Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Theme Time
Since the Sopranos I've always loved the idea of recontexturalising music to enhance, work in parallel, or shift perceptions of characters or scenes in dramatic screenwriting. This is a writer-directors dream tool for that purpose. Mum and Dad, you'll love it too.
Just Another Geek Running His Beak
Not everyone is working on a script here, they might be trying to act, or write music for films. Trying to make movies without actually being in the movie business is a conversation killer, rather than a conversation starter. A typical example might be like the one I had with Selina:
Her: 'So I'm waiting tables at my friend's place downtown, and helping my sister out with her esthetician business, and working on my screenwriting'
Me: 'Oh, you write - cool, me too. How's that going?'
'It's going. You know.' (looks me in the eye suspiciously to signal end of subject)
Her: 'So I'm waiting tables at my friend's place downtown, and helping my sister out with her esthetician business, and working on my screenwriting'
Me: 'Oh, you write - cool, me too. How's that going?'
'It's going. You know.' (looks me in the eye suspiciously to signal end of subject)
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Kogi Comes to Kinney, eventually
Kogi BBQ is a cult taco truck specialising in Korean-Mexican fusion, appearing at various car parks around the Los Angeles metropolitan district, the locations of which are communicated via Twitter. This type of hype results in two-hour queues at the advertised locations, I'd heard. They were due to be in my manor tonight from 10pm to 2am, at the Brig car park on Abbot Kinney, so I rode down there with 10 mins to spare to beat the queues.
10.15, no sign of the truck.
10.30, one of the other people waiting at the Brig twittered Kogi and received the reply the truck would be there at by 11. At 10.45 they arrived, and a long queue formed quickly out of nowhere. Amid bad jokes about camel toes, and the unfunny teasing/ganging up on an Austrian girl - 'it was US commercialism that propped up your economy for like 50 years, you guys invented bad chocolate and wooden shoes, dude' - there was a lot of grumbling about the delay - an hour's wait in a car park, fair enough, but most of the complaints were more about how uncivilised it was to stand in line for food at all.
'It's, like, exactly like Russia in the 80s'
'Dude, at least the Russians knew what they were standing in line for'
What we were standing in line for were delicious $2 tacos, stuffed with kimchi and korean barbeque marinated meat, and garnished with sesame-chilli salsa. I had 4. Two short-rib tacos, one pork and one korean chicken, wrapped in foil and biked back swifty to Wave Crest Ave. They were pretty amazing, and just the right side of not-enough to make me contemplate riding back up Abbot Kinney and getting back in line, if I could take another hour of American post-pub banalities.
Across the street
Discovered last night that the whole block at the corner of Wave Crest Ave and Pacific, the row of houses, garages and the entire 'Bowhouse Apts' apartment building, is totally fake, and hidden away in the middle of it is one house, shielded from the street by the facade. It has fake buzzers you can ring all night, with fake tenants names, a full size advertising billboard in the back garden, a street sign saying 'AHARD PL.' and a fake rockface on the roof.
Friday, 20 March 2009
The Joy Of Grey
It's been cloudy here for a few days, this is good, it's very hard to sit in the house and study when the sun is out. If I could see the screen in the sun, the laptop's battery would last 10 mins and I'd get sand in the CD tray, so whatever I can do on a paper pad is whatever gets done. Which has been plot outlines and character arcs for a script, and sketches for my Rogue Status t-shirt designs. Anyway, the cloud is good. Helps my brain to focus, and that in turn means more stuff done which makes me happier. Achieving things and making progress makes me feel more dynamic and purposeful, and makes the good things much better.
To accompany the clouds came a crazy fog yesterday that rolled in off the sea and engulfed the whole town, Kasia saw it as far the Getty Centre in Westwood.
Hands Stay Steady On The Wheels Of Steel
Been cycling around everywhere lately on Sarah's Beachcruiser bicycle that she left behind for me when she went to San Franscisco. It's a great way explore around the Venice/Santa Monica area, although your range is a bit restricted in a city laid out like LA. But it's still opened up possibilities for supermarket food shopping and thrift-store digging, and the bike is so perfect for rolling along the bike paths on the beach that it's entirely plausible the Beachcruiser, was designed specifically with Venice beach in mind.
The attitude toward cycling here is different for a couple of key reasons. Riding on the pavement is not discouraged, it's more likely to be seen as a safer place for cyclists to be. It's easier here as well because for one, not many people are on the pavements, and because theres so many cars, theres so many more private off-road parking spot, and therefore dropped kerbs everywhere to get on and off the pavement with the ultimate smoothness. They don't expect you to have lights at night, it's not illegal, in fact the only traffic offence relating to bikes is riding over the alcohol limit, something I've never heard of anyone in the UK being nicked for. I haven't been beeped at once. I used to get vans driving after me, drivers screaming their heads off in Clerkenwell.
