Cocoa and Caffeine Hollywood Travels

Thespian Jesus-- "Sure I enjoy the craft and lunching with Tom Hanks..."

2009-07-05T13:36:00.000-07:00

Here is one of our latest episodes of "It's Always Smoggy In L.A."

Check out all other episodes and vote for your favorites on Funny or Die.

It's Always Smoggy In L.A. - "Thespian Jesus" - watch more funny videos

It's Always Smoggy In L.A.

Copyright 2009 by KLiedle
Creative Commons Licensing

Neverland Best Left To Imagination

2009-07-01T13:58:00.000-07:00

A week ago, I was sitting as I am today when the news broke that Michael Jackson had been rushed to UCLA Medical Center and then pronounced dead.

News spread like a California wildfire. In the next several hours, I heard dozens of helicopters overhead-- enough that I had to close my windows to block out the noise. Media outlets and fans from all over Los Angeles and the world descended on the scene. They came by land and by air and even by foot.

I remembered my 1984 Michael Jackson AM/FM radio-- still sitting on a shelf at my parents' house. With two AA batteries, it still catches some stations, but mostly it's static. And that's how things are right now: static-- as the Jackson family tries to figure out how to honorably and respectfully memorialize Michael. Michael's family and friends are mourning privately. Yet, fans have a connection to Michael and a collective need to express themselves and commemorate him in a public way. In that, lies the complication.

Two or three days ago, the plan had been to have a 30-car motorcade escort the body to Neverland Ranch in Santa Barbara County, CA for a public memorial this coming Friday.

"Authorities in Santa Barbara County had been preparing for tens of thousands of fans to descend on the 2,500-acre ranch after media reports that a public viewing would take place later this week." (AP)

Today those plans have been dismissed and I'm relieved-- totally and completely. Helicopters overhead is one thing, but a media circus following a motorcade to a sleepy little town called Los Olivos is quite another. The area is not prepared for a public event of this magnitude. And in a word, it would be hellish.

I spent some time living in the area not too far from Neverland Ranch. It was a world away from the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles and that's what I appreciated most about it. Locals in Los Olivos, Santa Ynez, and surrounding areas enjoy simplicity, rolling hills, vineyards, and the overall serenity they garner from the sun and the air and the beauty around them. I suspect that Michael relished many of the same things about the area.

As a private residence, Neverland Ranch is tucked away on a rather isolated country road. Of course, it has its mystique and sometimes people whisper about its existence. A few years back, a friend of mine was commissioned to do some mural artwork there. She never saw Michael yet she spoke of the experience of being there and the high level of security-- a necessity for an estate associated with someone like Michael Jackson.

I'd driven past the wrought-iron gates before. Along the road to Neverland, there are narrow, winding views of fields and pastures and an occasional horse or two. It's glowing and peaceful and private there. It's not for tourists or prepared for mass processions of people.

In 2005, when child molestation allegations rose once again, half a dozen satellite news vans and a mini-Michael Jackson circus of fans camped outside the gates. There they waited persistently for a news break or a Michael sighting. I don't have the patience for such things. And I found them annoying because I, too, was a local myself at that time. I just wanted the attention to pass so life could get back to normal.

I believe a place like Neverland should remain mystical. Michael wouldn't want Neverland to be stampeded by fans on the occasion of his death or thereafter if it were to become a museum like Graceland. To locals, a public memorial or worse, a Neverland Ranch Museum, would change their serene lifestyle and the landscape of the area dramatically. Cars would be piled up for miles along the little road... or lands of great beauty would be cleared for acres of parking and concrete. The area would become commercialized as Michael Jackson County and that's the least that would happen.

If Neverland is sold, so be it. When an era is over, we mourn and move on. We have our memories and our own ideas of what Neverland, Michael Jackson, and the Land of Oz means to us personally. We hold on to what we can and let go of the rest.

Thankfully, the Neverland memorial plans have been dropped. However, if a public memorial is still sought, and the idea has not been completely scrapped, plan it at a venue that can withstand such an event.

