structures--was completely destroyed. It seemed clear to me that Los Angeles was broken." --L.A. County Supervisor, Mark Ridley-Thomas, the Politician.

"Blood was shooting ten inches out of Denny's mouth...I saw an LAPD cruiser coming toward us, so I climbed onto the hood of the truck, figuring if they saw me, we'd get help. Well, two officers looked straight at me and kept going. [When] I went home, I stood outside my grocery store, and it was on fire. People were running and robbing--it was a free-for-all. I'm thinking, 'This is Los Angeles. This cannot be happening.'" --Titus Murphy, the Good Samaritan.

Besides these profiles, each which uniquely paint a slightly different view of the riots, although a unified one that is equally violent and terrifying, my other favorite part of this race feature is the article entitled "Check One Please," which shows pictures of different people who have extremely diverse racial profiles. Just an example, one young man has a mother who is "Irish-Scottish-Welsh" and a father who is "African American-French Creole," and another woman has a mother who is Amerasian-Japanese and a father who is Danish. These people then provide short accounts on what it was like growing up in Los Angeles being such a unique and diverse mixture of races, and the article says "Born into mixed-race families the year the city burned, these young Angelenos are proof that L.A. just won't be boxed in."

"L.A. just won't be boxed in." I love that because it's refreshingly true. People always want to fit others into certain categories or "boxes" in order to better understand them and feel familiar with who they are, to feel like they have everything all "figured out," but the truth is that, race aside, people are too unique to be defined in such limited terms.

If you haven't already, I highly recommend picking up a copy of this issue of L.A. mag and reading at least a few of these articles, as they are in combination about twenty pages long. (I would offer to lend my copy, but as someone who aspires to write for a print magazine, I support people buying their own print copies instead of borrowing or reading them online!) Many of the articles are not only interesting, but relate directly to some of our readings--"Of Cholos and Surfers" comes to mind because many of them have to do with identity, as well as the zoot suit riot readings because of racial issues and police brutality, and of course, obviously the videos of the riots.

-- Caroline Queen

Thoughts on Falling Down

"DeFens" Taking Back L.A. from Falling Down (1993)

THERE IS something strange, exciting, yet almost eerie about watching a movie and realizing that the territory it is being filmed looks very familiar. So familiar, in fact, that it's almost as though you've been there yourself. You squint, question, and the words "wait a minute..." flash in your mind, until you realize you have been there yourself.

Films have always served as a sort of entertainment-oriented escape from everyday life, an insider's peek into someone else's complicated and problem-ridden world, even if this world is fabricated. But when you watch a movie or television show and you realize that you have walked along the same street that they are filming, bought groceries at the particular bodega where your favorite actor is doing the same on the screen, it ruins the illusion somewhat.

I experienced a bit of this feeling while watching Falling Down because parts of the movie were so familiar to me. I've been to Venice and seen the street vendors with their strange merchandise, the overwhelming crowds, the reckless skateboarders, and the constant hustle and bustle of it all. When Bill, played by Michael Douglas,called his wife from Venice, the scene around him was all too familiar. When he was cornered by the detective at the end of the movie, I recognized the pier where he took his last fictional breaths before plummeting into the ocean all too well, as I have probably swam in it.

I enjoyed Falling Down for many reasons. One, it's an exciting and fast-paced film in general, but more importantly, parts of the film really resonated with me. I found myself feeling compassion for Bill, despite the fact that he was clearly a rageaholic psychopath.

While I would never pull out a machine gun from my duffel-bag-assortment of weapons to threaten those who make my path through a typical day in Los Angeles more than frustrating, I do understand the annoyances presented to Bill in the film, which I think is why it is such an important film about Los Angeles.

Yes, his response is crazy which makes it an entertaining film, but who hasn't become so frustrated in Los Angeles traffic that they feel like they could scream? Why do breakfast places only serve breakfast until 11:30 and refuse to serve you anything breakfast related even a minute after, when you know there is a plethora of cold Egg McMuffins waiting to be thrown away in the back of the store? Why are people generally so rude and territorial when it comes to certain places, and why do some shop keepers treat you like you are less than human? Why is there seemingly unnecessary roadwork going on all the time in Los Angeles, and why do the workers choose to complete it during the most inopportune times, such as during rush hour to and from work?

