L.A. salsa scene, Sony, and night-walking with cataracts

From T & A’s I cruised to Sony Studios, to meet my friend Felix, who I met in 2003 at Burning Man. I had been living here and there at the time – actually, I was officially homeless according to the state of California, and on food stamps, living on Venice Beach with Truth Eye – and managed to get a ride in a school bus up to Black Rock Desert by having a driver’s license – because the driver called Omar was epileptic and couldn’t legally drive the school bus, the idea being if we got pulled over I would say I was the driver – in any case the entire thing was a disaster the school bus broke down we got pulled over the police involved – but point being for the purposes of explaining background with Felix that I snuck into the festival in a wooden generator box in the Budget 24-footer we ended up renting. Felix and I had some epic battles on the trampoline there on the playa, I mean serious kung fu-ing shit in that star-filled salt-desert, and he will forever regret not being able to best me on the bouncy.

So I met him at Sony in Culver city, and got an insider’s tour of the Sony lot, which used to be the MGM lot, as well as Columbia Pictures. Cool thing being, unlike some of the more modern studios, this was the classic deal – perhaps the greatest movie lot in Hollywood. Singin in the Rain, Wizard of Ox, Gigi, Gone with the Wind – all filmed here. And who knew they still painted backdrops ? Indeed they do, in a very cool building I might add. Total old school, complete with gated elevator.

And how do you measure up to such greatness ? I mean where to start ?

Britney Spears was practicing for her Femme Fatale tour, and apparently felt none of those serious historical skies pressing down on her. I got roundly remonstrated for taking photos – don’t want any of her stunning new dance moves on Facebook.

We got lunch at the Sony cafeteria, and I complained bitterly to Felix that we weren’t dining at the white tablecloth section, where Michael Gondry and other big-time directors get taken.

I repaired to Los Feliz, eager to get the truck off the streets, and found a curious note that it seems one would only find in L.A. taped up. I took Cal for a long walk up into Hollywood Hills, near the Hollywood Bowl, appreciating the nicely preserved vehicles, flowers, street signs, and generally the area that once attracted the folks who now live in Beverly Hills.

That eve we met up with one of Felix’s buddies and had beers at Umami burger, which was damn good, although expensive. Once again I realized with shocking clarity that I simply was not cool enough for Los Angeles. Folks would just have to tolerate my brief stay.

I lobbied for Jumbo Clowns for after-hours following Felix’s buddy’s description of sheepy one-eyed strippers pushing 50 working the pole at the strip-mall strip-joint. I hadn’t seen my friend Sarah in a while, and suggested in a text that we meet up there. Her response, via text message, hit the perfect note : « I mean, it wouldn’t be my first choice for catching up after not seeing each other, but if that’s what you’re down for… » We went to the Public House instead, and had a grand time – Felix describing it brilliantly as unsure what the hell it was, a sports bar, dive bar, or lounge.

The next morning I met Sarah early for coffee at quite possibly the hippest coffee shop ever – Intelligentsia – before driving back to be a guinea pig for her friend who had just started teaching yoga. I was a willing, non-bendable guinea pig – and quite thankful when shivasana rolled around.

That eve Steve and I walked around the hood, then I ordered Thai from one of J. Gold’s suggestions and I ate quite possibly the hottest seafood salad I’ve ever experienced. I needed to experience the salsa scene in L.A., so walked – can you believe it, walked ! – to El Floridita, in my white shoes, and danced to a live band. It was good, and supposedly attracted stars such as Sandra Bullock and Matthew McConaughey on its small parquet floor, but the crowd that eve, beneath the drop ceiling, was fairly coupled off – I got in one good dance with a latina, who still wasn’t really hitting it.

I kind of think of LA like various herds of caribou – if you hit where they are, there are a lot, and they’re impressive – like Zanzibar that night, the Luminaries. But if you miss them, you’re hearing crickets.

There at El Floridita I heard crickets. I mean, there were a couple good dancers, but the herd was grazing elsewhere.

For the next hours few I roamed around Hollywood, having fun with the IPhone. 

I returned back to the spot, where Windsor, Steve’s dog, who has nearly completed his tenure on this earth, as evidenced by his impressive cataracts, greeted me, lay sweetly with Colorado, before adjourning to sniff around, and pee all over the floor – an inspired move reminiscent of Nestor in the Iliad of an old man accomplishing his goals through pure wile and wit.

The following day Sarah and I chatted about her wedding, and her fledgeling and inspired baking business – check it out at www.sarahthebear.com. Dog and I hit the road early – witnessing on the way out a suicide attempt, with ladders and everything to try and coax the guy down. L.A. had given me what I needed, and now it was time to move on.