Copyright 2009 by KLiedle
Photo credits: susanneleasure/flickr and svanes/flickr

Green Peace

2009-06-23T01:14:00.000-07:00

Back in the not-so-distant past, I had an apartment. It was a junior one bedroom, meaning it didn't really have a bedroom at all. It was just an open landscape of space with a big, red floppy IKEA sofa-bed in the middle.

The apartment complex was huge... and like shadows, my neighbors and I passed each other on our way to and from work. I never knew any of them. I rarely saw anyone else and even when I did, they avoided eye contact and scurried down the long corridors until they disappeared behind a closed door.

To keep me company, I had my cats-- kittens at the time--and a couple of potted plants. I kept the green plants on the gray concrete just outside my door. There, they happily soaked up the golden L.A. sun amid the colorless expanse of SoCal apartment living.

Not a week had gone by when I got a knock on my door. It was my apartment manager.

"The plants have to go inside," he said. "Each unit has to appear uniform from the outside."

I spoke up-- fought for my plants' sake-- but ultimately, I trudged inside with my green plants, afraid maintenance would steal them in the dead of night. I placed them in the windowsill, in front of the blinds so they could still see the sun. Life went on. Then, days later, another knock. It was you-know-who:

"Tenants cannot place decals, flags, or personal items in the windowsills."

"These aren't flags. I'm not protesting war or advocating abortion-- they're just a couple of freakin' plants!" But I lost the battle. The plants came down. In the days that followed, they only saw glimmers of sunlight in the shadows of despair. Their leaves were partially eaten by my cats. They wilted with sadness.

I moved...

... this time into a townhouse with more than one room. There was a little sliver of green space just outside the door. We had a shrub and a little tree and just enough room for my plants to rejuvenate. And there was even a patio for my cats to frolic and bathe in the sun. We planted grass and aloe vera and laid decorative brick. We had a little garden oasis in the midst of this urban jungle called L.A. Things were peachy for a good, long while.

Then about a month ago, the HOA decided to utilize money from a recent legal settlement to redo the landscaping on the grounds. Loads of perfectly good trees and thriving plants were hacked and unceremoniously thrown into dumpsters and replaced. Three-lane highways of sod were unravelled. Things looked streamlined and manicured, but the old plants were just as good.

A week ago, we got a notice from the current HOA board. It said that any extraneous plants, home decor, decorative bricks, etc. on the little sliver of green space just outside the door would have to be removed by 8 a.m. Thursday-- two days later!

This little sliver of green space, that pathetically represents more "yard" than many Southern Californians get, was apparently not ours after all. To HOA, it is considered a "common area" and therefore, each homeowners' green space would have to look identical. The old landscaping was being torn up and replaced by new landscaping-- chosen by the HOA board.

We grumbled as we tore up the dirt and dug up our plants-- picking out each slab of brick that I felt like throwing at them. A few doors down, one of our neighbors was in mourning. She had an entire rose garden outside her door. Each day, bright red and peach-colored roses greeted her. Even on bad days, she'd marvel at their beauty. In two days, it was gone-- vanished. Not a rose petal in sight.

Power. Stupidity. All the land on the Earth is a "common area."Can't we all just enjoy some green space? Why does an HOA have to spend time putting ridiculous restrictions on it?

Today, as I peered through the blinds, I saw them. Four people from the HOA board standing outside our door, clutching their little clipboards.

"They're making the rounds again," I thought, as I watched.

One woman counted the plants and made note of their types. The four of them scribbled on their legal pads. They shook their heads and talked amongst themselves. They stood in front of our place for an eternity. I know they saw the decorative bricks. It had been four days since the 8 a.m. deadline and we'd failed to tear all of them up. Even the lady with the roses had sadly done her duty.

California is bankrupt. It hasn't rained for months. We have mandatory water restrictions. Unemployment is among the highest in the nation. And with corporations destroying humans and humans destroying the Earth, why should anyone give a flying f**k whether we all have identical plants outside our door?

Send the roses to the landfill-- the thorns will come for you later.