The last question really relates to one of my annoyances about L.A. Road work on La Cienega, which has been going on for at least a month and a half, makes an otherwise forty five minute commute to work an hour and a half long. As I inch by all of the orange signs and workers in their customary uniformed outfits, I strain my eyes to see what they are trying to fix. What is wrong with the road? is there anything wrong with the road at all? As Bill says to the construction workers in the movie, "What are you trying to fix? The road was fine yesterday."

Although Falling Down is obviously much darker, the little anecdotal annoyances and toils of life in Los Angeles reminded me of another movie that pokes fun at Los Angeles life, but in a much more humorous way--L.A. Story, starring Steve Martin.

I watched this movie with my family during my senior year before coming to L.A. for college, and one of the reasons I remember it so clearly is because each family member, at one point or another in the film, felt the need to nudge me and say, "That is so L.A.! That is what you're going to deal with when you go there," with a smile and a chuckle.

Really, though, how would they know this? Had they been to L.A.? Most of them had not. They were just basing these assumptions off of stereotypes they have seen in the media. All of this makes me wonder why Los Angeles is one of the places that is the most stereotyped, in the media, as well as in the minds of people who have never been there. I think that there will always be a sort of fascination with Los Angeles, whether it's out of disgust, admiration, or just ignorance, because of it's diversity and the fact that it exists as a melting pot of different cultures, things that people from other places have never experienced and aren't used to, like we talk about in class. I will end with some quotes from L.A. story, the first of which I remember my family members thought was hilarious and thought I would have to deal with every time I bought coffee (for the record, I don't, and people in Austin or anywhere else can be just as humorously picky about their particular coffee orders):

Tom: I'll have a decaf coffee.
Trudi: I'll have a decaf espresso.
Morris Frost: I'll have a double decaf cappuccino.
Ted: Give me decaffeinated coffee ice cream.
Harris: I'll have a half double decaffeinated half-caf, with a twist of lemon.
Trudi: I'll have a twist of lemon.
Tom: I'll have a twist of lemon.
Morris Frost: I'll have a twist of lemonl
Cynthia: I'll have a twist of lemon.

And, in conjunction with mine (and Bill's) thoughts on Los Angeles roads:

Trudi: He said it's the first day of spring.Harris: Oh shit! Open season on the L.A. freeway!

-- Caroline Queen

image via ifdb

Dogtown and Z-Boys: L.A. Then and Now

"There is a place where American manifest destiny collides into the Pacific Ocean. This is Dogtown"

--Dogtown and Z-Boys

DURING class last week, I jotted down some ideas for blog inspiration while our speaker, Mike the Poet,  recited his poems by heart while occasionally inserting Los Angeles tidbits and suggestions for our reading and viewing. Among these ideas were the words and phrases, "Venice," "Cold cases/unsolved mysteries," "The Black Dahlia," "Noir," "Gary Phillips," "Dave Eggers," and "Dogtown and Z-Boys." Inspired by my list, I decided to watch Dogtown and Z-Boys, a documentary about skateboarding and surfing in Los Angeles in the 1970s. Although, as a native Texan, I have never surfed or skateboarded, I found the documentary very interesting, especially because of the illustrations and images it provided of old Los Angeles. I have always thought that in order to understand a place better, you must first understand it's history, and Z-Boys offered a glimpse of what Los Angeles was like back in the 1970s through telling the story of the Zephyr skate team and how they helped shape modern skateboarding into what it is today.

I find it hard to summarize the documentary because it presented so many personal stories and interviews from the Zephyr skate team, but in a nutshell, it discussed how skateboarding and surfing have come to be what they are today through the influence of a group of Angeleno kids who simply loved to surf, skate, and have fun doing so, yet accidentally and inadvertently created a cultural phenomenon, transforming skateboarding to something that was considered an insignificant hobby to a sport, lifestyle, and attitude.

