Tour Diary: Two More Days In L.A.
Tour Diary: Two More Days In L.A.
With some time off in the City of Angels, I dove into the culture, took in a few neighborhoods, and tried to shake off the doldrums.
Ama and I were up incredibly early on Friday morning near Los Angeles International Airport. Mom had a flight home just after 8:00 am and needed be to the airport a couple of hours ahead of time for security. Our original plan was for me to drive her to the terminal and come back to the hotel to get some work done here at WAIM. In the middle of the night, Ama realized that she could take the hotel shuttle without me needing to fight traffic and make my way back to the room.
We enjoyed coffee for a few minutes after waking, and reminisced a bit about our time together in the Golden State. Soon, it was time for her to get the shuttle. She gave me a pair of huge hugs and thanked me for a wonderful time. I squeezed back and told her how grateful I was to have a Mom with whom I could share so many adventures. She slid out the door of the room and back off homeward. As I typed and edited in the small Travelodge room, I suddenly felt as alone as I had the entire journey.
Fighting off the sadness and loneliness, I showered and made myself ready for the day. I packed up my things, checked out of the room just after 9:00 and began the drive out to the ocean. My only definite stop for the day was The Getty Museum up in the hills northwest of downtown LA. I took the scenic route from El Segundo and headed north up Route 1, the Pacific Coast Highway.
I meandered my way up to Santa Monica where the beach and pier area was already packed. Driving further north, I found a lovely section of beach at Will Rogers State Park and pulled Aretha in to the parking lot. While I had no plans for a long stay, I was excited at the idea of a walk on the beach for a few minutes. However, I was greeted with a ticket booth and attendant who were asking $6 just to park my car for a few minutes. This seemed ridiculous to me and I looped around to keep driving north.
After a few more minutes of driving northward, it became apparent that I would have to go out of my way to find a free beach, and I was not so interested in a walk by the surf as to pay a premium, or go out of my way just to walk at the edge of the ocean. I’d been able to do that several times earlier in the trip already with fewer folks around to bother me. I turned back to the east and made my way to the Getty.
Perhaps the most appealing aspect of the Getty Art Museum is the building itself and the attendant grounds. The compound is a collection of several buildings arranged together amongst beautiful cactus gardens, overlooks, massive outdoor sculptures, and gorgeous stonework. The collection at The Getty is one of the largest in the world, but their display area is relatively small for a collection of its size and as such your experience at the Getty is largely dictated by what is on display during your visit.
While I was impressed with the physical space of the building, the exhibits were largely mediocre. The focus of the current exhibits was the science behind color and light, a subject which I often find fascinating. However, the collection at the Getty was focused on stained glass, medieval shadow boxes, and some of the technical components used to understand light. The displays were interesting and even eye opening, but other than a few pieces, including Van Gogh’s ‘Lilies’ and a pair of landscape paintings by J.M.W. Turner, I was left largely unmoved by what I saw. It was an exhibition largely focused on scientific research and I had come to be moved by the power of art.
Getting to the Getty is frankly a gigantic pain in the ass. While the museum is free, there is only one parking ramp on the grounds, and the cost is $25 per vehicle. The parking ramp itself was difficult to navigate, overly crowded, and filled to the brim with cars even on a day when reservations were still available. After the hassle of parking the car and paying the exorbitant rate for leaving Aretha behind for a couple of hours, I made my way up the elevator and out on to the deck where visitors can catch the tram to the museum.
The parking ramp sits some three quarters of a mile from the museum to maintain a certain ambience within the grounds. While the end result of no car traffic is nice, I waited more than a half hour for the tram both entering to leave the Getty. There was no option to walk the span between parking and museum, so I was forced to wait in the blazing sunshine.
By the time I had explored most of the museum, I was still feeling pretty down. It was hard to know if the art had failed to move me beyond my own loneliness or if the Getty was just not bringing it in full force that day. I suspect it was a bit of both. I meandered to the lower level and witnessed a terrific photography exhibit that was probably the highlight of the day. There were experimental photos by Man Ray, László Moholy-Nagy and others.
Finally done and back out to Aretha, I did my best to boost my spirits and headed somewhat aimlessly back towards West Hollywood and the neighborhood where I’d be spending the weekend. I tooled along Sunset Boulevard hoping to get a glimpse of some of the stately homes along the famed street. The road wound up and down the Hollywood Hills and eventually dumped me off in the Bel-Air and then Beverly Hills neighborhoods.