In Excess

2009-06-15T23:25:00.000-07:00

In some ways, I wouldn't mind being younger. It's not that I'm even old, but I feel so far removed from the youngest generations of today that it makes me feel so much older than I actually am. I enjoyed growing up in the '80s-- it all seems so simplistic now. It was just a hiccup in time just before technology really started to take over.

I remember when my dad brought home our first home computer. It was a hand-me-down from the school where he worked as a guidance counselor. It looked like a black-and-white TV with a keyboard attached and that's pretty much what it was.

It had the amazing capabilities to do just about nothing, but I thought it was one of the greatest things in the world. I could sit there and type, type, type as the letters appeared like magic on the screen. God only knows what I wrote [or if I wrote anything intelligible at all.] I couldn't send my messages anywhere. Hell, I couldn't even print them out. But I'd sit there and type, type, type for hours at a time. It was so fun to hear the clippity-clop of my fingerprints and see those letters on the screen.

Around the same time, after begging and pleading, my mom finally let us get a Nintendo Entertainment System. Like the computer, it was a hand-me-down. Our babysitter was selling it so they could get the upgrade. [They also had the Disney Channel which my mom wouldn't let us get because it cost more than cable. Grr. But that's another story.] Anyway, the used Nintendo came with the now-classic controllers and one video game: Super Mario Bros. I loved Super
Mario Bros. and over time, I got pretty good. I even got to Level 8 to slay the dragon, as shown on the left. That was a great day--- for my kid self anyway.

In fact, I don't recall owning any other game... maybe we did, maybe we didn't, but what I do remember is the thrill my brother and I had when we'd earned our right to rent a new video game at Blockbuster. My mom created this point system based on our list of chores. A certain number of chores gave us points that eventually earned us a video game. Of course we hated the system at the time [ i.e. "I cleaned the bathrooms every weekend for a month so I could get Donkey Kong Jr."] but now that I look back-- there was something about earning it that made me appreciate it all the more.

Although it would be nice to re-live certain times in my life [while skipping others entirely], I don't envy the kids growing up in today's world. They've grown up to believe that they have the best things in life... that nothing is too good for them... What they don't know is how much they're missing. In Western culture, they've learned that money and fame along with the newest and most upgraded cell phone/ipod/game system is what counts. Most of them are bored (or unaware) of the act of living. They never look up from texting long enough to see the streaks of color in the sky after the sun sets. Nothing gets their full attention because they are so adept at multi-tasking that they have no ability to uni-task. At the movies, the newest and best CGI technology in the world doesn't faze them. It's just like everything else they've ever seen{ yawn }

They're trapped in the middle of an infinite black hole that eventually will collapse. Bigger and better is no longer the name of the game. The time of excess is coming to a close. Pull the plug and the youngest of us would struggle the most. Globally, the internet would blackout. Texts would go unsent. IMs would go missing. Cell phones would go dead. Facebook statuses would be frozen in time. We might have to actually venture outside or resort to the the type, type, type of words in books to entertain us. And horror of horrors, when the darkness comes, we'll only have live human beings to comfort us.

Yet, those of us who can still remember how to engage our minds with our own thoughts, our imaginations, and the nature of the great world around us will do just fine.

Plus, I'm pretty sure that old Nintendo Game System still works.

** For more about relics of computers past, check out: oldcomputers
** To play old school video games like Super Mario Bros, Pac Man, and Donkey Kong for FREE, check out Game Ninja

Copyright 2009 by KLiedle

Up, UP, and AWAY!

2009-06-02T08:16:00.000-07:00

Early Friday, I threaded Pixar's new movie, UP, for a midnight screening. As the film spun, twisted, and turned, I thought:

"A midnight screening of a kid's movie? Are they crazy?"

Well, don't listen to me. It sold out... and we added another midnight show. And show after show after show, things got crazier... and messier. But for every popcorn kernel, smushed milk dud, and trail of M&Ms, there was a smile, a laugh, and a whisper of adventure and imagination in the hearts and minds of kids, adults, and even the most hard-nosed critic.