One of the most surprising aspects of the documentary was the discussion of the image surfing used to have. Now, especially in California, surfing is a popular and arguably "cool" thing to do. It requires talent, money, and often a proximity to the beach. Most kids who live near the beach are often skilled in surfing or have at least tried it. The kids I babysit, who live in Manhattan Beach, often go to the beach to surf on weekday mornings for school, as it is considered a sport for Physical Education class. However, surfing in 1971-72 was completely different and was considered an outcast sport. Surfing was not something you did to build your self-esteem or gain popularity, but was rather an antisocial activity done by kids who were considered drop outs. From surfing, skateboarding became popular because when the waves died down by 10am, Angeleno kids needed another hobby, and so they glued wheels from hand-me-down roller skates to pieces of plywood and practiced the surfing tricks they learned in the water on land, using empty swimming pools as their creative canvases.

The most astonishing and inspiring aspect of the documentary was the general message that these kids weren't trying to create a phenomenon through their skating--they just wanted to be kids, having fun and doing what they loved, and this genuine passion and talent for the sport manifested itself into an entire movement, as skateboarding became so popular that skateboarding magazines were the best sellers at gas stations. The kids who decided to take advantage of their new found fame and market themselves traveled across the country and became famous everywhere, even abroad.

As for what I learned about California, I jotted down and copied below some notable quotes that reflect how Los Angeles used to be. The vintage black and white pictures and videos of the Zephyr team skateboarding in empty pools, (drained due to a serious drought at the time), and surfing on crowded beaches offered a view into Los Angeles circa 1970.

A quote from the film on the striking differences between parts of Los Angeles that we have talked about in class and that still exists today:

"There is an invisible line of demarcation from the North side of Santa Monica and the South side. On one side, there are trophy houses with a lot of money, and the other side isn't like that at all. There is a visible financial line: If you lived above Wilshire you had money, if you lived below Wilshire, you wanted their money."

I am not sure where exactly these visible financial lines exist today, but judging from what I have seen of Los Angeles and how it can go from astonishingly wealthy to extremely run-down in a matter of minutes, I have no doubt that many of these lines are still present today. There isn't just one line of demarcation, but multiple lines, and through my adventures exploring new parts of L.A., I hope to find them.

Link to watch the entire documentary (in 8 parts) online: http://www.ovguide.com/dogtown-and-z-boys-9202a8c04000641f80000000002fc241

--Caroline Queen

--Photo Credit: Amazon.com

Getting Lost at the Grove's Farmers Market

I'VE BEEN to the Grove in Los Angeles before, a long time ago when I was a freshman. It's an upscale outdoor shopping center that has events every week and supposedly lights up at night, literally, with thousands of glowing lights--or maybe that is just at Christmastime. In short, it's a place of bustling activity, located in an area that is anything but typical--surrounding it is Wilshire boulevard on one side, where Museum Square and office buildings such as the one containing Wenner media, which I have mentioned before. If you look a little ways down the corner that the Grove shops are located on, you will see beautiful apartment buildings that are characterized by palm trees and women entering them with big sunglasses and shopping bags. If you drive three minutes to the left, you will see an enormous 99 Cent Store that boasts to be the "official headquarters" of whatever holiday is around the corner, (right now it's "Your official Easter headquarters"). If you inch your way towards the highway through traffic lights that seem unnecessary, as you stop every few minutes, you will end up in Little Ethiopia, which from what I saw basically consists of a few run down apartments with the windows unhinged, as well as a dozen Ethiopian restaurants.

Although I have explored the Grove before, I've never been to its Farmer's Market, though I heard great things about this wonderful place where you can get any kind of food imaginable, for a steep price. The Farmer's Market at the Grove is where I got lost.

Upon first glance, the market doesn't seem like anything. A Pinkberry and a Starbucks line the dark entrance to a little pathway that identifies itself as "Farmer's Market" with a vintage sign. I was surprised that a Starbucks and Pinkberry would even be there because of their omnipresence and the fact that they are the last thing I think of when I think of Farmer's Markets.

