Two Decades: Hollywood Hangover

(Decades are handy benchmarks, but much has changed in my two decades in Dealville.  For this installment, theater real estate changes and evolution)

All the build up to the move out here was a very real thing.  Old video procured, swanky apartments found, gold-era clothing purchased.  Don't believe me?  The summer before I was working at WGBH in Boston.  A fellow co-worker twice my age had previously lived in southern California, and sometimes we would get out the Rand McNally road atlas and turn to the map of LA and Orange County and just look.  We'd look at it and marvel, like some sort of treasure map.  There's gold in them hills.  GOLD!  "What's this town like?  How is it living over here?"

I'd been in town post-graduation a few months or so and shared some 70s and 80s photos with longtime residents, and they commented "You know what you should do?  You should take pictures now."  Why?  Who cares?  "Because someday, THAT'S going to be your 'old neighborhood.'"

They were right.  In this era I am in a real mood to get rid of shit: scan, digitize, etc.  With that spirit in mind I got out a photo album I received as a gift from a girl who was polite but also very keyed into playing cat and mouse...and looked at all the photos.  Well, things certainly do not look like THAT anymore.  Those folks who said that 20 years ago were right.

Sunset & Vine

Upon arrival the northwest corner had a rather nondescript mini mall.  One of the shops was a photo  shop, a place where I later learned had some great anecdotes to share...in another blog.  Anyhow, to the north of that sat the TAV Celebrity Theater.  Back in the day, that's where things like Merv Griffin and all of his owned shows taped in front of a live studio audience.

Once Merv ended the talk show and sold the game shows, it sat largely unused, save for the occasional taping of something else.  It's vacancy lead to squatters...which lead to a fire.  In the mid-90s.  This was NOT the mid-90s.  So, for half a decade, it sat looking like this:

The back area, which would house parking and then the mini mall, was not in good looking times.  But it was at this moment something important was happening north west of here: Hollywood and Highland.  In the gleeful need to create a tourist trap to end all tourist traps, developers and dipshit city councilman Tom LaBonge said why does that intersection get all the fun?  So, the mini mall was VERY quickly shut down and razzed...and so was the TAV theater.  What was going to spring up?  Oh, shops and condos, not unlike any other section of the neighborhood.

When finished it wasn't anything special..and, well, now, it's even less than...

This is looking at the same vantage point as the TAV.  What this DOESN'T show you is a 75% vacancy rate, homeless hotel directly in that pathway, and an overall grime.  It's the same hellhole I wrote about in September.  Swankness of a whole different sort.  In the end, is it really any different from a bombed out theater?

Vine Theatre

In QT's love letter to this town, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, you saw a well done effect of Hollywood Boulevard at night.  The Vine Theatre was one of them shown...

Twenty years ago and today - pretty much the same.

The marquee is blank, but that's only because it's about to be set up for the shot in that film...it's back to the usual now, showing random current and relatively current films.  It still fights on.  Maybe it's meant to live forever.

Pacific Theater

At the start of this blog nearly 15 years ago (!) I wrote about sneaking in to the Pacific...and just like the Vine...

Again, minimal differences in the marquee from QT's movie, and that's about all.  It still stands, empty.  It's there, people officially go in and look at it, they try to "figure something out" - do you get the building attached to the theater, so on.  Thankfully, it's here and we can only hope one day for good use.

Ritz Theater

Oh, what it once was...

I just want to confirm: in the basement of the Pussycat Theater (well, the one on Hollywood, not the one on Western) was LA's original punk club.  So, if you're looking for, well, a book to be written, have at it.

Once the Pussycat chain went down, like many things of that ilk, it attempted to go legit.

It got a new name (or back to its old name?) and was likely cleaned many, many times.  But even that ended...by the time I moved in, it was a church!  May the circle be unbroken.

That area under the Ritz sign on the marque later became the legendary, late and lamented Skooby's hot dogs.  Oh the tales of that place.  But the church left, so did Skoob's...and now it's...

I honestly have no idea what the fuck this is...but it's a giant sign that says smoking lounge.  So, not all bad I guess.

Vogue Theater

Because it's, well...ok, you know me well enough to not be surprised that just this morning I heard a radio commercial for the film Hardbodies and at the end the announcer said it's playing at the Vogue Theater.  Nice.  And 20 years ago, the mainstream films had left but there was always some kind of action there...over the past 20 years people have tried keeping it a theater, a "supper club" or something, halving it, and, fuck if I know.

