Always West Of Lincoln

IF you have ever lost a friend to the Los Angeles Westside, you know somebody who has "gone a.w.o.l.” Characterized by phrases such as “Not tonight, Hollywood is just way too far.” Or, “Meet in Beverly HiIls? I would, but do you just want to do a beach day instead?” These phrases are a statment of the amazing places your friend has found just moments from his, or her, front door, not a comment on your friendship per-sey.

From the arts and shopping found on Main St. and Abbot Kinney, to the new Santa Monica Place and the water sports down at the marina, this all inclusive westside phrase "awol" broadens the smaller communities there-in and recognizes that some of us love it all, but simply don't want to drive. Harkening back to "Falling Down" or even our simple discussion of the hazards of traffic, it makes sense.

In many ways, the (about) seven blocks from Lincoln to the ocean really does marks a territory - it's like the county line with little cities within it's limits. Especially when looking for apartments, I regularly found less expensive units across the divide, but the areas were generally less savory.

I'm not sure the term is "officially" coined, but I've heard enough Angelenos throw the phrase around. It stuck with me and frankly, I was thrilled to hear others felt the same way! No animosity towards the rest of the city (obviously!) but with gas prices so high, and so much to do in this part of town - forget the sprawl for now, this will remain my little neighborhood. Gone fishing? Nope, just gone AWOL.

-- Sarah Kruberg
(photos: s.k.)

The SUBA House

BEAUTIFUL Saturdays in Venice Beach happen regularly. Painters, skaters, street vendors, mounted patrol and more all converging into one massive hub of colors and sounds accented by different smells, determined by the corner or local salesmen. From worn down apartments to multimillion dollar town houses, homes of all kinds line the boardwalk with interesting architecture- for the most part.

A few weeks ago I was wandering around and came upon this house. Obviously it's been there quite a while, its covered in graffiti and posters, the windows are boarded up and the doors are chained shut. I asked a few people near by if they knew about it - most said no and another began to tell me about his recent bender up in San Francisco. That was when I stopped talking to strangers (Everything you needed to know, you learned in Kindergarden, right?). But I digress.

At home later I Googled and found a few one other blogger generally asking about this house. Maybe I wasn't looking in the right places, but I find it incredibly curious that a place like this exists in such an environment. Right on the boardwalk, boared off, chained up and somehow no developer has come in to work their "magic". Seems fishy Suba...

-- Sarah Kruberg

Arteries of Memory: Lincoln Boulevard

THERE is a straight line of pavement that links the first intersection north of LAX to San Vicente, the quite and homey street, lined with softly curving trees looming tenderly down the median. It’s the vessel by which the Westside travels north and south and identifies east and west. This is Lincoln Boulevard, the main artery of the west side, pulsing with life as dictated by the clock, littered with cafes and shops, used car lots and tattoo parlors.

But this street is LA; this street is where I began to understand Los Angles and the first landmarks remain secure in my mind. Like an old friend Lincoln introduced me to new places, frustrated me, made me late and yet remains the marker that triggers an odd sense of relief - that “I’m home” feeling. Whether a day of work or weeks apart, when I drive down the hot pavement, I know I’m back.

When I first took the wheel, Lincoln was the front sidewalk where I gathered enough courage to venture further. First it was to the Third Street promenade. “Just say on Lincoln and look out for signs after Pico,” they told me. And I did; and there were. On the way back I saw a scandalous sex store, a pet shop and a blockbuster. On my first Halloween here that scandalous store served my friends and I well; when I got my first pet goldfish, it was this little pet store and on my first trip to Blockbuster this was were I came. Of course, the trip was memorable because, being a good 20 minutes out of the way, I should have looked closer.

These days, small cafes and even the Whole Foods holds special meaning to me. I’ve taken most small veins that trickle west and a few that help me hightail it east. Always though, when I arrive back on Lincoln after trip to Hollywood or even Westwood, a sense of calm takes over as I see the swinging street sign and make out the lettering: “Lincoln”. I’m almost home.

Perhaps the greatest excitement of being back comes after weeks or months away and returning to the LAX airport. From above I look for the In & Out. Maneuvering through lanes out of the airport the glowing pillars tell me I’m home in LA. But my stomach starts squirming with the excitement of truly returning as I drive down the small slope and past LMU and past Figi Way.

