The Brewery Bi-Annual ArtWalk(scroll down for pics)

Once upon a time in 1902, in the Lincoln Heights section of Los Angeles, a power plant was built for the Edison Electric company. Later, the complex became a Pabst Blue Ribbon Brewery. One chuckles to imagine what the hard-working men and women who worked at this temple to the orderly would have thought, when in 1982, many strange and avant-garde folks took over the break rooms, the boiler rooms, the bosses' office and the infirmary and filled them with paint thinners, art books,mannequins painted gold...

and from what I could smell...lots of weed.

The Brewery is often called "the largest art colony in the world." The spaces range from two-story carriage house style places with a patio area to tiny little concrete rooms up the stairs and around the whitewashed corner in the main building. The co-op who runs The Brewery claims to only rent to artists, which begs the question- would my bubble head doodles count?

The vibe at The Brewery is amazing. When we went it was packed with people drinking beer, children playing, teenagers on bikes and incense galore. It was happy and New York edgy and filled with hipsters of all ages. The grounds are beautiful, with trees growing around the industrial buildings, statues made with found objects in drainage ditches and murals on the side of old brick walls. A Bruce Springsteen song meeting Ani DiFranco.

Being welcomed from studio to loft with artworks, music and sometimes cookies fostered a sense of community one rarely feels anymore. The artists were there to talk to you and though everything was for sale, no one pressured you to buy anything. It was a privilege to be allowed to see where the artists sleep, create, eat, and if some of the works are any indication, have kinky sex. Someone should do a documentary about this place. It feels like Melrose Place with a dirty beard (for you North Carolinians- imagine Carrboro dropped in an old cigarette factory).

Unfortunately, the awesomeness doesn't quite extend to the art. Most of the works had a handy-hobby quality that made them seem amateur and almost cheap. There were a few standouts I really enjoyed: Mike Pedersen, Jill Sykes, Teale Hatheway, Sam Kopels and the delightful Amy Lynn. But honestly my favorite thing was seeing how these aesthetically gifted people had arranged their living spaces. It was like a home and garden tour for this poor hipster, and what can I say? I am still titillated by folks' bathroom cabinets. I guess at heart I'm just a big old snoop.

TRAVEL:B
EASE: B
CONTENT: A-
SUBJECTIVE COOLNESS: A+
OVERALL: A

Directions:Take Sunset East into Downtown Los Angeles. Turn Left on Alameda. Turn Right onto Alpine Street.Turn left onto Main Street. Take Main Street about a mile, turn right on Moulton Avenue (located two blocks past Lamar St.). 2100 North Main Street.
Hours: Semi-Annual, Spring and Fall. Check out website for more info: http://breweryartwalk.com.

Price:Free, free, free like the artists who live here.

Pictures of The Brewery ArtWalk

GLOW

Oh Saint Monica, patron saint of difficult marriages, disappointing children, victims of adultery and unfaithfulness (too good, right...look it up), I didn't think it would be this way. As a writer, and someone who has a rather difficult time living in the moment, I have a confession to make. I often have an idea of what I am going to say about one of my destinations before I even go. Never was this truer than with GLOW. I was prepared to give A+'s across the board. I mean it combines three of my favorite things- the beach at night, installation art and walking outside with an alcoholic beverage.

The first and only other GLOW was two years ago, and it was extraordinary. Conceived as an all night, interactive art festival featuring local artists tightly spaced on and around the Santa Monica pier, my friends and I were among the thousands who marveled at glowing orbs in the water, a tower made of glow sticks, florescent tunnels one could run through and conceptual pieces performed by fantastical creatures on stilts. It captured the magic and mystery of the shore and the city on the shore. My friends and I thought we had died and gone to a heaven filled with Gatsby's elusive green lights. Apparently the city of Santa Monica thought it was more like a Fellini-esque hell filled with rollers, drunkards and trippers.

