Found walking the dog this morning on Occidental Boulevard north of Sunset Boulevard in Silver Lake. I’m titling it “Street Art.”

Glendale’s A Noise Within (ANW) has been the region’s premiere classical repertory theater company for a long time now.  Other than about a year at the end of last century spent at the Luckman Fine Arts Complex at Cal Sate Los Angeles, the company’s home has been the landmark Masonic Temple building at 234 S. Brand Boulevard.

But the company is Glendale’s no longer. It’s leaving its home and heading to its own dedicated space in Pasadena, a move that’s been more than five years in the making. And today as one of its final acts in the Jewel City before beginning its life in the Crown city, the company held a rummage sale to clear out its inventory. Everything from lighting equipment and furniture to props to costumes was priced to move.

But instead of looking for bargains, I took the opportunity to go looking around, sneaking backstage and up the stairs to explorie the 1928 building’s upper levels where I found this jaw-droppingly amazing top-floor space in mid-demolition/arrested decay (click to panoramally enlargify and/or check out this rotate-ready version of the image):

UPDATE (8.26): Where’d the picture go? Short-ish story is that a representative of the building’s owners, Frank DiPietro and Sons, contacted me the day after this post went live wanting to discuss the photograph’s publication. After some further consideration, it was politely requested of me today to remove the above image,  for several reasons. First, it was taken and published without their permission. Second, the picture shows the hall in a condition that doesn’t showcase it in the best light. Third, the company is in the midst of submitting plans and obtaining permits for a renovation/remodel of the space and the company is sensitive about photographs and information about the
building being released as that process progresses. So, basically,  I have agreed to honor their request because the simple fact is that it’s their private property and I was there on those upper floors without their knowledge. Since it’s not OK for them to sneak into my house and take pictures and put ‘em up on the internutz, down comes the pic.

I have no idea what the plans are for this hall and the rest of the building. But in the meantime I’m going to keep my fingers crossed that it doesn’t become a gym..

After the jump, a brief bio on the building’s historical significance excerpted from the Glendale Register of Historic Places.

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pic by me. click to enlargify

I was recently walking down the street in my new Studio City neighborhood (with a Walk Score of about 82, more than 16 points higher than the overall score for our walkable city), and I saw the storefront pictured here.

Suck It.

In terms of visual appeal, I’m a bit torn on whether the suggestive lips dotting the ‘i’ make up for the comic sans used in the taped up signs below. But then, I don’t claim to have any sense of authority on visual aesthetics, so take that comment with a grain of salt.

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Spotted on Fairfax just north of Wilshire. This salad ain’t for you, white boy.

[UPDATE: Photo re-uploaded with higher resolution.]

Blah, blah, blah...

Since finally discovering the serenitude of the Los Angeles River’s east bank south of Fletcher Drive last month, practically every time I’ve biked it since I’ve marveled at the chuckleworthy overwrought signage in the center of the pic at right (readably biggifiable when clicked), that smacks of having been crafted and finalized by a thinktank of city-contracted attorneys sequestered in a windowless sub-basement chamber deep below City Hall who felt that the discouragement of hanging out along the river with intent to hang out some more required much, much more than just a NO LOITERING sign.

Seriously: “kinder a fire?” And after that, what’s with the nonsensical “wash and cloth or bedding…”

I’m fascinated by the conceit that any transient would bother to read the entire screed, much less move on in abject law-abiding obedience.

Of course,  what would double the hoot would be if the entirely and appropriately to-the-point “NO DOGS OFF LEASH” sign to its right were similarly over-worded, like so:

LAMC SEC. 53.06.2 DOGS – RIVER BED:   No person shall, stand, sit, walk, lollygag, hustle, hop, skip, jump, amble, meander, flit, run, jog, trot, sprint, traverse, canter, drag, tumble, gallop, haul, boogie, truck, prance, tip-toe, or otherwise move forward, backward, sideways, or at any angle and at any speed, with a canine (heretofore referred to as “dog”) of any size, height, width, age, color, sex, pure or mixed breed, disposition and demeanor, without a leash attached to the dog and held securely by the aforementioned person while traversing the official bed of the Los Angeles River.