I drove by the Beverly Hills Hotel and Rodeo Drive and wondered what it must feel like to never worry at all about money. I attempted to imagine how it must be to always be so self assured by your own financial success that you feel entitled to a life of ease, pleasure, relaxation, and anything else that might strike your fancy, all without the same consequences the other 99% lives under. I drove by scornfully and thought of the good that could be done with the money these folks wasted on private security forces, landscapers, gardeners, and their uninteresting, ornate homes.
I made a side trip up the hills to a tony neighborhood above the Hollywood hubbub. Although many of the homes had been there since before World War Two, it was impossible to imagine the enormous vehicles of the 40’s and 50’s getting up these hills and around the tight turns. I had come to the neighborhood with only one thing in mind; to see the Spanish Revival home that was the main shooting location for Billy Wilder’s Double Indemnity.
The house sits in a corner lot. I pulled Aretha near the curb and got out to take a few photos. The neighborhood was quiet and calm on a Friday afternoon. For a few minutes, I gazed at the house form the street, and then form inside the car. It felt odd seeing that house in real life that I had seen so many times before on celluloid. I imagined Barbra Stanwyck, Billy Wilder, and Fred MacMurray all standing around waiting for the next shot.
Once I had sufficiently taken in the scene, I piloted Aretha and I back down the hills and eventually on to Fairfax Avenue. After a sail down Fairfax Street for a good while, I found myself in the Los Feliz neighborhood and came upon a place to park the car. Leaving Aretha street side, I crossed Vermont and walked up to the window at Guac Daddy, a longstanding, Los Feliz Mexican restaurant. Guac Daddy features a large walk up window where diners place their orders. I opted for a carne asada burrito and a Coke. I took a seat around the corner at an outside bar to wait for my meal.
The Mexican food I had experienced prior to my Guac Daddy burrito had been sub-par at best. I took my first bite, and was overcome with intense flavors, a bit of heat, and lots of lime. The asada was perfectly seasoned and slow cooked. The guacamole was bright, fresh and luxurious. I chowed down the entire thing in just a few minutes and for the first time on the trip, I felt I had been treated to a truly memorable meal.
After filling my gut, I wandered the neighborhood and popped into Skylight Books, a Los Feliz staple that features a main store that primarily includes fiction and more popular titles, while a satellite location next door focuses on music, film, TV, photography, history, and more. The two stores were a delight, and I managed to get lost for more than a half an hour amongst the shelves without making any effort at all.
Back on the street, I called home to check in with the family and continued to wander the afternoon streets of Los Feliz. The clock tolled just after 5:00 and I began to head toward my digs for the next two nights, the West Hollywood home of my pal, Brian Pesatauro. I got to know Brian through the Stand Up With Pete Dominick crew I have written so much about here. I’ve known Brian online for a couple of years and we met in person for the first time this spring at a get together in Las Vegas.
I arrived at Brian’s just after 5:30 and he came out to welcome me. Mia, Brian’s adorably sweet dog was there to help as well as soon as I stepped inside the door. I dropped my bags in the entry while Brian gave me the tour of his beautiful home in the hills.
We got caught up as I got my gear settled a bit in my room for the weekend and we began to lay out a plan for the evening. I was open to suggestions and even wiling to just order in as Brian had been working all day. I was happy to take it easy, but Brian felt I needed a true LA experience. He smiled and said, “I think we should go to The Rainbow.”
The Rainbow is an LA staple on Sunset Boulevard in an area known as The Strip, most famous for its association with the 80s hair metal movement that came out of LA and featured acts like Guns N Roses, Motley Crue, and Poison. However, the story stretches back to the early 1950s. The Rainbow was, and still is, an Italian restaurant. It was first opened in 1952 as the Villa Nova and was owned by the director Vincente Minelli who was just recently divorced from the great Judy Garland. The restaurant was also frequented by other celebrities. It is believed that Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe first met on a blind date at The Rainbow.
I ordered a beer and Brian decided we should split a pizza. Given the option, I chose my go to combo of ham and mushroom and I gawked around the room, mostly at the other tourists there for the same experience that I was seeking. The room is decked in dark wood and red light. The Rainbow’s design ethos is a hodge podge of pioneer saloon accoutrement and metal bar vibes, yet it still exudes the essence of a dislocated Italian supper club.
The crowd appeared to be mostly out of towers there to take in the sights. I watched groups of dudes, couples, and families getting their picture snapped as they sat in booths wearing Iron Maiden and Motley Crue hoodies. Brian and I finished what we could of the surprisingly great pizza and headed out to see the statue of Motörhead’s Lemmy in the bar area.
At the end of his life, Lemmy spent many of his days sitting at the corner of the Rainbow bar, drinking and playing video poker. Although he was a massive rock star, he was simply a regular at the Rainbow; a sort of regular fixture with an outsized celebrity. A year after Lemmy’s death in 2015, the Rainbow unveiled a statue in honor of Lemmy that stands just a few feet from his famed stool on the corner.