Again, I have no idea what the hell this is or was or supposed to or will be, but it sure doesn't look open.  Someone should do something with it - a tourist friendly restaurant right next door...you'd think that would be enough.

You'd also think, after many false starts, someone would get a "big idea" and razz the place.  But as we've seen in the last 2 decades, unless you are the victim of arson, your shell will sit...and as so many of these did 20 years ago, I could walk deserted streets, listening to FEAR on the discman and look at the dark marquees left to wonder and hope.  Now, the reality is as clear as day, and it's harder to go back.

The Lava's

Just in case you weren't sure about how my brain works, I want to give you an example:

After working in the backyard for a while and doing the kind of tasks that only beer can compliment, I knew it was time to wash up before snack time.  "If I had Lava soap, this would be gone in no time.  You know, this reminds me of a commercial from my youth.  I wonder if it's on YouTube."

It is, thanks to a fellow angel.  It was nearly as a I remembered it...but what I didn't realize then was that this could have easily made for a theme song for a sitcom.  The Lava's, new on ABC, Fridays at 9, 8 Central.  From Miller/Boyett productions.

We have a goofy dad, a hard-working wife, approximately 3...no, 4 kids.  (2 of each gender)  We even have the stuffy Grandma to come over and act as a foil for one of this family's wacky adventures.  Each episode is set on Saturday; that seems to be the day when the Lava family is up to it's usual very long list of tasks...and none of them go right!

It seems like it's going to be a nice day, so the Lava family decide to take out some of those things surrounding the Oldsmobile.  Gotta clean the grill if we're going to grill tonight and...who would have thought?  Old charcoal!  The "extreme" son, with the nickname "Spike" is going to spray paint his bike neon green (as you did in 1990) but here's what he gets for laughing at Dad's misfortune: spray paint right on the skin!  Feels like fun!

Grandma Lava comes by, uninvited, to give her opinions (also uninvited) on just what is going on here...looks like Scamps the dog wants to say hi!  And no, Grandma, those muddy paws won't just wipe off!

Have you ever cleaned the log holder in the fireplace?  Have you ever wanted to?  Have you ever needed to?  Mrs. Lava is finding out the hard way this was not a wise idea in the first place!

Debbie Lava, their oldest child, is not immune from tasks this Saturday.  Yes, the exposed wood door frame can stay that way no more!  She seems to think she can talk to her friend Staci AND paint at the same time...watch out for that paint dipping from the brush!  (laugh track)

The little Lava, Junior, gets a lot of "AWWWWWs" from the laugh track, but Debbie is in no mood for his B.S., especially when she's on the phone.  Look out, Junior!

Dad has already proven his difficulty with the grill...hell, he's been in the driveway all day.  He's lined the inside with aluminum foil (to prevent his wife from wanting to clean it, I guess) but has a little trouble with the charcoal!  Dad, you open it that way, you get...well, you get that!

This young Lava girl is just making a mess for mess' sake, and...well, the scuttlebutt is that they might write this character out for season 2.  They're having trouble finding storylines for her.

Well, another episode, the Lava's have learned some lessons and forgotten others, and let the credits roll.  Stay tuned for Just the Ten of Us!

Whadda ya want? Wicker?!

I'll tell you this - if I have to fucking stay up late to goof off, then it really isn't goofing off, is it?  If I have to fight just to have time during the day to actually do my shit and play 48, how can I balance it all out?  I can't.

Talk.  It's constant talk.  Worse than any office I've been in, and I've been in some awful situations...but in some I could close the door.  In others, when it was bad, I could simply stop working and start fucking around because if they valued my job, they wouldn't put me in a bus terminal, would they?

"Trip?"
What?
(pause)  "Um...-"
Good pacing.  Come back and try to think of something to say in 5 minutes.

I relayed, in pure dismay, that I had just been forced to spend the last hour as a science teacher (a role that does not suit me in any way unless we're talking "consumer chemistry") and then back on the old saw horse.  My colleague simply said "I have no idea what you're talking about!  Lol"  Never more have I wanted to smack a genuine friend in the back of the head than that moment.

What's this?  It's semi-retired relatives who find current societal norms not that bad..."we're taking more naps, reading, catching up on stuff around the house."  As opposed to...what, your normal schedule?