Multi-colored balloons are happy things. If a kid is crying at glass-breaking decibels in a restaurant, what do they give them? Why, a brightly colored balloon. Balloons are like a brand new box of 64 crayons or a bag of colorful M&Ms, but they float and as they go Up, Up, And Away... they encounter a whole new world and curious adventures that humans rarely see. And in that, lies potential for a cinematic journey.

In 1956, French filmmaker, Albert Lamorisse, made a classic 34-minute short called Le Ballon Rouge (The Red Balloon,) a simple little story about a balloon and a little boy. It won many awards, including an Oscar for best original screenplay and the Palm d'Or [for short film] at Cannes. Years later, another ballloon idea saw its beginnings. A few years ago, Director Pete Docter and co-director/writer Bob Peterson were talking and started hashing out a kernel of an idea: What if you tied a bunch of balloons together and were whisked far, far away? You'd instantly be on a deserted island in the sky and a guest on an adventure of your own making.

Needless to say, that kernel of an idea expanded with helium and blew up-- but unlike many blockbusters, this blow-up didn't come from a series of CGI explosions. It came from imagination, lots of balloons, well-drawn characters, and a good, solid adventure.

The weekend was an UPward fury of kids and parents and adults all stampeding to see the latest from Disney/Pixar. You'd think it was Christmas--which it was for movie theaters across the country. Over the weekend, UP raked in $68, 108, 790 blasting Night At The Museum and even the Terminator.

Can you imagine the initial pitch?

I want to make a movie about a craggy old guy who ties a zillion balloons to his house until it floats away to South America. Then, I'll give him a roly-poly Boy Scout as an uninvited companion.

Somewhere along the line, that pitch was made and luckily, it fell to Pixar to bring it to fruition. As simple as the storyline is, preparation and research took time...lots and lots of time. Just how many balloons would it take to lift a house? According to production notes, technical directors for the film calculated that Carl Fredricksen would have to tie twenty to thirty million balloons to even have hopes of lifting off. Now, THAT's a lot of hot air-- or helium, I guess I should say.

Steve May, the film's supervising technical director noted:

"We ended up using 10, 297 for most of the floating scenes, and 20,622 when it actually lifts off. The number varies from shot to shot depending on the angle, distance, and fine-tuning the size so that it feels interesting, believable and visually simple. " [UP official website]

When I was younger, I used to daydream about flight: flapping my arms, lifting off and flying around the world like a bird. I know it's not a dream unique to me, as much as I'd like it to be. But take that dream, throw in interesting characters, an adventurous setting right out of Indiana Jones, and lots of lots of colorful balloons and people will come.

UP presented many complications for the filmmakers, animators, and technical teams. But now that the hard parts are over, the celebration can begin. The film's not only in the can, it's on the screen [ many, many screens] and certifiably another slam dunk for Pixar-- its 10th film overall, AND it's 1st available in Digital 3-D [at select theaters.]

Copyright 2009 by KLiedle

UP Synopsis: From Disney•Pixar comes Up, a comedy adventure about 78-year-old balloon salesman Carl Fredricksen, who finally fulfills his lifelong dream of a great adventure when he ties thousands of balloons to his house and flies away to the wilds of South America. But he discovers all too late that his biggest nightmare has stowed away on the trip: an overly optimistic 8-year-old Wilderness Explorer named Russell. [ Disney/Pixar]

"May I Put My Hand In Your Pocket?..."

2009-05-21T14:36:00.000-07:00

I must've been five years old the first time I saw Gone With The Wind. On TV. Even on the small screen I was swept off my feet by the epic story, the cinematography, and the spirited charms of both Scarlett O'Hara (Viven Leigh) and Rhett Butler (Clark Gable.)

Since then, I've seen the film countless times. I have an original paperback copy of the novel from 1939, sealed in a plastic bag. I've unconsciously memorized entire passages from the film--purely from seeing it so, so many times over the years.