My wife Susan has built up a tolerance over the years, but you’d probably hate watching TV with me. Be it in a commercial or movie, I’m the kinda guy who’ll go all non-sequitor yelling out the name of a place a bit too emphatically when I see a Los Angeles location I recognize.

“Second Street Tunnel!”
“Sixth Street Bridge!”
“Parkview Hotel!”
“Northwest corner of Normandie and 23rd!”
“Johnnies Coffee Shop!”
“Natural History Museum!”

Stupid shit like that. Maybe even shamelessly augmented with a “booyah!” or a “yeeeeeah boooooiiiiee!” or a fist-pump as if I’ve not already made enough of a fool of myself. What can I say; it’s a curse knowing my city. Susan will agree.

And the curse continues with the Chrysler 300 commercial that’s currently making the heavy rotation across the TV spectrum (YouTube link) featuring Dr. Dre tooling all over town  in a car-that-goes-boom and finishing up at the end of the ad with “This is LA. This is what we do.”

Trouble is apparently one of the things Dre do is drive southbound on Silver Lake Boulevard below the Sunset Boulevard bridge on the wrong of the street (and past the requisite hoodlum out for an after-hours jog with his requisite pitbull; click to biggify):

Booyah!

Found the wisdom of Kali this morning during what’s become a regular ride for me along the East Bank of the Los Angeles River (my wristwatch added to validate the statement’s veracity; image is clickably embiggifiable):

Trees are a big deal in Santa Monica. Sometimes they get manicured. Sometimes they get cut down and cause a controversy. In this case, on 11th Street near Santa Monica Blvd., a lone protester has made a stand on a tree stump. The handwritten note taped to the traffic cone on top of the stump reads:

R.I.P. *Here remains what was once a beautiful TREE cut down under our very noses. When will [our] city cease this action?

Hopefully, the city had a good reason to cut down the tree, i.e., that it was dead or dying, rather than just some form of aesthetic tree gentrification. I did see some newly planted trees nearby on the same block, so perhaps that is what will happen here too.

I’ve been up Big Tujunga Canyon once in my life. Or rather down it. Near the end of the last century, I rode in a Hogs for Dogs Ride put on by the Pasadena Humane Society, and I was part of a huge, mostly Harley caravan that went up Angeles Crest Highway to its intersection with Big Tujunga Canyon and came back down to civilization. Being on two wheels along such winding roads in close proximity to other motorcycles in front, beside and behind one, strictly limits how much of the breathtaking scenery one can absorb.

So it was that research on a project this past Thursday afternoon took me to Bolton Hall Museum in Tujunga and afterwards for a drive up into the canyon in hopes of generally locating a long-gone 130-year-old homestead’s location. With the road practically to myself I drove up slowly, stopping frequently to stand drop-jawed at how dramatic and gorgeous is the canyon.

A bend in the river (click to embiggenate).

The above snap doesn’t really do the scene justice, and neither will any more words about it. So I’ll just finish with: if you haven’t been, go. And if you have been, go back. I know I will.

Pic by me. Embiggenates with a click.

Not long after I first moved out to LA, a friend who came to visit observed that smartphones are ubiquitous in LA. “As soon as the plane touched down, 90% of the people pulled out blackberries…”

That was, of course, before the first iPhone dropped, and LA’s phone culture has become even more entrenched since, and it’s also become far less rare for folks to have smartphones in small Midwest cities such as the one I hail from. The proliferation of the iPhone and Android, smartphones for the non-business user, eventually brought with it the popularity of new types of games (for non-gamers).

Some of those games – as is evident in the picture above – have been quite popular.

Not only is this MINI parked in the handicap spot closest to the entrance of B&B Hardware in Culver City with no visible handicap parking tag, it also has the license plate “FIT2FIT”. Irony alert, or just coincidence?