So this GLOW ended at midnight and had the stifled, corporate feel of a half empty municipal art museum that just happened to be on the beach. The pieces were spaced ridiculously far apart (wet sand+food and drink=exhausting) and designated by great white lampposts. Many of the works were lackluster, appearing to have been designed by a committee of landscaping drones. Something called "the battle of earth and the moon" turned out to be two hippie dudes dancing around in head dresses while someone played a drum. Another exhibit was just a light shining on the water.

A car's headlights would achieve the same effect.

Children running around thrilled to be up late were a charming sight, and there were a few lovely works. There was a giant white orb high in the sky that projected a participant's face so that he or she became the man in the moon. Of course, one man in the moon proposed to his girlfriend. There was an architecturally precise bridge of light one could walk through that looked like a ship leaning towards the water, and a mass of bubbles frothed out of a pale blue lifeguard tower. Another piece used a projector to magnify participants' hands and arms in full color across the sand.

So there were some impressive experiments, but the joie de vivre, the anarchist spirit of the first festival was missing. Instead, there were orderly, looooonnnnngg lines to actually get to participate in anything and cops policing, some on horseback, at every turn. The best thing about the night was the communal joy of sitting in the damp sand, bs-ing with friends while waiting to meet or find other friends. No matter what the occasion, that always seems to be the thing that makes me glow the most.

P.S. Note the orbs all over my photos. I know it is light pollution, but the southerner in me thinks it's lots of art world ghosts with a few lost sailors and surfers thrown in for good measure.

Travel: D (parking was a nightmare).
Ease: D
Content: B-
Subjective Coolness: C+
Overall: C

Directions: At the Santa Monica Pier (who the heck knows if they will even do it again).
Parking: Just had to find it, cost anywhere from $10-$30.
Hours: 8pm-12pm.
Price: Free, besides the soul disappointing disappointment.

Autry National Center

Hadley's newest hit,
WENT TO THE AUTRY MUSEUM
only available on Please-give-me-a-book-deal records.

(to the tune of Gene Autry's "Back in the Saddle Again")

Went to the Autry Museum
Wax statutes of cowboys with big chins
Indian baskets made of grass
Fake towns that are a gas
Went to the Autry Museum

Wanted to ride the fake horse
You say that's for kids, I say of course
Heritage center just for tots,
where they can touch clay pots
Went to the Autry Museum

Dirty-drinking ho's
kind of white washed, I suppose
Went to the Autry Museum.

Feces-covered dudes
not so stoic, I presume
Went to the Autry Museum.

Lots of neat western curious
tiny cards, golden scales, mementos
Guns abound for boys
for girls, suffragette toys
Went to the Autry Museum


Tough saloon girl I'd like to be
just hope I don't die of dysentery
Made me want to play Oregon Trail
and get some cowboy tail
Went to the Autry Museum

Travel: B (dang Los Feliz Blvd. trail)
Ease: B
Content: A- (Surprising, I know)
Subjective Coolness: B
Overall: B+

Directions: Take Los Feliz Blvd. and turn on Riverside (right before the 5), take all the way through Griffith Park and you will see signs. Actual address:

4700 Western Heritage Way

Los Angeles, CA 90027
Parking is on site and free. Across from the LA Zoo.

Hours: Tues.-Fri. 10-4, Sat. and Sun. 10-5
Price: $9 adults, $5 students and old uns, $3 chillins.

Classic Car show at Bob's Big Boy

Usually when I say that something is so suburban or totally middle American, I am paying that thing a nostalgic and heartfelt compliment full of secret admiration and quite open city girl self loathing. In fact, in the nine months that I have been writing this blog I cannot think of one time where I in anyway disparaged the great tyrannical majority. I like malls... I like perfectly manicured lawns... I like kids playing sports... I loooovvve men playing sports...