But it was only three days ago, seventy years after its release, that I finally had the opportunity to see the film in its full glory-- in 35mm, on the big screen, with a sold-out audience. I saw the film Monday night in the William Goldwyn Theatre at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences in Beverly Hills, CA.

The evening began with newsreels from the year 1939 and a Buck Rogers serial. Following that, the audience was given a rare opportunity to hear anecdotes from several of the remaining cast members, including Cammie King (Bonnie Blue Butler), Ann Rutherford (Carreen O'Hara), and Mickey Kuhn (Beau Wilkes). Even a firefighter who had been on-set during the historic "burning of Atlanta" sequence was in the audience. Moments before the curtains parted, Olivia de Havilland (Melanie Hamilton) offered a greeting recorded earlier in the day from her home in Paris. Then, we were off... to the the land of Tara...

On the big screen, bookmarked by large Oscar statuettes, Scarlett's world was an altogether new place. It was as fresh as the first time I'd ever seen it, yet more true, more real, more vibrant. On the big screen, I noticed things I'd never seen before... like parrots. I in two different scenes that I never recall seeing before. At the Atlanta bazaar, I was able to read a sign in the background: "Buy a hanky. Beat a Yankee." In the jailhouse scene, I could see the callouses on Scarlett's hands at the same time Rhett notices them. So much of the GWTW experience and so many details had escaped me by seeing the film on TV and VHS-- the only way I'd been able to see it up until now. I relished sharing the film with fellow audience members and cast members in attendance who were watching along with us.

During intermission, I had the opportunity to meet Ann Rutherford (Carreen O'Hara,) seated two rows behind me. I never thought I'd ever be in the position to meet anyone directly involved in the film, yet here I was, in Beverly Hills CA (at the Academy, no less) meeting Ms. Rutherford herself-- seventy years after her appearance in one of my favorite films. Ms. Rutherford is delightful-- one of the most spirited women I've ever met. I looked into her face and saw the glow that she still has after all these years. As I grow older, I want to keep ahold of that spirit within myself. So many of us lose it, over time. Ms. Rutherford says Gone With The Wind was one of the best things that ever happened to her-- as it's made her "golden years... platinum."
It's also one of the best things that's happened to me and to many people around the world.

It's a testament to the film's power that so many of us in the U.S. and around the world can become connected by our mutual affinity for such a classic film. Although many of the original cast members are no longer with us, in Gone With The Wind they vibrantly live on. For those cast members left, their GWTW experience seventy years ago is now 'no more than a dream remembered...' but oh what a glorious dream it must've been!

**I'd like to thank the Academy for offering this superb event-- especially for younger generations like me, who have very little opportunity to see classics like this on the big screen-- as they were intended to be seen.**

1939-- GONE WITH THE WIND ~ CELEBRATING 70 YEARS.

Might I Suggest...

2009-05-12T17:32:00.000-07:00

It's happenend many times. I call up a friend:

"Let's do lunch or coffee or something," I say.

When they get back to me, they inevitably say:

"Sounds good. Where do you want to meet?"

Great. I have absolutely no clue...
In Los Angeles, there are so many places and yet my mind blanks out. All I can think of are chain restaurants and coffee shops that are safe and predictable and yet have no personality whatsoever.

"Let's meet at Starbucks.... no, not Starbucks. T.G.I.Fridays.... did I say that aloud? No, not there...

In many parts of the country, all that exists are chain restaurants and cookie-cutter storefronts. You got your Red Lobster and Applebee's and Sizzler and Outback Steakhouse plus all the fast-food places. If you drive far enough-- everything repeats itself eventually.

I should consider myself lucky to be in Los Angeles where we've got that and icky strip malls, but we also have tons and tons of one-of-a-kind shops and independently-owned places that have a pulse, a personality, and a uniqueness to their offerings.

There aren't many left and I'm sure it's struggling times for those that are, but I try to support them whenever possible. So, I started keeping a list of places to meet... places I'd been to or heard positive things about. I keep the list in my car, along with take-out menus, so that whenever the question comes up, I can whip out the "list" and make a suggestion.