"You have to make the time" is a mantra often used...but how does it fit now?  Toss in guilt and annoyance in addition with your current and newfound responsibility...and there truly isn't any more time.  The day is booked solid and I'm rarely leaving the house.  This is how it is, and if you want to keep a check coming in, the shit keeps a shoveling.

But who do you tell besides fellow citizens in this exact predicament?  They and they alone are the only ones who are sharing this experience.  You lock eyes (from a distance, of course) and don't even get to shake your head.  You're both mentally exhausted.  Not a word is exchanged.  We both know this to be true.  It will be remembered forever.  For the rest of our days.

Super Boomers, without prompting or being asked, offer up suggestions because they have too much time on their hands.  They can only watch so much news, try to understand their phone, or bemoan shopping hours without offering unsolicited advice.  "I have an idea.  You know what you could do?"

"I know what you CAN do"

What's on the shelf

I have been writing on here for coming up 15 years and while the purpose of this site was never any kind of historical document, something this old becomes such a thing…so while this isn’t necessarily funny or a unique topic, this exists to look back on 6 months from now, if not longer (I hope).

It’s hard not to be selfish when you’re inconvenienced.  As in: “why is this tougher for me to have what I want?”  (Especially when you think about how, 1 month ago, you were in a crowded restaurant with friends) Looking back, that is simply an anecdote, something that doesn’t mean shit anymore. 

The first weekend wasn't so abnormal as much as it was the slow realization of those not understanding in your neighborhood that this was no hoax and you'd better get ready to hunker down, and sadly this time we're not talking about the beloved Dawgs.  (Social distancing: the national championship and Georgia football!  Oof)

I was at home with the pup anyway so I didn't look out much...it just worked out that way.  When I braved the neighborhood market (which could be described as the lyrics to Ted Nugent's "Free For All") I saw a person leave the store holding nothing more than 5 9-packs of toilet paper saying to no one in particular "THEY GOT IT!  THEY GOT IT!"  My feeling was more than the shopping experience; it was that these people who barely fit in with society, the adults who have to be told 4 times to write their name on the form and have a seat, these people now have to follow rules to stay in place and try not to get everyone else sick?  "Oh shit."  I believe I didn't think that, I likely said it aloud in a store.  No one corrected me.

Smiley, who can’t stop reading about this (and works in a hospital, no less) asked me “Do you think this will be a short-time thing or will it last forever?”  I told her it was both: until the curve goes down, it’ll be like this.  Everything.  And afterward, whenever that is, it will be real tough to “forget” about this and politely ignore the overfed honk next to you who mouth-breaths for his/her existence.  As I’ve already seen walking the dog and in stores, remember: there will ALWAYS be idiots.  The pandemic will not eliminate them…in fact, afterwards it might feel like there are more, because somehow these lunkheads survived.  That’s just a reminder from me to you.

Side note: In my professional life, which as documented has been 20 years, I would have never believed you that a sitting president would have given a flying shit about TV ratings, let alone when the public might be looking to the federal government for assistance.  It's my first pandemic, so I'm still sorting things out. 

It will end, and when it does, when it's looked back on or the Big Scoop herself has to write a paper on it in high school, what will first come to mind won't be an illness, it will be everything else:  All the noise, all the distractions, all the lunkheads in the way.  They carry on conversations in public and online to no one in particular, and now they're roaming free.  In charge of themselves, already a hefty task, and in your space.  Yet another reason to stay home.

Fart Lauderdale

I've waited to write not out of laziness (though isn't that always the case?) but to see if what occurred last week was abnormal in any other way than the usual ups and downs of life. 

All right, so, had to make another coast to coast trip, some meetings and surprise recognition, and even though you miss everyone, you gotta do it.  By the time I arrived, having awoken at Dick O'Clock, even though my body said mid-afternoon, I could use a meal.  The suggestion is to "have a good meal, go to a steakhouse or something like that."  OK, well, off I go in search of such a place.  Ended up at one and even though I was hungry and didn't need to be appetized, I said YES, bring me your largest gulf shrimp.  I was delivered 3.  I laughed.  Bring it on. 

Haven't I already established that I don't need such gluttony? 

The menu's description simply described flavors and ideals...what arrived was nearly 2 racks of ribs.  And this wasn't Big Earl's BBQ and Oil Change Emporium.  This is, what attempts to be, "upscale dining."  What the fuck? 

That wasn't me, that was my stomach.  I mean, I knew I wasn't going to finish this, it would finish me, so I kind of just sampled stuff and started to lean over.  The main goal was Key Lime pie and why is this crew trying to bring me down?  Trying to eat $50 worth of ribs: what kind of decision is that?