Brian and I stepped out on to Sunset and took in the sights on the Strip as we waited for a car. The Roxy Theater right next door is another famous spot on the strip that has hosted a huge variety of bands and artists. It was part of the LA epicenter of that same 80s hair metal boom. However, it’s also been a spot where greats like Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band, Neil Young, Warren Zevon, and even Richard Pryor recorded hugely important live records.
On the way back to Brian’s I gazed out at the LA night. Lights of all shades, sizes, and colors lit the way back to the Hills and Brian’s house. We chatted for a few minutes and hung out with the dog. Unable to control my yawning any further, Brian and I both decided it was time to hit the hay.
The next morning, I was up quite early and worked in the kitchen for a while Brian slept. Just after 7:00, I heard the pitter patter of Mia’s feet on the spiral staircase as she and Brian came down to greet the day. Brian made us some coffee and we chatted about the night before, our anxieties about the upcoming election, and how we might want to spend the day.
Brian and I managed to while away most of the morning with coffee, discussion, and the dog and by 11:00 or so we went down to hop in Brian’s car and hit a couple of spots I had earmarked in the city. Our first stop was the Hollywood Forever Cemetery.
Hollywood Forever is a famous memorial park and burial ground in Hollywood that features some of the most famous names in 20th century entertainment. In the midst of a perfect afternoon, Brian and I slowly strolled the grounds and looked for celebrity markers. We found the final resting spots for Peter Lorre, Mel Blanc, Don Adams, Cecil B. DeMille, Harry Cohn, and Mickey Rooney. We saw both of the stones made for Johnny and Dee Dee Ramone; Johnny’s featuring a sculpture of him with a guitar leaning back in rock and roll ecstasy.
We strolled the seemingly endless labyrinth of mausoleums and crypts that dot the outside of the grounds. Somehow we missed the Rudolph Valentino crypt, the site of one of Hollywood’s most famous funerals in history. John Huston, Tyrone Power and a few other luminaries managed to avoid us as well. Still, we enjoyed the peace and sunshine of the day and wandered somewhat aimlessly around the grounds.
As we ambled around one last turn near the chapel, Brian and I found ourselves in a sort of Asian garden filled with ornate sculptures and a small collection of peacocks. Apparently, peacocks are a long standing tradition at Hollywood Fever, and in addition to several birds being out on the grounds at any given time, there are also large number of them that are cared for in a small peacock sanctuary at the edge of the cemetery grounds. We stood to watch the peacocks show off for a few minutes amongst the peaceful garden and its fascinating figures.
As we got back to the stretch of road near Brian’s car, a security guard asked if we had seen or heard anything during our visit. We smiled and asked if there were “incidents” with the unknown at Hollywood Forever. Our new security guard friend was only too happy to share his experiences and stories.
He began by telling us that around the lake area in the oldest part of the cemetery visitors and workers are known to smell a very strong perfume even with no other people in the vicinity. The smell is often at its peak during daylight hours. Then, in the evening, the scent lingers on and is reported to also bring out an apparition from time to time. The story goes that a young woman dressed in black and carrying a handkerchief strolls the grounds in mourning, most likely for her hero, the silent star, Rudolph Valentino.
The security guard also shared that while they had been prepping for their upcoming Day of the Dead celebration, a worker setting up porta potties both saw and smelled the apparition near the lake. This was not the first time he had experienced this unusual phenomenon. After hurriedly setting up the portable toilets, the worker screeched out of the parking lot and informed his employer he would not be the on returning to Hollywood Forever to pick up the portables after Day of the Dead. In fact, he would not be willing to go back there ever again. Brian and I chuckled and thanked our new friend for the intel and great story.
Back at the car, Brian suggested we hit a favorite taco spot of his for a quick lunch before exploring more of the city. We hit a taco stand not too far from the cemetery and we each ordered a burrito and a margarita. While I had eaten a burrito for lunch the previous day as well, the experience I’d had at Guac Daddy left me excited for more south of the border fare. My carnitas were fatty, flavorful, and piping hot. The burrito was also filled with black beans, cabbage, rice and cheese and I found myself getting quite full before even taking the last bite.
Completely full and not quite ready to go home, Brian suggested we have another true LA experience, this time at The Frolic Room. The Frolic Room is a an old school dive bar right on Hollywood Blvd. It sits right in the shadow of the beautiful Pantages Theater as it overlooks the boulevard. Brian and I entered the dimly lit and crowded room in the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday. While the bar was somewhat full, we found a pair of stools at the rail and made ourselves comfortable. Brian opted for a Corona while I went for a Miller High Life in a bottle.
