LA LA LA: Love Affair with LA LA LAND continues!

26 Feb

A year, and I’m still in love–requited? Who knows. But LA LA Land has been pretty good to me around this one-year anniversary. I got a story-telling gig, some new floral arranging customers, and now I’m blogging at the juice bar (as well as continuing to peddle the green stuff in Beverly Hills). I’m now Kirsten at Kreation@wordpress. If anyone asks, my Ph.D. was in nutrition.

This blog is a visual love poem to my newfound home. Entirely family-friendly visuals. (Never fear, Dear Reader, raunchy porn poem to follow! )  Let me start here:

IMG_0069-2This is the roof of the Thompson hotel; it’s a block away. I sneak into the hotel as if I belong there, sit by the pool or in a cabana and watch young beautiful people talk about “treatments”–both kinds, face stuff and screenplay stuff, and appreciate the fact that as a middle-aged woman I don’t feel the need to pose. Treatments, shreatments.

I love this  low-key monument in downtown LA:

IMG_1797-3

The history! The schmistry! The 30’s, 40’s, 50’s, 60’s early 70’s are alive and well (sort of well). Driving around LA, I feel like I’m on a tour of  post-Fordian to early-social-revolution Urban American life.
Oasis Motel

Try looking at this and not singing a Burt Bachrach song:

car washIf that didn’t work, this’ll getcha:

playboy officerI do like glamour (and tolerate some retarded notions about femininity.) I like that  last week, a TV show was being filmed TV on my block.

No park filmingThey begged me to play the role of the Woman In Transition but I had to get to the juice store.

I love that LA has several Kosher Mexican restaurants. My fav:

mexikosherI love LA’s  plant life. And lack of irony.

IMG_1795

IMG_1823(The first image is what I see out of my window when I write.)

I love that people wear what they want, do what they want, and look you in the eye and say “Nice handbag!” Or they look you in the handbag and say “Nice eyes!”

I’ve come out of a shell here and feel like there’s a certain there here, a kind of home where no one blinks an eye at my amalgam of identities: ex-academic, juice girl, fashionista wannabe, writer, adoring mother, floral arranger, Jon Hamm stalker (don’t tell him–I’m getting SO close.)

IMG_0892This city  holds me rapt with its kooky worldliness,with its beauty–natural and unworldly.

IMG_1795 Dear Reader? Tell me what makes your home, your home.

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10 Responses to “LA LA LA: Love Affair with LA LA LAND continues!”

  1. Mary Holland February 26, 2014 at 4:25 am #

    You reminded me of a kosher Mexican restaurant I used to LOVE in LA! I had forgotten all about it till I read your post.

    What makes my home my home: that at any moment I have at least one creature in my lap, usually a cat but often a boy, and sometimes both.

    Also my books. If I could sew them together and drag them along behind me sucking on the end of one of them, I might. But that would be gross.

    My view from where I write is not as cool as yours–mostly rooftop, a little boring house next door–but the frame around the view is super cool, covered as it is with pictures of my favorite things and places in life, like you and me at Indian Lake, my kayak at sunset on the drive to your house for your 50th bday bash, my boys smiling on the dock, and Vermont, my home from a different life, recently discovered. : )

    Like

    • kwasson2012 February 26, 2014 at 4:33 am #

      What a beautifully written and gorgeously specific response. View from the writing room, and creatures in the lap. I miss the latter. Recent discoveries of home: so important. Who’d a thunk that could happen later in life?

      Like

  2. Island Traveler February 26, 2014 at 10:06 pm #

    You make me wanna give L.A. a second look and check out it’s many fascinating places and culture. I went there once and everything felt like a daze. To many things going on for short a time. Have an amazing week.

    Like

    • kwasson2012 February 26, 2014 at 10:52 pm #

      Thank you, Island Traveler! Have a good week!

      Like

  3. Elizabeth Sachs February 28, 2014 at 1:30 pm #

    Well, right now Western New York doesn’t feel like “home.” It feels like a buzz-saw. Everything is sharp, including the pot-holes, and I read your LA musings with deep interest, and continuing reconciliation of my (former) . . .what. . .not loathing, really. . . probably more like “fear.” (“Fear and Loathing in. . .” That’s Las Vegas, I think). I love your tan, and your chutzpah. I love you, my friend!

    What normally makes WNY feel like home, though. Well, I’ve always mused that my blind spots fit its flaws, and I’ve always felt that it has the same opinion of me. Therefore, we typically forgive one another most things, quickly and even with a laugh. Remember when I spontaneously backed up my car without even glancing in the rear-view mirror, when that bus or truck made straight for us? Everyone was okay, and I didn’t mind. I assumed there was no one in back of me, and I was right. Normally, I’ve kind of freakish, with a high startle response. At that moment I was Cool Hand Luke. If I’d been wrong, or if I’d gone over the curb and broken an axel, then WNY might not really be “home,” after all.

    I also love the color, here. When there is some. Even now, when there’s almost no color, there are the people. The guy whose crew shovels snow out our street, for instance. He’s a pimp, and also a terrific guy. I love his teeth, half of which are gold. He likes me, and thinks I look well from the back, though few others in my life have felt the same. I love my piano tuner, who went to Earlham College and is waaaaaay overqualified for pretty much everything he does (though in truth piano tuning is an art–or it is, when he does it).

    And when there IS color (literal color), it’s so amazing. The light is, or can be, Mediterranean (maybe that’s my blind spots talking?) I think Renaissance painters would understand the light and color, and I feel that I do from having viewed their paintings. All that wash, and cartooning, and chiaroscuro beneath for shadow–that’s Buffalo.

    In these dreary, sharp days of polar vortexes, though, my friend–I count on you for color. I’ll be out there in May. Let’s have lunch and a wag-jaw. Let’s have several of both!

    Like

    • kwasson2012 February 28, 2014 at 4:30 pm #

      What a gorgeous homage to Buffalo, with so many juicy, sharply observed details. I loved Buffalo when visiting. . .a key feature of which was your magnificent F.Scott Fitzgerald house! And matching dog.

      Like

  4. Joanna Folino March 3, 2014 at 2:39 pm #

    Any place is home where I am connected to a community I enjoy and people I admire. where I have work that is meaningful and where I can garden. So far that is not for me L.A. I am giving it another year however and hoping that things will come together. I have pretty high standards living in Berkeley and the Bay area for 25 years and before that Massachusetts. I am happy you have found your spot in life here, however and wish you more years of L.A. bliss.

    Like

  5. elainemansfield March 6, 2014 at 1:49 pm #

    I read it all waiting for the porn poem. I loved getting to the end anyway and imagining the world and constant stimulation where you live in…life force, surprising images, and noise. Me? I took photos of mallard ducks in the parking lot of Wegman’s for thrills this week. That’s getting out. Home is this beautiful land–forest trails, walking out my back door naked (when it’s a bit warmer), watching sunsets even if they only last 10 minutes before the next cloud bank rolls in, identifying stars in the black night skies (thank you Google Sky). When I pull in the driveway, a huge exhalation. I’m here. Home. I belong here–for now.

    I want to hear about the story-telling gig and writing a juicology blog. Great post, Kristen. An offering from other worlds.

    Like

    • kwasson2012 March 7, 2014 at 2:28 am #

      Thanks, Elaine. I miss those mallards in the Wegman’s parking lot.

      Like

  6. Robin Botie March 12, 2014 at 2:31 am #

    I’m sure it’s the muskrats digging holes in the pond banks and the raccoons living under the deck. Home sweet home. I used to say I live alone. Cheers!

    Like

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