One of those places is Pane Dolce. It's a cute little coffee shop/cafe on Ventura Blvd in Sherman Oaks, CA (1 blk. East of Woodman.) It's small and comfortably quiet yet abuzz with neighborhood friendliness.

They have a generous amount of breakfast and lunch offerings along with smoothies, bakery treats, coffee and tea. I don't expect much from the food offerings at most coffee places, but Pane Dolce is different. The food is good, surprisingly so... and fresh. Recently, I went there for a turkey panino and I wondered why I don't go there more often. They have both indoor and outdoor seating which makes it a perfect place to meet someone, dine solo, or grab a drink or snack while you're writing or studying. The staff is super-friendly [as though they actually want to be there-- something that shouldn't be rare, but is.]

My friend and I tried toffee samples and the cashier informed us that the baker was sitting at the table by the window. It's not often these days to be able to give compliments to the baker. Most places have bakery items shipped from commercial bakeries. This woman started out on her own--out of her enjoyment of baking. It's refreshing to meet people who are still passionate for what they do.

In the past, Pane Dolce wasn't open on Sundays. I made an assumption that they were-- I don't know... Sunday paper = Coffee, why wouldn't they be open? Well, they didn't used to be and I once had someone meet me there on a Sunday. We ended up at some sushi bar down the street which was passable, but not preferable. Luckily Pane Dolce caught on-- not only are they OPEN ON SUNDAYS but they're now also OPEN LATE... well, later than they used to be which is 8 P.M. some days-- a definite improvement.

Apparently, the owner isn't sure if the later hours are going to work for them. It's up to the community to decide. So, support this little place with the European flair in the midst of Sherman Oaks. It would be a shame for them to have to cut their hours back to the way they were.

PANE DOLCE
13608 Ventura Blvd (1 blk. East of Woodman Avenue)
Sherman Oaks CA 91423
(818) 783-1384

**CALL FOR THEIR NEW BUSINESS HOURS**

More Smog To Go Around!

2009-05-01T21:30:00.000-07:00

Episodes of the web series: It's Always Smoggy In L.A. are now available on veoh.com and funnyordie.com

Also check out the official website: smoggyinla.com

Let us know what you think!

Picture Perfect

2009-04-29T13:45:00.000-07:00

As anyone who reads this blog knows: I believe in learning new things ~ things that are both fascinating and frightening at the same time. Film projection is one of those things.

TCM and AMC were my film "discovery" channels. Like a big dork, I used to watch documentaries about film preservation and the digitally remastering process for old films. It was a painstaking process, sometimes taking years-- as was the case with The Wizard Of Oz, but it was fascinating that it could be done and there were people willing to do it. Seventy years later, the technicolor in The Wizard Of Oz is now as rich and layered as it was upon its first viewing-- enough that I can actually see the texture of the burlap on the scarecrow's face!

In concept, I'd love to have a hand in film preservation-- but in reality, I'd go bat-crazy if I just sat in a little room, digitally removing dust for hours. Instead, I turned to the "fascinating and frightening" prospect of film projection. Since the rest of the industry has been slow, I'm now working part-time as a projectionist. After some spits and starts (and lots and lots of threading practice,) my projectionist status became official.

Doing projection for a larger movie house takes patience, attention to detail, time management, and a lot of hustling from projector to projector. When you're sitting in the movie theatre, do you ever think about the little person behind the theatre? No, it's not the Wizard Of Oz, it's me: the projectionist. Your movie doesn't just magically show up on the screen-- I have to put it up there.

Where I work, we have 16 screens which I split up with another working projectionist. During a typical shift, I thread up and start anywhere from 24 to 32 films. The fascinating part is that from this LONG stream of individual photographs, the projector and I can make your movie happen like magic. The frightening part is that a lot can go wrong very easily: If I don't thread the film with the soundtrack facing a certain way, your movie won't have audio. It could also jump off its sprockets, be out of frame, out of focus, get scratched, have garbled or muffled sound, or somehow end up spilled onto the floor like spaghetti. The movie could get also get tangled up at the source (aka a "brain wrap,") at which point an alarm goes off {hopefully}, all hell breaks lose... and your movie stops dead in its tracks.