But I have learned that I hate men at car shows. Men at car shows remind me of the worst men in bible yielding, gay bashing red states. The men at this car show were almost all three of four things- old, mustached, fat and/or sexist. Be they leaning over car hoods or sitting in folding chairs with their posse, be they beefed up Tom Selleck types or pale flabby geriatrics in bowling shirts, they all craned their necks for a good look. Many made comments, and some of these comments were disgusting and made by those years older than my long departed granddad.

The classic car show has been held for years in the parking lot of Bob's Big Boy, a 1950's car hop chain famous for the statue of a devious, dip-cone colored, burger wielding toddler that guards it. Every Friday night, from five to ten, the aforementioned creepsters, along with some women, many of the biker persuasion, join together to show off old cars, sell old cars, drink inconspicuously (your loose lips and red noses give you away boys!) and sit...they do lots of sitting.

I get it. There is no greater heaven than sitting somewhere scenic, b.s.ing with friends you love in the early evening. But they have to be your particular crowd or else it is boring and uncomfortable as hell, and the classic car and fried food set isn't exactly my cup of tea. The actual lot is pretty small and filled with about 30-50 cars, a few spiffed out beauties, a great many older models that I could discern nothing brilliant in. But keep in mind that the only brilliant thing I ever notice about a car is a brilliant color and a hot owner.

But if I am trying to have an expert's eye, I would say I have seen much cooler cars at countless state fairs. Unless you are really a car aficionado, a quick one minute walk through on your way to tuna melts and a shake is probably all you'll need. Cool idea though. Cool idea, wholesome theory...but like some of America, pretty scudzy in practice.

Travel: C(rush hour, 101, Friday night...need I say more?).
Ease: B-
Content: C
Subjective coolness: C-
Overall: C

Directions: From Hollywood take the 101-N to the Barham Blvd. exit. Turn right on Barham. After about a mile continue on West Olive. Turn left on North Pass, turn left at West Riverside. Bob's will be on your right at 4211 West Riverside. Ironically, it's street parking only, because the parking lot is filled with...cars!
Hours:Every Friday 5-10pm.
Price: Free, excepting your female dignity.

Griffith Park Pool

I used to think everyone in California had a pool. You live in SoCal, you drive a sports car and boom, a deep, sparkling pool is permanently attached to your svelte, tan hip. It only took a couple months of living out here for me to realize the secret- only rich people have pools. If you live in a lowly apartment you are more likely to be psyched by underground parking than the occasional tiny, greenish, fenced in pool sometimes found in older buildings. This is a bummer on many levels, especially since young contemporaries the nation over seem to pay half the rent we Angelino's do for complexes that include outdoor/indoor pools, saunas, wine and cheese cocktails- you name it.

Public pools in LA are generally not much better. They are usually teeming with sweaty, screaming children and often tagged within an inch of their life. This means many people are all gooey about their gym's pools, but I have found mine at 24hour Fitness is often an over-chlorinated retirement home, that stings my eyes and smells like b.o. But I still go because I loooove the water, and I love to swim, and yes the beach is only theoretically 20 minutes away, but let me tell you traffic makes it more like 2 hours and often once you get there it is chilly and overcast.

This is why the Griffith Park Pool is so refreshing. It is one of the cheapest things you can do in LA- only $2.50 for an all day pass! It is a public pool with an adults only section, a beautiful if fading art deco bath house and an area outside perfect for picnics or buying ice cream from a vendor. However, NO SOCCER, according to many posted signs. The water is clean and the lifeguards are nice. It is perfectly located in Los Feliz right by the 5 and the children there are well behaved and happy. It feels like a dusty summer camp.

Even the many downsides are surprisingly charming and old school metropolitan rustic. The schedule is beyond confusing and handwritten on poster board. There are no chairs around the pool so you have to sit on the cement or lean against the chain link fence when you are not in the pool. The showers are kind of icky, but with the old fashioned ticket counter and the high beige walls surrounding the pool and me in my hot, pin -up girl one piece bathing suit, I kept waiting for Philip Marlow or Sam Spade to walk in and ask me about some dame's sexy disappearance.