The following morning I turned down breakfast because my body remained a "whoa horsey!" +++  By lunch, I thought I could use something.  Having arrived to the ballroom, I entered in to see a rather large spread of fresh sandwiches, salads, and drinks.  They sat there.  Is this...can I?  Excuse me do you...?

I waited maybe 20 minutes until an older woman began to serve herself.  Well, the gateway is open.  Still only needing a modest amount of food, I take a half turkey sando and salad.  I sat alone (as it tends to be on work events, or maybe it's my winning personality...or rustic good looks, take your pick).  On this table of 4, 1 chair was removed.  Then another.  Then a 3rd.  Well, I need to wrap up this meal and thank goodness I'm not that hungry because of that entire hog that was delivered to--

"Are you in International?"

Uh no, I don't--

"Then you can't sit here."

This dippy old lady pulled my chair back with all the force she could muster, and from either the ceiling or behind (like a surprise attack in pro wrestling) a resort employee took my plate and silverware from my paws. 

Why can't I just eat a god damn meal and not either be given and entire buffet or allowed the acceptance to sit in this fucking chair and look at the tropical scenery and get my bearings?

The final evening I was going to get even.  Against what, beyond my consciousness, I'm not sure.  I took a drink in a giant coconut simply because it matched my wardrobe and never had a sip, leaving it inside a potted plant.  I had 3 servings of Grouper because I was in Florida and would have done that anyway.  I kept the rum cakes delivered to the table on an ongoing basis, and ordered the fanciest scotch they had.  I don't even know that I drank that, but it was to prove a point only to myself.  And off I went.

The end was an interesting summary of my life as, outside in the tropical night, I ate a slice of za and considered my fortune.  Dining in this town shouldn't have been abnormal, and yet...

Two Decades: The Biznazz

(Decades are handy benchmarks, but much has changed in my two decades in Dealville.  First off, what goes on in the Company Town)

For the first 5 years, it was the same as it was the past 10...maybe a bit longer.  "How'd it do last night?"  You're looking for that big rerun deal.  Talk shows?  5 days a week.  We're talking big bucks up front.  $1000 steaks in Las Vegas, stars there to shake the hands of TV station owners...memories made, deals made right afterward.  5 years in, we could find out demographic data in big cities the next day.  And DVR audience was included.  The future!

It all seems so quaint now.  Maybe it was?  It's kind of hard to say when you're in the moment.  But shit, think of how in 2010 VOD was a big moneymaker.  You might find an episode of TV you missed online - good luck with that.  Now?  Well, you know now.  You're living it.  Who isn't?

Some retired.  Some were forced retired.  Some, rightly or wrongly, were bumped out.  Buzzwords tossed around.  They disappear.  Those that dined on the $1000 steak (while you ate Ralphs beef-a-reno at home) haven't been on the payroll in many, many years. But what does that really say?  

A little over a year ago I had my first boss who was (not by much, but still) younger than me.  After a while, you have to accept that the lanes all go at different speeds, and you can change lanes, but there is only 1 thing important: are you moving forward?  Because if you aren't, or your car is on the side of the road, you'd better get back quick.  Doesn't matter how or where...but get back.  It's going too fast now.

I said, in a deal-making lunch around 2003, "I'd say in 10 years, maybe 3 networks will really matter.  Maybe a dozen cable channels.  The rest...not a factor."  True, but I said that as if that was ALL there would be, and how hard is it to predict something that doesn't exist?  Flash forward to 2018.  In a prominent high rise.  Direct to consumer.  It's internally controlled.  I heard someone "higher up" than me say "We'll see what happens."  I then spoke up breaking the silence with "Us in the room...here right now...aren't WE helping make that decision?  Don't WE deliver the information to the powers that be?"  Not only was I correct, I saw what happened when the 'powers that be' sold off a major component of the company...a component that I happened to work on...and off I went again.

Keep swimming, latch on, back again.  Learning, expanding, making deals.  In a business that has become a chameleon, your personal evolution isn't immediate, either.

A man who I met at the start, one that was involved in a handful of shows going back to the 80's and well into the last decade, met with me a few weeks ago.  I toasted those 20 years...and received back the kind of anti-Semitic and frightened old white guy speech you can hear in different parts of the country.  He was forced retired and cashed that check.  He also didn't have to hold back anymore.  I walked back to the car afterward, surprised at his "expanding," and then called the restaurant to apologize if anyone overheard his hokum.  I've seen old executives at Crate & Barrel...behind the register.  Many others consult or say they're available.  And then there's those, like a guy I thought I knew, who let it pass him by.