As we sat and took in the bar, Brian pointed out the Al Hirschfeld mural on the eastern wall of the bar. The mural was first painted in the bar in 1963 and has since become something of a legend in its own right. The full color painting by the great caricature artists features images of Jon Crawford, Humphrey Bogart, Clark Gable, Marilyn Monroe and a host of other legendary stars. Preserved now behind plexiglass, the mural stretches from one end of the room to the other as an ode to a bygone era.
The Frolic Room is also infamous as it was the last place anyone was to have seen Elizabeth Short the victim of the famous Black Dahlia murder. Other regular patrons through the years have included Judy Garland, Frank Sinatra and Charles Bukowski.
We made our way back to Brian’s with designs of an afternoon nap. Walking in the sunshine, communing with the dead, a big lunch and a bit of day drinking had done us in. I shuffled to my room for a nap while Brian and Mia headed off to do the same in their room.
When I awoke it was just past sunset but residual light hung in the lightly clouded California sky. It was about 6:30 in the evening. I poured myself a glass of ice water and set to work for a while while Brian and Mia finished their naps. Just after 7:00 the pair came downstairs and we talked about a plan for dinner and a possible cocktail.
Wanting me to get the most form my southern California experience, Brian thought we should try to get a drink at Musso & Frank, the legendary Hollywood restaurant that has been a fixture of Hollywood Boulevard since it opened in 1919. As we walked in the front door, the doorman asked if we had reservation. We replied that we were hoping to just grab a drink at the bar. The doorman smirked and said we were certainly willing to try.
Popping into Musso is a step back in time. The wooden panels that surround the room harken to a truly different era. The entire place was packed and by the time Brian and I found our way to the bar, it was two and three people deep with no place to sit. I spun around and took in the ambience of the famous room and we made our way back out to the street.
Fortunately, we had already devised a backup plan. I had suggested that if Musso & Frank was too busy, we could walk down the street and grab a drink in the lobby of The Roosevelt Hotel. I was worried that the Roosevelt would also be teeming with people but I was very pleased to find the place comparatively quiet and peaceful.
Grabbing a pair of stools at the bar, Brian and I looked closely at the detail of the lobby and bar area. A recessed, second story ceiling above the lobby had been gorgeously handprinted with shapes and designs from the original construction. Large, Spanish colonial chandeliers hung down over the setting area where a few patrons enjoyed drinks and chatted with friends.
Brian and I each ordered a cocktail and chatted with the bartender about the hotel and its history. Built in 1926, the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel was financed by actress Mary Pickford, theater impresario Sid Grauman, movie mogul Louis B. Mayer, and actor Douglas Fairbanks. It first opened to rave reviews in 1927 and hosted the first ever Academy Awards ceremony in 1929. The hotel’s Tropicana pool even features a mural painted in the mid-80s by David Hockney. The Roosevelt also sports a Lombard-Gable Suite where the famed power couple Clark Gable and Carole Lombard stayed when they were in Los Angeles at the heightened rate of $5 a night in the 1930s.
Lingering for more than two hours in the bar area, Brian and I enjoyed a trio of cocktails and charcuterie board as we sat in the luxury of the glorious old lobby. After our drinks and light meal, we wandered upstairs to check out the Spare Room, a bar with a small bowling alley that is original to the building.
The Spare Room was packed with young folks who had clearly been hipped to the charms of the Roosevelt. I watched a gaggle of twenty-somethings talk and laugh loudly near the bar while they waited for another round. I squeezed my way through the bar crowd and made my way out to the lanes of the bowling alley. I chatted amiably with the small group taking their turn on the lanes and they were happy to give me a second for a photo. We stood for a few more minutes watching the youths enjoying themselves in the vintage surroundings and finally made our way back downstairs and out to the pool bar for a nightcap.
The charming pool area was quiet with just a couple of patrons seated at the bar. As it was last call, they had stopped serving cocktails and Brian and I were left to choose between beer and wine. We both grabbed an oat soda and went to sit near the pool. Sitting there in the true lap of luxury, I marveled at how I had found myself in the footsteps of my heroes. Simply by having the courage and and ambition to play songs and tell stories, I made it to Hollywood to walk in the shadows of giants.
As Brian and I sat quietly we took in the Hollywood night air and sat under the dim lights next to a Hockney masterpiece. Finishing our beers, Brian called up an Uber, then we went stepped out onto Hollywood Boulevard to wait for our ride. Standing on the street, I looked across at the Chinese Theater and felt the ghosts.
Cheers,
Matty C
Holy crap what fun you must be having! Thanks for sharing the road with us!