The saddest thing about the pool is that it is seasonal. And the season ends on September 5th- so this is your last week to try it out until next June 26th when it reopens. I strongly suggest you go. There is nothing like watching children swim with their fat little bellies stuck out with abandon in this town full of sucked-in stomachs. It makes you feel like a kid again, and in this town of grown up traffic jams and soul crushing rent, that ain't such a bad thing.



Travel: A
Ease: A
Content: B+
Subjective coolness: A-
Overall: A-

Directions: 3401 Riverside Drive. Heading north on Los Feliz Blvd. right before the 5 take a right on Riverside Drive and left into the parking lot (free parking!).
Hours: Only god and parks and rec know. Here is the schedule: http://www.laparks.org/dos/aquatic/pdf/poolPrg/griffith.pdf.
Price: $2.50. $2.00 with library card (how cool is that).

Jumbo's Clown Room

When I was nine years old my mother took me to a book signing to meet her idol, Gloria Steinem. It was at the old Intimate Bookstore in Chapel Hill and the line was sooo long. But Mama made me stay with her and by the time we reached the front I was super bored and absolutely itching to go find the newest Babysitter Club book. Finally, we were next! Ms. Steinem smiled at us, very pretty and friendly and as my mother fumbled out a greeting I tugged at her hand.

Me: "Can I go now?"
Mama: (Stammering an apology for my rudeness, a not uncommon occurrence.) " I...sorry she..."
Gloria: (Totally awesome and sincere) " I understand, more important places to go!"

That brief brush with a second wave feminist deity must have had quite an effect on me because I have a very non-my generation, non-third wave feminist confession to make. I hate strip clubs. I in no way think they are empowering. I have been to several and I do not find them funny or hot, even though true pole dancing is an art and an athletic skill that I certainly do not possess as several facebook pictures demonstrate.

What I had heard of Jumbo's Clown Room was not positive. Opened in 1970, it is legendary in part because Courtney Love stripped there. It's in a strip mall on Hollywood Blvd. and it was where old, tired strippers often end up. And Courtney freaking Love stripped there. I like to laugh at a lot, but snickering at a woman baring her flesh to try and make a living is not one of them.

So I was pleasantly surprised and strangely touched by what I found. Jumbo's is in a dirty strip mall, but once you get past the bouncers (no cover) you enter what looks like a tiny dive bar. And as you may know, I love nothing more than a rockin dive bar in a strip mall. The space is tiny and there is only one stage with one pole. Hipsters mill around drinking (cheap drinks!) and sit at tables while the women perform. Everyone I saw was engaged and respectful and trust, my critical eye was watching out for that.

The women on stage were not freaks, but interesting, slightly older pro's who all had their own look and their own dancing style ranging from punk rock to soft, faded belle to alternative pixie. They get to pick their two song sets, and there is no DJ or Emcee, so the dancers really set the tone. It's almost like watching a piece of modern dance minus the pretension. At the end of each set the dollar bills trickled (one stripper taught my friend how to flick a bill) on stage.

I found myself starting to have fun in spite of myself. But then returned the shades of gray.

One of the performers struck up a conversation with us. Fueled by alcohol we told her how in awe we were of her splits, her style, her sexy. She was the soft faded belle, and she was enthusiastic, sweet, a little drunk and getting drunker, which is her right. She was appreciative of our compliments but it didn't stop her in her search for another drink. That was a definite trend- the women's second and third sets all seemed a little more brash, sloppier, angrier. I was leaving as a g- string clad woman walked on all fours on stage grasping at dollars. I'm pretty sure my mom and Gloria would have would have been glad I did. By the way, that book signing was for "Revolution From Within: A Book of Self-Esteem ."

Travel: A
Ease:A
Content- B-
Subjective Coolness: C-
Overall: C+

Directions: 5153 Hollywood Blvd. between Kingsley and Winona.
Hours: 4pm-2am.
Price: Free parking, no cover, cheap drinks.