The college kid coming out now has little in common with me now in terms the biznazz...her/his whole life has been in some form or another watching what you want when you want and you didn't need to own physical media (necessarily) to do so.  It's their ideas that can inform.  Helping each other not only makes work better, it leads to more opportunities.

And, most importantly, you can do it with awful hair, brown shades, and shirts that will never be tucked in.  (Even an occasional Hawaiian shirt while we're at it...that reminds me of another story)  20 years ago?  It was some sort of bullshit labeled "business casual" and a fucking TIE.  Now, it's making decisions, accepting rules, meeting the future...and we're all on the same page. 

Open All Night

After a delayed flight, and a chase though Atlanta's airport (is there any other kind?), there was finally arrival.  But as settled as one could get, I'm still on Pacific time.  Late as it might be here in the South, it's dinner time to me...hmmm, late night, where do you go?  Ah, that's right.

There was no negotiation; I wouldn't allow it.  My sixth sense took over and noticed that we were in a sweet spot: after dinner, before the bars empty out.  (DO the bars empty out down here?  Well, the families with teen drinkers where everyone piles in the pick-up and annoy all around.)

When we arrived, there was no one else inside.  The crew was hanging out in the kitchen, shooting the breeze.  As we sat, it was immediately go time...not for us, for the staff.

Well, maybe it was for us diners, too.  Whether it's myth or hearsay, I knew I'd get a pecan waffle.  I knew that I'd also "need" biscuits and gravy, especially when the friendly waitress recommended it.  I added grilled tomatoes to hash browns (because I'm on a health kick).  Unsweetened ice tea, please.  And I reflect.

I don't know why, exactly, but I knew to be sure of my order.  Smiley, on the other hand, near life-long Angeleno...was looking for salads.  She tried to order off menu.  Her other asks, for a "fruit bowl" and the standard "Do you have any flavored iced tea?" were politely declined.  Her eventual order placed, I apologized to the waitress.  Knowing it was the first time, she begged off any need for remorse.  As the order was told to the cooks I set the menu aside and leaned in.

"Look, you're at Waffle House.  I know you THINK you understand this, but look around.  Now look at the menu.  Don't disrespect Waffle House with this talk about "salad."  You want fruit?  Here's some jam for that biscuit.  They do their thing, and quite well."  'I was just asking' was the response.  Feigned ignorance.

Plates came out, and kept coming out.  More and more food, all of it seemingly earth-toned, and all delicious.  I did the damage I could, and toward the end a rabble-rousing family tried to cram in a nearby booth.  The patriarch was stoic, the mother with a heavy amount of vocal fry, and the offspring were all laughing.  The son was frequently asking about grits: can I substitute, did you get my order, where are they?  For the briefest flash, I was in downtown LV, but that faded away.

That feeling?  That's still with me, because when the rental Cadillac reflected the glow of the neon sign, I realized I had made quite the achievement.  Rolled up in a Caddy to the Waffle House (as you do), put it away while chatting up the help, and off for more adventures.  To this Goldland resident (not lifelong, but nearing 2 decades) it was the real fuel I needed. 

A note to the future, from the present and past

To Whom it May Concern,

At one point, perhaps when you read this (and perhaps, also, in November) the University of Minnesota may be good at football.  They might even be "good" but due to many down seasons, the "good" is magnified.  The enthusiasm will be infectious.  It'll be hard not to want to take a part of it.  "This might be the year" they will say...they being anyone who is WAY TOO OPTIMISTIC on such matters.  It might be their job to be optimistic, of course.  Those in Minnesota won't know the difference.

As I was saying, you'll be very pleased with those moments.  You're ready to celebrate, and it'll be easy to visualize the upcoming success.  There will be Rose Bowl talk. 

To wit:

Look, I could go on and on...but don't be completely fooled: there will be some success.  Winning overall records...even winning Big Ten records.

But then...the talk will arrive.  Talk.  People in MN will Talk About It.  If it's a good season after a few bad ones, a national media member might even bring them up with "what a turnaround."

Don't be fooled.  Even with a mid-season upset win over a better school.  The check will come.  It will come in either end-of-game heartbreak or full diaper-filling, one or the other.  It'll happen.  And because you're not completely cynical, you'll be upset because of course you'd like them to be good.  Hell, you want them to be good!  But you know better!  You shove reason aside as a result...