Had to go down to the Central Library Friday afternoon to pick up a book I’d put a hold on. Opted to leave the bike at home and instead catch the No. 4 bus from Silver Lake to Pershing Square, where I walk along Fifth Street from Hill past the park, Olive, the Biltmore and Grand. When I leave the library with book in hand, I decide not to return the way I came and instead step on Hope south to 7th and go underground, hopping the Red Line back up to Vermonica from there to stride the rest of the way home. On impulse I veer into the parking lot to make a stop at the Rite Aid, which puts me in the direct trajectory of a young lady who steps out from behind a car wanting to know if I speak English. I successfully fight back the urge to ask “What other do you think this loaf of Wonder Bread might speak?” and instead politely confirm that I do have a passing familiarity with that language. In turn, she casts out a weary line about trying to get Pizza Hut’s finest for her kids, but her debit card was refused and could I maybe spare some—.

“Sure!” I said, cutting her off. “I’ll buy the pizzas for you. How many you need?”

As expected she hadn’t set up for the curveball I pitched and the words stumble out of her mouth wondering if it would be OK if I just gave her the cash. I told her all I had was my debit card at which she shook her head. Her “Thanks anyway,” confirmed my suspicions that the pizza story was a fiction, and for their sake hopefully the children were, too.

Out from the Rite Aid the young lady starts for me again until realizing she’d hit me already and sharply turns away as if I don’t exist. As I head east on Santa Monica Boulevard I wonder if it’ll ever dawn on her that duh, she missed an opp for free pizza that if nothing else could’ve helped fuel the drive to her next fix. Oh well.

I pass the stately Cahuenga branch of the library where I startle a homeless woman who is changing clothes in the relative privacy of the library’s locked-up lower entryway. I pass the Little Temple club, cross Virgil, and look down upon the shack that used to be the beloved Jake’s Jay’s Burgers, but now since its eviction is home to the latest in a succession of nondescript and noninteresting eateries.

Next I eye a small mural and double back to get this snap of it (after the jump; click for slight enlargification):

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Until I happened to rather randomly pedal a detour through MacArthur Park last Thursday morning during Bike Week LA on my way downtown, I was monumentally unaware that Los Angeles is home to an immortalization of that 1970s-’80s icon otherwise known as the Boom Box (a quadrophonic double-decker, no less; artist unknown), and I am now more pop-culturally enriched because of its awesomeness (click to embiginate):

Looking either custom-built and/or a bit like a stripped-down refugee from some back-in-the-day Saturday morning sci-fi kids show, I’d never heard of Vixen after spying the nameplate on the front of the unique vehicle, so of course I googled that shit at first opportunity.

Turns out, via the Vixen’s wiki page and the Vixen Owners Association website the RVs were made by Vixen Motor Company in good old Motor City, USA from 1986-1989 — and waaaay ahead of their time. This is one of only 578 of the 21-footers to come off the assembly line before the company folded. With an exterior completely encased in fiberglass, a comparatively light 5,100-pound curb weight, its low center of gravity and a windtunnel-honed drag coefficient of a low .29 (better than many sedans and sports cars of that day), the turbodiesel-powered model could top 100 mph and get 30 mpgs (gas-powered versions got 20 mpgs).

* Or in this case in the parking lot across the street from the Regal Cinemas
downtown where a matinee of Bridesmaids was soon after ripsnortingly enjoyed.

Cal State Northrigde

So maybe I’m just posting this because I’ll be participating in a commencement ceremony at CSUN next week, but I never fail to get a chuckle when I pass this sign on Reseda Blvd in Northrigde Northridge. It’s been more than two years since Travis blogged about it here at blogging.la, and still no changes.

Now, while I’ve poked around on various city-related websites trying to figure out how to report the misspelling, I haven’t had any luck. Short of submitting the information on the same Burea of Street Services form used to report problems such as palm fronds in the road, I’m at a loss for what to do. Anyone have any experience with this type of thing? The City of LA websites don’t seem to have the best navigational schemas.

I’m just certain that this can’t be the only sign in Los Angeles bearing a glaring typo, so I ask you, kind readers: what sorts of odd/error-filled signage have you seen lately?