It’s not a glamorous road; in fact it’s downright dirty. I will rarely announce my love for the road. It’s littered, crowded with cars and I’ve narrowly missed a few homeless men and shopping carts at night. It’s the railroad track that separates the east west side from the true west; it shows. But I don’t care. Like I said, this is that familiar face who gets on every last nerves but, at the end of the day, remains constant.

When under construction for two years I found the new stoplights between Jefferson and LMU offensive. The light put in place where the road to the 90 carefully jumps over Lincoln disturbed me as well. “Why on earth do they need that?” I wondered. I was slightly reproachful about the new traffic causing bulbs and the changing landscape of the road. Often I considered that the change shouldn’t bother me so much. After all the wide-open space I once knew was now a massive new community. When the trucks disappeared and the smooth road opened up, I found the installations easier to appreciate. I can accept those changes now, but they will always remain just that, “changes”. Perhaps it should come as no surprise that in a town where the landscape is regularly reinvented, but this street, this thirteen miles of urban highway needs to remain - I can't imagine the Westside without such a "landmark".

Sarah Kruberg - Genius Loci

Harry Chandler's Employee Paper

AMONG Ourselves, a paper for the Times employees and affiliates first printed in 1924 and is still published today. Despite Chandler, and his father-in-law's, firm stance against unions, the executives provided a warm environment for their employees. One of the new additions to the Times building on Spring and Second in Downtown was a cafeteria, among the many revolutionary additions to the workplace. This front page depicts Harry Chandler and hangs in the Times cafeteria beside many more issues. Though the LA Times functions with a very different sense of ethical responsibility, Chandler's legacy remains a respected cornerstone across the country and around the world.

--Sarah Kruberg

Amoeba Music

NOT just a playground for hipsters and musicians, also a fantastic rainy day activity.

SO what do you do on a rainy LA day? That’s right… the movies. But if you’re headed to Hollywood, the famed Arclight cinemas are right next to Amoeba music, a great place to explore, kill some time, and stay dry!

What started in Berkley as an independent haven for music lovers amid corporate giants such as Tower and Virgin is now a landmark in Hollywood as well. They’ve outlived the majority of their corporate competition, have incredible customer service and offer everything from CDs, DVDs, vinyl records, and cassette tape to posters and books. I thought record stores were a thing of the past, but after nearly an hour I could barely tear myself away! For $9.28 I walked back into the torrential rain with four new CDs, random selections from different sections of their clearance racks. If that’s not an economical and horizon-expanding way to spend a rainy Sunday afternoon in Los Angeles, I don’t know what is. They have bands play in the store regularly and the walls are covered in signed memorabilia.

To top it off, the expansive collection of DVDs rivals Blockbuster, and although you can’t rent these movies, the majority of their collection cost as much as a new release weekend rental. And when you’re through with it, bring it back – Amoeba will buy used CDs an DVDs any time.

--Sarah Kruberg

Photo Credit: Sarah Kruberg

Lake Shrine

LAKE Shrine sits behind a small wall of foliage just before the the corner of PCH on Sunset. It's not a sparkling blue lake, in fact, it's murky at best, but the manicured gardens provide a quite public refuge where the five major world religions live harmoniously through the recognition of their inherent interconnected sense of spirituality.

My mother and I took a short walk around the water. Swan Lake, she used to call it on trips with her father over thirty years ago. "It looks pretty much the same" she told me.

We stop to admire the gardens and talk quietly on one of the many benches as we observe tourists snapping photographs and grounds keepers "shush" a pair speaking a just louder than a whisper.

The small Windmill Chapel at the entrance of the walk allows no photos and asks for complete silence - this is a place for meditation. As we walk in the small building has two rose of four chairs facing the front of the room. Here the images of six men are displayed, five of the religious leaders and one of the Fellowship's founder, Paramahansa Yogananda.

The lush gardens display pillars that recognize the five world religions and their principle symbols: Christianity,Islam, Judiasm, Hinduism, and Islam. The site is also home to the Mahatma Gandhi World Peace Memorial, a small temple containing a sarcophagus containing Gandhi's ashes.