Riding the wide avenues in a warm breeze, Oli's chapter-defining LA selection on the iPod, on my way to Vidiots to rent a film, shrimp tacos on Lincoln, the beachfront coffee run, food shopping, calling for Jon & Alex, all made possible by those two wheels, and definitely one of the great simple highlights of this first few weeks.
The attitude toward cycling here is different for a couple of key reasons. Riding on the pavement is not discouraged, it's more likely to be seen as a safer place for cyclists to be. It's easier here as well because for one, not many people are on the pavements, and because theres so many cars, theres so many more private off-road parking spot, and therefore dropped kerbs everywhere to get on and off the pavement with the ultimate smoothness. They don't expect you to have lights at night, it's not illegal, in fact the only traffic offence relating to bikes is riding over the alcohol limit, something I've never heard of anyone in the UK being nicked for. I haven't been beeped at once. I used to get vans driving after me, drivers screaming their heads off in Clerkenwell.
Riding the wide avenues in a warm breeze, Oli's chapter-defining LA selection on the iPod, on my way to Vidiots to rent a film, shrimp tacos on Lincoln, the beachfront coffee run, food shopping, calling for Jon & Alex, all made possible by those two wheels, and definitely one of the great simple highlights of this first few weeks.
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
One of each with everything
The new place I’m living in was previously occupied by two girls, a Californian and an English girl, who is still here for a few weeks. From what stuff is in the kitchen, they both eat healthily, you can tell. Everything salty is low sodium, it’s organic and if it’s ever mass produced then it’s from a homely outlet like Whole Foods or Trader Joe.
So in the midst of this macrobiotic equilibrium, I arrive. Now there's steak and beer in the fridge. And since I discovered Ralph’s discount card, and the 99c Store, the fridge has seen the following:
Gigantic Tropicana
Hot Sauce
Curly Fries
Frozen hash browns
Maple cured pork sausages, and a huge pack of streaky bacon rashers for –
Buttermilk pancakes (frozen)
Maple Syrup
Cheese and Cherry Danish (6 pack)
Ralphs Mayo
Ralphs Sweet Mustard Sauce
Ribeye steaks
Red Snapper steaks
Carne Asada
Mexican Chicken from the carneceria
Remains of a few Burrito Ultimo’s and a selection of take-out salsas in plastic pots
Gallons of Double Vanilla Ice-cream covered in -
Reese’s Shell chocolate and peanut butter ice-cream topping
I never really went to the States and got to consume, American style, before it got uncool to consume. The LA that I have seen is not the food retail nirvana I had expected - New Yorkers seem to eat 5 times as much. LA people eat small and well, and they recycle - well they get their homeless to do their recycling for them.
I want to ride to the strip mall and wander bewildered in giant food supermarkets, want to get lost in bakery aisles as long as the M11. I want bright packaging and brand names I’ve heard in hip hop music. I want to drink from a bottle of fruit juice as big as the one Timbaland is swinging in the studio with Jay-Z on YouTube. Just for a bit, and then I’ll start going to the beach at 7am and running it off. I swear.
Hero - from the Greek meaning 'to protect and to serve'
The police broke up the drum circle on the beach on Sunday night. The drums had started around 4pm and by 8, I was walking to the liquor store when I heard a police megaphone from a block or two away, barking out orders to disperse.
There was helicopter noise in the air over the beach and sirens below. Blue and red police lights on the sand. A big crowd had been effectively contained. Car headlights lit the crowd’s path off the beach and back toward compliance. It gave the scene a real Close Encounters feel - backlit by police car, came these Southern Californian silhouettes in the night. Sand kicking up around feet, exhaust fumes, helicopter wind in the cooling evening.
On my way back I passed a tall neatly dressed man talking to a bearded white beach bum. The bum said -‘Well I’m tellin’ ya, I was there when they first turned up, and you know what my feelings are? It’s like this… they piss me off, the motherfuckers’
Later that night a group of muscle cars got into a jam on the intersection of Pacific and Rose. They must have all tried to pull out in formation but got stuck in a star shape. The cars were too bulky to reverse out effectively, so they had a few drivers stepping out of their cars, voices were raised offering suggestions on whose fault it was and the best way out of it, but once they got righted, they blasted off together down Pacific Avenue, the noise like a crack of gunfire ripping the night in two momentarily, until all five cars in the pack tuned sweetly into a performance engine power chord.
There was helicopter noise in the air over the beach and sirens below. Blue and red police lights on the sand. A big crowd had been effectively contained. Car headlights lit the crowd’s path off the beach and back toward compliance. It gave the scene a real Close Encounters feel - backlit by police car, came these Southern Californian silhouettes in the night. Sand kicking up around feet, exhaust fumes, helicopter wind in the cooling evening.