When I first walked in, I felt disoriented. Not because of the crowds, (it was surprisingly empty), but because of all of the different things that existed in one place. I didn't know where to start, and I felt actually lost wandering around the different shops, as if I didn't belong at all and as though it was so obvious I was an outsider who didn't know what she was doing. Maybe it's my imagination, but I felt like the shop owners and patrons caught on to my naivety and being actually lost. People were there for a purpose and knew exactly what they were doing, whether it was the couple placing a specific order for sausage at the meat stand, or the mother and daughter enjoying an early dinner at the French Bistro near the entrance.

I recorded some words that described what I saw and felt upon first walking in and that I knew would jog my memory for writing about my experience later: spices, Mexican, clean soap, lavender, things burning, BBQ, more soap, stickers, baked goods, hot sauce, Little Spain.

Now, looking back on my experience, I realize what all these words mean to me and represent about my experience exploring and getting lost in the Farmer's Market. Just as Los Angeles, can be described as a melting pot for different cultures, people, and experiences, the Farmer's Market is a melting pot for not only different restaurants and cuisines, but different cultures entirely, as well as different ideas.

Is there anywhere else in the world where you can buy stickers, hot sauce, soap, flavored pasta, BBQ, meat, baked goods, smoothies, Mexican food, Italian food, American food, coffee, fruit, nuts, vegetables, beer, and vintage goods, all in the same small confined vicinity? If there is, I would like to know where, and I would bet that it's somewhere else in Los Angeles.

Side note, I will explore Little Ethiopia next.

--Photos Credit: Pacificlistings.com

(Almost) Accidental L.A. Tourists: LACMA Exhibit

MY INTERNSHIP is located on Wilshire Boulevard, so I am no stranger to the unique and iconic light structure that is located at LACMA. How many times have I driven by the outdoor artwork, entitled "Urban Light" and created by Chris Burden in 2008 without giving it a second glance or stopping my car for even a moment to be enveloped in the perfectly and almost frighteningly symmetrical structure of vintage lamp posts? The answer is, approximately every Monday and Friday since last September. The sad thing is that I wasn't even the one to suggest stopping and viewing it two Thursday nights ago on the way home with two of my friends from an art exhibit in West Hollywood. In fact, I was the one to groan and complain that my feet hurt and I was tired and had to get up early in the morning for Spring Break the next day--couldn't we do this some other time?

My friend argued what I soon realized is something that I said on the first day of class--even in a city like Los Angeles with so many hidden gems, art exhibits and fascinating things to discover, it becomes easy to tell yourself that you are too busy to take the time out of your day to find parking and a group of friends to go enjoy a new restaurant or part of town. You'll do it some other time, you say to yourself or out loud, as you follow this statement up with a plethora of excuses, such as my pathetic ones of hurt feet and a "so early" 10AM flight the next day. Once I realized that I was in fact being the person that I decided I no longer wanted to be on the first day of class, the person who dismisses fun things to do in L.A. because of inconvenience or petty excuses, we stopped the car and enjoyed the structure on a Thursday night for the first time, though we have been living in Los Angeles for about four years now.

The structure itself is awe-inspiring because of its symmetry, as I stated before, as well as the way the posts light up the night sky and illuminate the darkness, highlighting silhouettes of palm trees in the background. It's also fascinating how many people were there, despite the fact that it wasn't a nice, sunny, Saturday afternoon in L.A., nor a lazy Sunday of shopping and sight-seeing, or even a low key Friday night. It was a Thursday evening at 11PM, and the structure was full of tourists, or maybe even local Angelenos taking pictures with their iPhones and digital cameras, just like we were.

How many of them specifically planned taking a time slot out of their day for this activity? How many of them were tourists who, as they viewed the tall lights in the night sky, marveled at how lucky native Angelenos must be here to experience this beauty everyday? And how many, like us, finally decided to stop talking about doing something and just do it, just stop the car to view a beautiful and iconic exhibit?