If, one day, this achievement occurs, then this thought will be deleted.  But until that time, which is 50+ years in the making...remember the history.  Temper yourself.  You'll feel better as a result.

Long Live The Kid

Here I am, getting through a day made complicated by others.  Mindful of the winds and the air outside, constant squawking inside.  And yet, every now and then, I'm reminded of the news that Robert Evans is no longer physically at Woodland.  Oh yes, spiritually forever, but in body, he's in that great screening room in the sky.

I left the Sunset 5 in 2002 after seeing The Kid Stays in the Picture a changed man.  It wasn't a film about me...in fact, beyond my love of the swanky days, that was it.  "This movie changed my life."  How so, folks asked.  Well...beyond the fact that it's a long road...that you have to keep working, keep fighting...and, have you heard his voice?  Have you heard him tell a story?  Do you know of this gold?

And at the time, I worked at Paramount, where The Kid still had an office.  The movie showed you where...so I had to check it out for myself.  I wrote a congratulatory note (on company stationary, naturally) and walked over in anticipation.  He was out, but the secretary brought the note into his office. 

Her: "Can I tell him you stopped by?"
Me: "......wow"

Months later, a girl who was the receptionist at Entertainment Tonight (and worked at Hooters on weekends) told me to stop by.  We were friendly (she was a former intern) and said she had stacks of free DVDs the show received.  When I arrived, she handed me The Kid Stays in the Picture.  "I knew you'd want this one."  We'd never discussed it, but this became a gift shared with many friends.  It was when Dillon and I watched it that he said "You know, I think this is an audiobook."  Was I foolish to have not thought of that?  You bet your ass I was, pal. 

"I can't get it on CD, but I can get cassette."  That's right, cassette.  I said yes, because how could I say no?  Oh, there are many more tales than in the film.  It's the "complete audio work, uncensored."  Baby, uncensored is putting it mildly.  Vulgarities?  You know it.  The reviews on the back are better than any he received in his world of fickle flicks.  "Don't even try to put it down!" said The New York Times.

Evans' second act (or was it 22nd act?) continued apace.  But just a handful of years ago came book #2: "The Fat Lady Sang" - Part 2 of the Kid's life.  And if you think the anecdotes ended...if you thought the man slowed down...well, the Kid can't get out of this crazy town.  They won't let him.  He won't let himself, either.

On meeting babes early in his career:
"My pal Dickie Van Patten and I couldn't sing or dance, but with purpose we trolled the auditions for every Broadway audition castin' them long-stemmers.  Between the two of us, we never copped a part in a musical.  Never wanted to!  But we never missed out on coppin' a phone number."

During rehab from a stroke, a get well card from Liam Neeson:
"Dear Bob, Just heard about your penis implant in the hospital.  Congratulations on pulling thru.  Liam"

A trip in Spain in 1964:
"The road, bumpy.  The thermometer, tipping one hundred.  Yeah, but Rubi's ebullience was on high.  Me?  I didn't know what the fuck was going on."

On recovering from a brief marriage:
"It was Dodge City time.  I couldn't take the heat.  I had to get the hell out of there, and quick.  An hour later, I was limping down the beaches of Laguna, after checking into a nearby hotel under the alias Tony Lombardo."

On and on it goes...but while the first book ends with "Fuck 'em.  Fuck 'em all." the second has a much different attitude as the curtain closes...perhaps a much more thoughtful, and honest, appraisal of a legendary run in Hollywood:

"I'm still sitting in a front row seat."

Scooters & Sleepers

About 2 weeks in, I was told that my parking would change: instead of in the building and leaving it with the valet, I would park one whole block east, on Vine St.  Beyond the dejection, I accepted my new glamorous life: parking, taking a service elevator up, ignoring the strong garbage smell, walking past stores and leading myself down a long, narrow hallway, passing a yoga studio, and out into this urban hellhole.  There, filling the sidewalks, they sit littered like animal carcasses.

Am I talking about scooters?  Or sleepers?

Both really.  If you'd have told me that there was a concert about to go on sale for the Palladium, I'd have believed you.  But now, they're just asleep.  One after another.  Next to them, every kind of scooter available.  The same kind meant for the streets yet run about the sidewalks at 25 mph, dodging children by the narrowest of margins.