On my way back I passed a tall neatly dressed man talking to a bearded white beach bum. The bum said -‘Well I’m tellin’ ya, I was there when they first turned up, and you know what my feelings are? It’s like this… they piss me off, the motherfuckers’
Later that night a group of muscle cars got into a jam on the intersection of Pacific and Rose. They must have all tried to pull out in formation but got stuck in a star shape. The cars were too bulky to reverse out effectively, so they had a few drivers stepping out of their cars, voices were raised offering suggestions on whose fault it was and the best way out of it, but once they got righted, they blasted off together down Pacific Avenue, the noise like a crack of gunfire ripping the night in two momentarily, until all five cars in the pack tuned sweetly into a performance engine power chord.
Wednesday, 11 March 2009
Elfie don't play that
This is Elfie, housecat, streetcat and the 3rd housemate. We are currently locked in a bitter, unwinnable turf war over my pillow, and the LA weekly.
Carne Asada in My Larder
First two days in Wave Crest Ave. Kasia's cool, my room is super cool, house is totally mellow and I've been getting work done there. The neighbourhood is great, boyz 'n' the hood alleyways with jasmine bushes and willow trees, and just off Abbot Kinney there's a diner that does pancakes made with pumpkin that are recklessly out of control.
You're getting the tour.
No two ways about it.
Monday, 9 March 2009
I've moved into my own place today, in Venice,
two short blocks from the beach, so I went down there to check it out at night. The moon was nearly full, the sand had the low glow of residual sunlight. Lumpen sleeping bags appeared one by one under the palm trees just off the promenade, once you started looking for them. As I crossed the sand I heard one of the Venice beachbum ‘drum circles’ I had heard about from Cheray, a gorgeous poet from Queens that was at Ron's party last night.
Venice got hippies, then.
The moon slid behind transparent sheets of tiger-print clouds. Santa Monica pier blazed in the distance. Waves crashed, a toddler shrieked, the drummers drifted in and out of syncopation.
A flashlight flicked back and forth across me twice. Behind me somewhere, and pretty close. A few seconds later it was at it again, scanning the beach, strobing off the sand. Police?... Aww, no, really?
I heard –
‘SHOW YOURSEYLF!’
A pause.
‘SHOW YOURSEYLF!!! BE A MAN!!!’
Strong country American accent. Crazy sounding.
The torch started scanning again. It found me, I looked directly into it. Then the torch moved off, along with the voice
‘SHOW YOURSEYYYYLF!!!! BEEEE A MAIN!!!’
The drums and tide continued unabated.
I’m really marvelling at this place. Marvelling at how much it seems to suit me and the degree to which the experience has inspired me, I would never have guessed, would never have imagined it would be like this.
The wide, spotless beach, with the kitschy pier in Santa Monica that’s always alight, the palm trees, the freaks. The skatepark and graffiti wall by the beach in Venice. The stars that share the big skies with the private planes and police helicopters. Feeling like you might be in one of the top places in the world, and almost feeling embarrassed to feel that way about America, like reluctantly realising I might have been wrong all along.
Venice got hippies, then.
The moon slid behind transparent sheets of tiger-print clouds. Santa Monica pier blazed in the distance. Waves crashed, a toddler shrieked, the drummers drifted in and out of syncopation.
A flashlight flicked back and forth across me twice. Behind me somewhere, and pretty close. A few seconds later it was at it again, scanning the beach, strobing off the sand. Police?... Aww, no, really?
I heard –
‘SHOW YOURSEYLF!’
A pause.
‘SHOW YOURSEYLF!!! BE A MAN!!!’
Strong country American accent. Crazy sounding.
The torch started scanning again. It found me, I looked directly into it. Then the torch moved off, along with the voice
‘SHOW YOURSEYYYYLF!!!! BEEEE A MAIN!!!’
The drums and tide continued unabated.
I’m really marvelling at this place. Marvelling at how much it seems to suit me and the degree to which the experience has inspired me, I would never have guessed, would never have imagined it would be like this.
The wide, spotless beach, with the kitschy pier in Santa Monica that’s always alight, the palm trees, the freaks. The skatepark and graffiti wall by the beach in Venice. The stars that share the big skies with the private planes and police helicopters. Feeling like you might be in one of the top places in the world, and almost feeling embarrassed to feel that way about America, like reluctantly realising I might have been wrong all along.
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
Some Hot Sauce Brands at the Burrito Shop
Aspirin
Scorned Woman
Gourmet Insanity Sauce
Colon Cleaner
Holy Shit
100% Pain
Scorned Woman
Gourmet Insanity Sauce
Colon Cleaner
Holy Shit
100% Pain
Wires and Tires
I've been here more than a week now, and some of the things that hit me on arriving have started to become commonplace now.