One thing is for sure, I am closer to learning my lesson about doing more in Los Angeles because overall the detour only took about fifteen minutes out of my night and was well worth it.

--Photo Credit: Caroline Queen and Lynell George

Voice of James M. Cain in Mildred Pierce

SINCE WE talked about our favorite writers and their unique voices, as well as what we specifically enjoy about their particular style of writing, I decided to share a passage from Mildred Pierce by James M. Cain. I have been reading this book per suggestion of Professor George in class in the attempt to expand my literary knowledge beyond my somewhat embarrassing and "guilty-pleasure" book choices which I will not name here. While I had some trouble deciphering and pinpointing what exactly I loved about "City of Thieves," my book selection for last class, I realize that in this case, it's Cain's attention to detail and ability to describe things in such rich color without being overpowering that I enjoy. This is illustrated in the following passage from the very beginning of the book, where he is describing the Pierce home:

" The living room he stepped into corresponded to the lawn he left. It was indeed the standard living room sent out by department stores as suitable for a Spanish bungalow, and consisted of a crimson velvet coat of arms, displayed against the wall; crimson velvet drapes, hung on iron spears; a crimson rug, with figured border; a settee in front of the fireplaece, flanked by two chairs, all of these having straight backs and beaded seats; a long oak table holding a lamp with stained-glass shade, two floor lamps of iron, to match the overhead spears, and having crimson silk shades; one table, in a corner, in the Grand Rapids style, and one radio, on this table, in the Bakelite style. On the tinted walls, in addition to the coat of arms, were three paintings: one of a butte at sunset, with cow skeletons in the foregound; one of a cowboy, herding cattle through snow, and one of a covered wagon-train, plodding through an alkali flat. On the long table was one book, called Cyclopedia of Useful Knowledge, stamped in gilt and placed on an interesting diagonal. One might object that this living room achieved the remarkable feat of being cold and at the same time stuffy, and that it would be quite oppressive to live in. But the man was vaguely roud of it, especially the pictures, which he had convinced himself were "pretty good." As for living in it, it had never once occurred to him." --James M. Cain, Mildred Pierce.

The amount of information that this entire paragraph provides without, to me at least, seeming like a rambling run-on sentence is astonishing. Also, I think this description helps the reader envision Glendale, California in the 1930s, which is where and when the book is set. The descriptions of the pictures on the wall were interesting to me as well because when I think of cow skeletons and cowboys, it's usually my hometown of Texas or some other Southern state that comes to mind before California does. A description of California to me now might be a palm tree, the beach, sandy shores, polluted air, or traffic, as cliche as that might sound. But I am forgetting, of course, the large Spanish population and influence that California has today as well as back then. As "The White Spot" reading taught us, Los Angeles was a settlement first founded in 1781 as a spanish pueblo. Only later was it reenvisioned as "the white spot of America," and so these descriptions make sense more sense with that in mind.

While I enjoy our class readings about the history of California, often a very informative way to learn about the history of a place is by reading a novel that is set in a certain time and attempts to capture this time through the plot and characters. I look forward to continue reading this book and pulling out more descriptive paragraphs such as this one, as well as learning about the history of California through its descriptions.

--Also, apparently it's also an HBO mini series starring Kate Winslet and others? Interesting. But my rule is to always try to read the book before seeing the movie!

-- Caroline Queen

Street Folk Art

ON MY hour-long commute to my internship on Mondays, I come across an array of different sights, each replacing the next in terms of oddity and shock-value, especially considering the strange juxtaposition of a shop selling alligator meat next to a trendy fitness gym. On La Cienega boulevard, I see advertisements for "freezing the fat," wine companies, and for the annual adult video convention, featuring a girl who looks no older than sixteen in a provocative pose. As I inch along closer to my destination on Wilshire boulevard, the sights become less eccentric and more commercialized--Coffee Beans, Starbucks, chain restaurants, and big corporate buildings line the roads. By the time I reach the iconic light installation at LACMA and see the dozens of food trucks beginning to set up for the rush hour at lunch, things appear fairly "normal." Normal, that is, for L.A.