I walked out the door one morning as I stepped onto Vine, and a homeless woman walked up to me and said "Shut the FUCK up!"  Have a nice day, won't you, Trip?  Others in the office told me to laugh it off, but it's tough not being disturbed...in the same way I was when I saw a man come out from the fountain in front of Chase bank, fully wet, having...what, bathed?  Hard to say.

It could just be my timing: one night as I walked to the gates of wonky world with a fellow co-worker (from Minnesota, no less) we saw one wino throwing a trash can to another on a balcony.  A crowd surrounded them not to help - all had their phones out, recording the scene.  After a few moments, enough of us created a crowd to break through.   Once I hit Burbank, I felt like I fell into Pleasantville.

Despite all of this, I have attempted to be determined.  Determined to find the swank that was there some 15 years ago, maybe longer, when I lived near here and walked the streets.  Back then, nights on the sidewalks were often alone.  Many places boarded up, and the swank sure surrounded me.  Nearly all of that has been torn down...nearly all except (at least, what I've been able to find) one place.

It has many names on its sign: The Spirit Shoppe.  Liquor Deli Mart.  (Advertising Free Delivery - a liquor store perk way before food delivery became a thing)  Back when, this place likely blended right in.  Now, it's a blink-and-you-miss-it place, but on the street level, I had to investigate it.

I walked up the ramp and immediately saw the deli was long gone...yet a cooler with pre-made sandwiches (gas station approved) remained.  An old guy behind the counter, flask-sized bottles behind him.  Lotto machine at the ready.  Further down, beyond drinks alcoholic and otherwise, were sundries of the most random definition.  In my brief tour I looked to find older packaging...had I found it, regardless of item, it would be a sale.  The old salt behind the register wouldn't bat an eye.

Back home I mentioned this for future lottery playing.  I was asked "Did it have the sign that it was a lucky retailer?"  No, I said, there's been no good luck in this store.  Ever.  Well...except 1 piece of good luck, I guess.  It survives somehow.  Tom LaBonge, in his reign of terror, bulldozed the rest, but somehow forgot this one.  And thank goodness for that, because in today's "Entertainment District" the connection to the past and the present must exist.

Letting Go

I was in a celebratory mood for clear reasons, and reached out to many local folks whom I classify as friends.  "Let's meet for lunch!  On me - just name the day and place!"  They were happy, too.  A vague range of time was listed in response.  "OK - just let me know!"

I never heard back.

One meet up was planned.  Hours before the beginning, I was told that they "didn't have their best stuff today" and that they had to cancel.  "But would Friday work?  Next week is also wide open."  I asked if they would have their 'best stuff' on Friday.  This was treated as an insult.  What the fuck does that even mean?  We're friends, if something is actually going down, I kind of expect you to be honest with me. 

Are we really friends?  And what does that mean as an adult?

These recent developments lead me to reflect way back.  In college and especially high school, friendship meant a fiercely loyal group of folks who were always there for you as you were for them...with planning not something really needed in advance.  It's helpful when, for example, Jerry has someone like Kramer to say "Hey, you wanna go up with me to the Bronx and see if there's any flyers on George's car?"  "Sure!" was the response, but it could have been anything, right?

I'm not as lucky in adulthood as Jerry, it seems.  (Oh, it's obvious)  When same-day cancellations occur twice, I often sit back to see if I hear anything in the future.  It doesn't take a genius to, when not receiving any communication through months later, realize that it's simply not worth your time.  You're not worth their time, either.  As such, reflection of this topic brought up a half-dozen people who want to meet Wednesday..."sorry, Darvez, I have to cancel...how's next week looking?"...and off they go, into the wind, never to be heard from again.  Oh, every once in a blue moon something else reminds them of me and I get a text from a number not in my phone.  "Happy New Year!  We should get together soon!"  Uh...let's keep it vague, right?  That's the lesson here?

Occasionally you'll hear a person on TV (character or person), or maybe even in real life, say something like "I only have 3 friends."  The audience, or others in the room, consider it a glib statement and that it couldn't possibly be true.  But stop and think about it.  Experience what I do, and you can't help but feel the same way.

And it's good having acquaintances, and it's good to not be on social media, and it's good running into people at events.  But when the "we should meet up" comes around, all it takes is a simple "Yes!  When do you want to do that?  (Well...)  Let me know" to cut that down.  You can be polite and not bullshit me...

Oh who am I kidding.  I live in Dealville.  This is the currency.