The constant, insistent hum of cars pulling up to intersections, and pulling away. It's like leaving a video game playing in the background. The engines are bigger, smoother sounding with a whirr and a bass note you don't get in motors back home. The tarmac is smooth and the cars seem newer. They're mostly automatics so no one needs to rev that high, they just pull up, and glide away. It happens all night, and everywhere you go, even in the Santa Monica backstreets. But this I am starting to notice less and less.
The car runs the road. Everyone says it and it's true. Buses come every 20 minutes. Jaywalking is a crime, punishable with a fine and a bollocking. To cross the street, even minor roads, you push a button, wait for ages, then cross when the forbidding upturned palm turns to a green man. The green man appears for mere seconds, then the palm returns, accompanied by a countdown clock that makes you instinctively break out of a Californian amble into a half-jog. It all seems designed to hurry pesky pedestrians out of the way of the progress of the mighty automobile as quickly as possible.
The streets are covered in billboards, signage and telegraph wires bisect the blue skies every time you look upwards. The telegraph wires and poles have an oddly Third World look to them, feels like they wouldnt be out of place in Calcutta. Perhaps its because in Europe they are all underground now, and it seems an odd anachronism for country supposedly at the peak of modernity like the USA. But you dont have to look far in LA for signs that the USA is in need of some extensive modernising. I notice this less and less too, so before it fades into the background like the whirr of V8 engines into the night, I thought I'd better put it down here.
My observations at the moment are still those of a tourist. The only contact I have had with residents has been with people in shops or at bus stops or bars. They're friendly but they hear the English accent and they talk to you as a visitor. Soon I hope to be talking business with LA people, and then it will be interesting to note the differences in behaviour. I feel ready to give it a shot.
The constant, insistent hum of cars pulling up to intersections, and pulling away. It's like leaving a video game playing in the background. The engines are bigger, smoother sounding with a whirr and a bass note you don't get in motors back home. The tarmac is smooth and the cars seem newer. They're mostly automatics so no one needs to rev that high, they just pull up, and glide away. It happens all night, and everywhere you go, even in the Santa Monica backstreets. But this I am starting to notice less and less.
The car runs the road. Everyone says it and it's true. Buses come every 20 minutes. Jaywalking is a crime, punishable with a fine and a bollocking. To cross the street, even minor roads, you push a button, wait for ages, then cross when the forbidding upturned palm turns to a green man. The green man appears for mere seconds, then the palm returns, accompanied by a countdown clock that makes you instinctively break out of a Californian amble into a half-jog. It all seems designed to hurry pesky pedestrians out of the way of the progress of the mighty automobile as quickly as possible.
The streets are covered in billboards, signage and telegraph wires bisect the blue skies every time you look upwards. The telegraph wires and poles have an oddly Third World look to them, feels like they wouldnt be out of place in Calcutta. Perhaps its because in Europe they are all underground now, and it seems an odd anachronism for country supposedly at the peak of modernity like the USA. But you dont have to look far in LA for signs that the USA is in need of some extensive modernising. I notice this less and less too, so before it fades into the background like the whirr of V8 engines into the night, I thought I'd better put it down here.
My observations at the moment are still those of a tourist. The only contact I have had with residents has been with people in shops or at bus stops or bars. They're friendly but they hear the English accent and they talk to you as a visitor. Soon I hope to be talking business with LA people, and then it will be interesting to note the differences in behaviour. I feel ready to give it a shot.
Monday, 2 March 2009
Crosstown Cross Flags, Cahuenga, Hollywood & Melrose
First day with my nose to the grindstone since arriving. Also the first day of rain, which coincided perfectly as all the sunshine was too tempting to stay out of. Sunshine is like fireworks to me, it's depressing to be indoors and not seeing any, when you live in the UK, it might be the last you see for a while, so the novelty of waking up every morning to clear blue skies and warm temperatures is going to take little while to wear off.
Shireen came to LA from San Diego, where she is living at the moment, I booked a room and we went up to Hollywood for Saturday night. We had a good night out in several bars between Hollywood and Sunset Boulevards, American spirit measures are fat and their bar staff know how to make drinks, in the most part. It was cool seeing all the touristy stuff and the Hollywood sign looks good from there, but it's all a bit Leicester Square, especially after 2am.
Bought some exquisite vintage Ralph from a couple of thrift shops. $5.49 for an original Polo Cross Flags jacket, $16 for a t-shirt material polo shirt that's so dope it hurts. Mum and Dad, just thought you ought to know what bargains I'm getting. Cos aside from the vintage items, everything else is really pricey. I'm gonna need to get my carwashing/dog walking game tightened up.
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