Less than a minute away from work, there are a few stop lights and lampposts that are decorated in what I can only describe as wool coasters, knitted into colorful and circular designs, and then connected together to encase the lamp posts in some sort of decorative cloak. At first, I thought maybe these were set up by bored locals or maybe were some sort of strange political or artistic statement. My curiosity led me to investigate further. I found that the lamp posts were not the only pieces of everyday city landmarks that we so often use but forget the meaning or significance of that were decorated in the same way. I walked farther along the street and found items even more useful yet ugly than a stop light lamp post, such as a stop sign pole and a water drain, both of which were dressed in the same wool fabric, intricately weaved with designs and different colors. Even a small tree was encased in wool and had little feet, as if it was supposed to be some tree creature with a body but no head. We forget that these items are even there or even what purpose they serve because they have become so commonplace. When you live in a city, or anywhere for that matter, do you ever stop to look at the post attached to the button that you are anxiously pushing to cross the street? I certainly never do. And why would I? But these decorated pieces were so eccentric and beautiful in their own unique way. It's as if someone was trying to appreciate the stop lights and water drains for their practicality by making them more attractive. I had never seen anything like them, and I know that there was a story here.

Anxious to discover the meaning behind these decorated every day objects, I took a second to observe my surroundings and found a Los Angeles Folk Art and Craft store nearby. A quick gaze inside the store, (which was closed on Mondays), confirmed that these coverings were undoubtedly created by its owners, as the inside featured wool trees and hangings in the same style as the lamp post.

For some reason, I was disappointed. I suppose I was hoping for some interesting story to be attached to these decorations, for them to have more meaning than their existence as a way to lure people into a store. Yes, it was a good business tactic and I still think they are enjoyable to look at and appreciate them (and will probably have

to go into the store sometime when it is open), but I was hoping for an interesting anecdote, perhaps one that varied with each nearby store owner that I talked to. I imagined myself going into the store across the street and asking those inside why their lamp posts and stop sign poles were so decorated? What was the story behind that? And they would say something equally vague, mysterious and fascinating like, "I don't know, one day we just came to work and they were decorated," that would send my imagination reeling.

Alas, I have high expectations. I want everything to have a story. And maybe I am being too close-minded. Maybe there is a story there. I suppose the only way to settle this is to come to the shop on a day other than Monday and inquire about their existence. Who knows what kind of answer I will get, but I hope it's an interesting story that tells me something about the history of this unique and busy part of Los Angeles. Whatever the exact story may be, I am happy that these lamp posts, stop sign poles, and city water drains are lucky enough to be adorned with colorful fabric. I hope that other busy Angelenos notice them as I did and question their existence, even if they do not have time to follow up such inquiries with an investigation.





-- Caroline Queen

photo credit: Caroline Queen

My LA: A Convenient Escape

IN MANHATTAN BEACH, California, about five minutes from the actual ocean waves, over-priced boutiques (My friend Remington works at a particularly pricey one and often comes home bragging about the "great deal" she got on a $300 dress because it was on sale), and toddlers with their nannies and bellies full of ice cream and candy from the local candy shop, there is a trail known as Veteran's Parkway. I have been familiar with this trail for some time, as I have been babysitting two boys in the area for three years now, and I regularly walk their gray Labrador, Mika, on the trail. Walking down Veteran's Parkway, or Manhattan Parkway as it was called until changed somewhat recently to Veteran's, has always been a relaxing and peaceful experience for me, despite the hyper-activity of the dog to my side. When I see another dog approaching, I prepare myself. It requires control and awareness, and I am lucky if I see another dog before Mika does. I wrap the leash around my wrist three times, so if somehow she jerks away too quickly in excitement, at least my arm will come out of its socket before I loose her to the 21 acre long trail. I move her to the opposite side of the approaching dogs in order to avoid a miniature riot on an otherwise peaceful trail. As I do so, I usually smile at the dog walkers. I'm from Texas, and we smile at everyone, say thank you no matter what, hold open doors, and call people "sir" and "ma'am" even if they insist that we don't because it makes them feel old. But the people on the trail usually do not acknowledge my friendly greeting. Maybe they are too rushed and are afraid I will try to start a conversation, or maybe they just do not care. Either way, having a "moment" of genuine and casually friendly human interaction on the trail is rare. Somehow, though, that is okay and neither a good nor a bad thing.