The Fellowship leads weekly classes in meditation, both on the grounds and through literature, but is open every day except Monday. Tuesday through Saturday their hours are 9:00 am - 4:30 pm and Sunday from noon to 4:30. There is free public parking a small museum, gift shop, and visitor center, in addition to the Windmill Chapel.

--Sarah Kruberg

photo credit: Sarah Kruberg

The "Venice Sign"

THE iconic Venice sign in Windward Circle is (as of summer 2007) a grand exception to many who accuse Los Angeles of forgetting - of rebuilding and reinventing history to cover the blemishes left by the past.

Argue it’s cliché or iconic, it’s really a touch of both, but it this sign puts a bright white and glowing bow on my Venice experience – in the evenings and in the sunshine while grabbing a coffee at Café Collage.

The sign was an original (like 1905 original) Venice landmark. Then, sixty something years after the sign “disappeared” these fresh, and vaguely familiar (you’ve probably seen them on old postcards), letters again began glowing above Windward. Please note, the sign did not just “disappear” – rather I have found no source that can confirm what actually happened, but “it” happened the late 40’s or early 50’s.

In a meeting of the “Venice Arts Council” most participants affirmed the solar power initiative with the sign, and one contributor took this historic nostalgia to the next level and enthusiastically said, “Yes! Wonderful! Since you are using LEDs, why not make it with the bulbs that can change colors!”

I feel obliged to mention that anyone can “Adopt-A-Bulb” to support the historic restoration of the Venice Sign. Two hundred bucks makes you a sponsor for two years. Hopefully it doesn’t make a habit of these disappearing acts.

--Sarah Kruberg

My Iconic LA

MY grandmother still lives in Brentwood, in the home my mother grew up in. To me, Los Angeles meant Grandma's house, digging for sand crabs at the beach, eating grilled cheese sandwiches at the Jonathan Club, shopping at the Brentwood Mart, and driving up to fresh warm air filled with the flowery scents of my grandmother's large front yard, always in bloom. Los Angeles was an experience of privilege and luxury.

Through some turmoil and a great deal of adventure I have parted (mostly) with that default fairytale-like conception of LA; "real life" carries on here, almost as it would anywhere else. But Los Angles still offers more than any other city I can imagine. Even on my worst days, driving through Malibu ignites a sense of calm and excitement I have only found here.

This town is one of stereotypes. Angelenos, transplants, and the media breed and cultivate them. People take pride in being from a certain neighborhood, essentially finding their niche in an abundant pond. From the San Fernando Valley to Silverlake there is a stereotypical resident from each neighborhood, and I could tell you about them. One in particular was an aspiring artist living in her expansive, downtown loft with an enviable outdoor patio with a skyline view, only a few floors above a street corner that smelled of trash and piss.

There's the unavoidable "LA" stereotype that permeates it all. That sense you must be beautiful and haughty, "Hollywood" if you will, and dress and inconspicuously as Paris Hilton. It's a fear and secret fascination that once ate away at me. Most of me hated it, but there is an admitted seduction in "keeping up with the Jones'" here in LA. Though this idealized image of perfection is truly part of the culture, there is so much more.

Most intriguing is the unexplored convergence of cultures here, found in the many unexplored districts. I love to travel and am beginning to realized the vast global presence here. From the Latino population, whose roots here are commemorated on Olivera Street, to Chinatown and through Little Ethiopia, each neighborhood offers a degree of cultural authenticity not often considered in the mainstream conceptualization of LA. Undoubtedly, the characters in each place enhance and enliven my own sensibility about Los Angeles, probing further at my sense of curiosity.

The vast setting, a trademark of LA, has made me love the city more. Getting lost here, navigating on and off ramps, the u-turns, and unruly drivers, illuminated the city's expansive landscape as much as getting to my destination and meeting people. Perhaps it's a trauma bond, but the city is like a surrogate of sorts. A large pat of me was born here, it's been a "coming of age" experience for me. Most exciting is the more I know, the more I realize there is to know. My conceptualization of LA has moved beyond exiting within a stereotype, and has become a playground in which the more I discover, the more I see beyond; something like Mary Poppin's bag of never ending wonders.

-- Sarah Kruberg