I went through Elysian Park this weekend and saw some really cute snowmen. Actually, this being Los Angeles, they weren’t snowmen – they were tumbleweedmen. I think this little guy in London wins the “cute not-a-snowman” prize, though:
Is there such a thing as a nanohaberdasher? This guy could really use a magic nanohat.
A few weeks ago I shared some photos of the Snow White Cottage apartments here in Los Angeles, and also mentioned that a number of other residences in the area had the same sort of German forest fairy tale aesthetic to them. And then I left you hanging. Well, hang no more. Come into the story, why don’t you?
Over here we have the home of Snow White’s little sister Rose Red:
Today’s storefront art post is another iffy subject, in that the art doesn’t depict anything the store sells and was also created with the intention of the finished piece being considered “art,” or at least an “artistic mural.” Normally those two things are disqualifiers in my world of storefront art.
Nevertheless, I’d like to turn my spotlight on the Sunset Plaza Trader Joe’s elevator murals because they do fulfill the most important requirement I have for storefront art: unintended profundity.
Now, I’m not really sure what the portraits of nearly unrecognizable film and music celebrities actually say, but they sure say something.
Take this one.
Is it saying, “Is Paul Newman merely a chin dimple?” Or “Do you remember if Paul Newman even has a chin dimple?” Or “Is Paul Newman with a chin dimple Kirk Douglas?”? I’m not sure.
Similarly, “Is Prince Prince even if he doesn’t look like Prince, if he simply has Prince-like facial hair and is framed in a large pink guitar pick?”
And then we come to Marilyn Monroe.
I did not photograph this at an angle, by the way. Please note that half of the face is rendered from one perspective, and half is rendered from a very different angle. Either the artist had a stroke mid-way through this one, or the artist is a flounder with eyes on either side of his head.
Step along folks. We have more to see. We have Morrissey.
Morrissey. I am fascinated that I know this is Morrissey and not Elvis or Ricky Nelson or Fabian or Frankie Avalon. What is the essential Morrissey-ness in this portrait that makes it definitively him?
And finally, I come to this one.
Who is she? She is rendered like a celebrity, so she must be a celebrity. Lauren Bacall. Judy Garland. Patricia Neal?
I have absolutely no idea, but if I were a maitre d’ at a restaurant and she came in, I would give this woman a good table. Because she looks important, she is important. There’s something deep about that, isn’t there? Phew. I gotta sit down for a minute.
Now, where’s that Two Buck Chuck?
Ever since preschool I’ve pretty much been a bangs-and-long hair sort of girl, with few exceptions.
Here’s what happened the last time someone convinced me to get a short haircut with a “body wave” perm (as in, “It’s just going to add a little volume and body! No curl! You won’t look like a poodle! I promise you won’t look like a poodle! I promise!”):
So there you have it.
The only problem is that I’m not very good with long hair, so the default coiffure I’ve been sporting for some time has been the Bettie Page At A Desert Commune In Serious Need Of A Hot Oil Treatment look. Lately, I’ve been wondering if I should change things up a little.
I’ve been going by this hair place in Eagle Rock that seems it might have stylists with some interesting ideas:
What do you think? I’m wondering if they do complete makeovers.
Last night there was some sort of police lockdown at my work, so I was detained for a little while and was unable to meet some friends at Clifton’s Cafeteria downtown. I would have loved to have met my friends for a nice turkey leg and jello after the police lockdown was called off, but unfortunately Clifton’s closes at 7:30 pm every night. Even last night during the very popular monthly downtown art walk, where droves of drunken people unfamiliar with downtown LA and in serious need of delicious roasted turkey legs roam the streets right in front of Clifton’s, the cafeteria workers put the lids on the steam tables promptly at 7:30 and drummed their fingers on the tables waiting for my friends to finish their tapioca puddings.
I know one of your mottoes is that your management will be firm, Clifton’s, but this seems a little silly to me. Just a couple of months ago I was reading about how you were looking for a new buyer to take over the building because business at the cafeteria was down, and the reason given for business being down was there was less foot traffic downtown these days. Well, yeah, there’s less foot traffic downtown at 6:30 in the morning when you open, but there are restaurants that would kill for the kind of nighttime foot traffic you’re getting from the art walk, not to mention the plethora of fancypants bars that have opened up mere blocks away.
I don’t know. Maybe you’re too distracted by the incredible decor inside the restaurant to notice all the hubbub outside your doors. I can’t blame you. If I owned Clifton’s, I would sit all night in front of the kettle at the fireplace roasting marshmallows and looking at the moon.
I might not even ever leave the place, sleeping in one of the log cabins and taking my showers under the waterfall. But I beg of you – look outside your door. Those drunk people lurking outside now have lots of money in their pockets, and I know their lives would be so much better if they only knew about your crudité duck
and happy fishing bear family
and the only chapel in the city that encourages eating mashed potatoes during services.
Think about it, Clifton’s. I think with the right strategy you could even reopen the Pacific Seas location.
Why hello, bear. It’s good to see you. You know, when you got replaced by a new security gate on Glendale Boulevard, and then your friend the art aficionado got tagged with some really unremarkable graffiti, I was worried that you had left Los Angeles or something. But now I see you only moved downtown.
And you brought a friend too. How about that?
Man, I can’t tell you the last time I saw an elephant in downtown Los Angeles. Actually, wait… I guess I can. September 16, 2006 was the last time I saw an elephant in downtown Los Angeles. Still, that was a long time ago. Welcome to Los Angeles, elephant!
Today’s “Around the world in LA” residence is probably not going to seem that special to Angelenos, I fear. But the fact that this place is met with, “Yeah, that place. Yawn…” just serves to further cement the fact that Los Angeles is truly a fantastic place. Today’s ho-hum residence is the Snow White Cottages in Silver Lake:
Some nice facts about the eight Snow White Cottages:
Go check them out before they’re completely cheapo-refurbed over.
In my explorations of Los Angeles homes that look like homes from other lands, I have found Barcelona before. But that was old Barthelona. I would now like to show you 20th century Barcelona in Los Angeles, courtesy of architect Charles Whittlesey and the Burrows Residence just around the corner from me:
I have mixed feelings about this place being made by an actual architect rather than just a kook with a bunch of grout and broken crockery, but I suppose it’s safer for the current inhabitants this way. Also, I guess 20th century is kind of old at this point, but do keep in mind that in America we’ve got some catching up to do.
Once there was a boy who grew up in a family of performers. The boy’s father was a very hard taskmaster and made sure all of the children became excellent dancers and music makers. At a certain point in his life, the boy lived in a tremendous castle in southern California, and on the grounds of the castle were bridges and waterfalls and wishing wells and all sorts of magical things. Then the boy didn’t live there any more. But it was okay. The boy grew up and continued to make more music to even greater acclaim and he lived happily ever after.
Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to little Alex Koren:
What – were you expecting someone else? I said happily ever after.
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