Despite the somewhat hectic and busy nature of Manhattan Beach, there is something tranquil about Veteran's Parkway. Instead of being twenty minutes from civilization or existing as a place that you have to drive to in order to reach, this trail cuts right through an entire road in a neighborhood right off of Sepulveda Boulevard, creating plateau of saw dust, flowers, grass, trees, and the occasional palm trees. Drinking fountains, "for dogs and their human companions" are ubiquitous, probably due to the fact that this is the only park in the city where leashed dogs are allowed. But that doesn't stop there from being signs stating that all dogs must be leashed according to Manhattan beach law accompanying the water fountains and dense foliage. The air smells of saw dust and if you accidentally stumble on your way, you will kick up a cloud of dust that disappears into the air like mist. Even on days when it's cold, the sun always shines on Veteran's Parkway, and it somehow becomes impossible to be cold. I consistently begin my walk with a sweatshirt or jacket of some kind, and end up shedding it in frustration halfway through as the warm California sun engulfs the trail in a lazy, relaxing heat.

The people that I have seen on the trail are not what one would expect. I've seen an old man walking with a cane, jogging housewives, young girls walking with their iPods, elementary school children on a run for P.E., and, most commonly, the dog walkers. The dog walkers travel with up to six dogs of all different sizes on leashes of different lengths, somehow managing to keep the dogs from nipping each other or getting tangled up in a heap of fur and paws. The dogs are not concerned with the joggers that pass by as Mika is. Maybe they are desensitized to seeing other humans because they are walked everyday on the same trail by the same person, or maybe they are more concerned with each other. Either way, just as I don't interact with the joggers and passers by, neither do the dog walkers with their army of dogs.



I see this trail as a convenient escape. It's not an experience of complete isolation in nature, wherein one packs up a picnic basket and a days worth of water to escape the mundane and routine frequencies of life, and it does not pose as such. It's right in the middle of the city and it is not trying to be anywhere else. The green, thick leaves that line the sides do not hide the fact that there are speeding cars on either side the trail, crossing guards at the corner where the street cuts through it, or houses with their balconies and busy gardeners overlooking it. Instead, the trail is apart of the neighborhood as anything else, and although I have only walked Mika for about an hour, in that time I can make my way from the edge of Sepulveda to the downtown skate park adjacent to a McDonald's and within a visible distance from the beach.


I have grown up familiar with cities such as Austin, Texas where everything is spread out and not as easily accessible at once. I don't think that many other cities besides Los Angeles can boast about being within walking distance of so may different venues, eateries, and opportunities for activities. For me, Los Angeles has been an escape from a place where not much happens to a place where everything seems to happen all at once. Compared to other parts of Texas, Austin is arguably very hip and not the image of cows and barren land that comes to mind of non-Texans when they picture it, but it is still nothing like Los Angeles. I like to be in the center of everything, where all of the action, fun, and opportunities for such are. Veteran's Parkway is almost like a walking tour of those aspects of this part of L.A.--I walk from the edge of the highway to the skate park, passing beautiful beach adjacent houses, boutiques, and an array of citizens. I do not necessarily have a destination. I am just cutting through this part of everyday Los Angeles life that might seem commonplace to some, but that is fascinating and full of action to me.



-- Caroline Queen
photo credit: Caroline Queen

"Iconic L.A.": 5700 Wilshire

 "You will always be my friend no matter what. And if you go to Cali dreams of going to college in L.A. and writing for a magazine, I will come visit you and be a nanny there and we can live together."

