Kimmi in the very same hat, summer of 1976, Utah…

Is there a Hollywood? Exene and John Doe, the Ma and Pa of my hometown (in my era anyway, and Lux and Ivy not withstanding), philosophically debated Hollywood’s relative beingness at the Autry Museum in Griffith Park Friday night. 

Hghlights included:  See How We Are, Because I Do, and I Must Not Think Bad Thoughts, which has since been swirling around my brain with its traintrack melody.

Everyone was so gracious, much like old friends, the protesting lyrics felt wistfully naive (which is to say hopeful). The night led me to ponder the 80s I once knew, old Hollywood, the Wild West of my (Country and Western-singing and playing, cotton-picking) grandparents experience, and my own small place in the history of both (or perhaps their places in me). “Woody Guthrie sang about b-e-e-t-s not b-e-a-t-s!”

My day began in the company of three kids, two grown-ups, a dog, and a curious kitty who would have been quite interested in a certain exhibit at the Museum of Jurrasic Technology…

Also on display were the Micromosaics of Henry Dalton. This image is through a microscope, and made of bits of butterfly wings.

We also saw the Floral Stereoradiographs of Albert G. Richards.

And a model of the Magnetic Oracle (Magnes, sive de Arte Magnetica) imagined by Athanasius Kircher.

The day ended in the rather swanky crash pad high above Echo Park, listening to the freeway, coyotes, and the eerie giggling of skunks. (who knew?)

The mariachi were so good a woman at the table next to us got up and danced. Below is rush hour, Laguna style.

The view from my mom’s living room, ocean at horizon. Looks far, but its about three blocks–a certain heaven.

Below is the kitchen window.

Flora and freakies in Mom’s garden.

click to expand.

My great grandfather managed a handful of hotels in the Hollywood/Downtown area 1930s-60s. My Dad and I took a tour of a few, following the trail of balsawood airplanes he and his brothers sailed from the rootops. Above is a view from the fire escape of The Gaylord, 13th Floor (called 14th, of course). Dead center in the hills is Griffith Observatory  (nice air, no? kindly take my word for it…), a childhood haunt of mine.

Below is the Hotel Roosevelt lobby. They hosted 1st Academy Awards in 1929 inside the Blossom Ballroom.

Tucked behind the Bryson is the Wilshire Royale, one of the last places my Grandpa worked. very Chandler, no?

Miracle Mile, Bullocks Wilshire, built 1929.

When he managed this one, it was called The Elk, and was a private clubhouse for Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks.
Across the way is MacArthur (Westlake) Park.

Below is The Gaylord, a long-time gig for grandpa.

They lived in an apt directly overlooking The Brown Derby.

The spot where the original Brown Derby was. This dome was painted salmon…

and moved to the top of the Korean Town strip mall. Hooray for Hollywood.

Last night in New York as a resident. Friends braved the 102 heat and introduced me to El Quijote, an old-school Spanish place tucked under the Chelsea Hotel thats been serving fresh seafood, tall cocktails, and superb flan since the 1930s.

Tim, Katherine, Harry Smith, William S. Burroughs and Andy Warhol at the Quijote.

Goodbye to all that!

Adirondack weekend: shooting stars, calling loons, holding hands with chipmunks. Hunting in bogs for carnivorous plants, not tipping the canoe, costumed cocktail hour on the veranda. Sassy comebacks, deep ponderings, icy lake swims. A rather perfect send-off from the fine state of New York.