 THOSE words have stayed with me ever since they were written in bubbly letters on a neon pink going away card from my friend Michelle before I left for school at LMU in 2008, terrified yet thrilled. Maybe that’s why, when I walked up to the corner of Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills, California, I stopped in the middle of the twin office buildings and did a complete turn all the way around, taking in every sight. After painstaking college essays, SAT re-takes, ACT study sessions, and the gut-wrenching anxiety that I would not get into LMU, or any college for that matter, (fueled in part by my mother, who told me condescendingly yet with caring undertones to “not get my hopes up”) I was here, in downtown Los Angeles. When I stood there in the courtyard, shaking and sweating before my interview at Us Weekly, an interview which I thought at the time would make or break my future, would change my life completely, for better or for worse, would propel me into my editorial dreams or send me plummeting regretfully down a new path, I thought, “This is the L.A. I envisioned. This is what I wanted to be apart of."

I should explain that when I first landed at LAX and headed down Lincoln Boulevard, I felt a wave of disappointment and fear because this loud, traffic-infested street was the complete antithesis of the glamorous Los Angeles I envisioned. Where were the palm trees lining the sides of the road, and where were the teenagers driving around in their jeeps listening to music with the top down? Where was this gorgeous school with a bluff overlooking Los Angeles and white letters proudly boasting “LMU” on the side? Luckily, when I arrived at LMU, this fear diminished because I realized that our school is in its own separate world, in the quiet neighborhood of Westchester, separated from the busy streets and loud noises of Los Angeles. However, every time I left LMU to frequent other areas of Los Angeles, I always felt a twinge of disappointment, that this was not the “real” Los Angeles that I had seen in movies, television shows, and magazines. I always felt as though there was something missing or something that I was not seeing.

5700 Wilshire Boulevard feels like that kind of "real" Los Angeles to me. If you were to view it from above, you would see huge office buildings enclosing a little cluster of restaurants that almost seem as though they shouldn’t be there, as if maybe they were there before the big corporate buildings were and refuse to move. Office buildings surround these eateries, including the one that contains Wenner Media, where I work for Us Weekly. To the right and high above all else is a building called Museum Square, which proudly boasts “Screen Actors Guild Awards” towards it’s sky-high top. There is a fountain to the left of Museum Square that would put the LMU fountain, as it almost doubles it in size and in the magnitude of water it constantly produces. These buildings stand overlooking a cluster of restaurants, including Marie Callender’s, The Counter Burger, Baja Fresh, Mix’t Greens, and of course, Starbucks. Almost every day of the week, I could have a different choice of food, from home-cooked, to hamburgers, to Mexican, to vegetarian. However, in between all of these varying places, the Starbucks remains, a daily reminder of the need for Angelenos to get their coffee fix. Starbucks is the consistent factor within this little hub of eateries. Busy corporate CEOS, producers, writers, and interns hoping to climb the ladder, like myself, start their day the same, with an often thirty minute wait for Starbucks, but choose which cuisine to lunch on when the time comes for them to break away from their offices.

The people on this corner are always busy. There are no leisurely lunch breaks, no cigarette bonding sessions outside, and no walking slowly across the street. I find myself hurriedly walking alongside the businessmen and women attached to their cell phones with their big bags and laptop cases because I feel as though walking slow means I am not worthy to be in such a busy world. These people are walking fast because they do not have a second in their day to stop or slow down. The fact that I might be taking my time crossing the street, sipping my coffee slowly, or sloshing my “mix’t greens” around in a vat of fat free dressing with a lazy smile seems almost inappropriate. Don’t I have anywhere else to be? The corner of 5700 Wilshire holds special meaning for me personally because of the memories I associate with it, as well as that epiphanic first experience, but I think that anyone else could appreciate it for the variety of venues it possesses, from small restaurants to huge office buildings, and hurried, posh, “I have somewhere else to be right this second” lifestyle that feels intrinsically L.A.




-- Caroline Queen 

photo: 5700 Wilshire

credit: Caroline Queen