And then, for a few moments I'm no longer fascinated, I'm just plain frightened, but at the end of the day, the show will go on. And as you settle into your chair with a popcorn tub on your lap, magic will appear to happen.

Copyright 2009 by KLiedle
Photo credits: flickr/the42ndfl00r, flickr/maraid, flickr/vemsteroo

Dreaming and Awakening

2009-04-18T13:02:00.000-07:00

Too many times, my day off evaporates like a droplet of oil on a hot griddle. I know I should've planned something, but before I know it, time's up. Likewise, time was almost up for other things, too...

It was closing this week... last chance to get my butt into gear to see The Academy's landmark Fellini exhibit, Fellini: Book Of Dreams. A showcase of Federico Fellini's massive dream notebooks, this is the exhibit's first appearance in the United States. With the cooperation of the Academy Of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences, the Fondazione Federico Fellini and the Fondazione Cinema per Roma, it is available for viewing and astonishingly enough-- free. Two days before the close of the exhibit, I finally made it!

Well worth the wait (and the drive) the Fellini exhibit was more expansive than I'd imagined. Fellini kept records-- sketchbooks, really-- of his dreams for the better part of thirty years (1960-1990.) He not only wrote out the details as he remembered them, but he illustrated his dreams whenever possible. His illustrations are vivid, fantastical, colorful, imaginative, and often circus-like. Many of Fellini's illustrated dreams seem familiar-- as a number of the images and/or themes later appeared in some of his films.

Fellini's actual "dream notebooks" are housed in a glass display, meaning the general public (for obvious reasons) cannot flip through them. Alternatively though, there is a computer touch screen that allows you to scroll through as many as 250 pages of Fellini dreams. The sheer volume is daunting, but extraordinarily intoxicating.

After viewing many of the articles on display, I scrolled through a handful of the digital notebook pages as well. Fellini's dreams ran the gamut from men on stilts to elephants, big-busted women, and firebursts of exploding blimps. I laughed aloud after reading Fellini's expressions of an erotic and wildly humorous, imagined romp with Sophia Loren. Men will be men... On the other side of the spectrum, I snickered at an illustration of a rather mundane dream: a horribly plugged toilet. There stands Fellini in front of the constipated throne-- overflowing with toilet paper and feces and "even a little Fiat!," as Fellini proclaims. Indeed, a little car is zooming its way out.

For Fellini, this expansive Book Of Dreams brought about a better understanding of his own subconscious as well as ideas for his films. For us today, it's also an incredible and inspiring look into the intimate workings of a vastly creative mind.

GO >> Fellini's Book Of Dreams-- through April 19, 2009 in the Academy's Grand Lobby Gallery: 8949 Wilshire Blvd, Beverly Hills CA 90211

*Also through April 19 in the Academy's 4th floor Gallery:
GO >> Douglas Fairbanks: The First King Of Hollywood exhibit displays rare costumes, props, articles, and correspondence from the actor's career-- including his commemorative Oscar and a telegram from Charlie Chaplin.

Copyright 2009 by KLiedle

A Downward Slope Can Be An Upward Battle

2009-04-06T19:28:00.001-07:00

"Uh, No."

That was my answer-- out of fear, out of 'thinking' that it just wouldn't be my thing. Snow, flat surface, skates... OK, I can do that. Snow, being strapped to what appears to be a skateboard while staring down a mountain? Yeah, I don't think so... BUT what if? What if it's really as fun as my brother says it is? I don't even have a huge fear, just a little dinky fear-- enough to make my brain want to say no.

In other words, I didn't really have an excuse so I decided to transcend my natural fears and give snowboarding a shot. It's hard to believe that just over a week ago, I was driving with my brother and a friend to Breckenridge, CO to hit the slopes. It was their 19th time of the season and my 1st time of all time... I guess I could say.

I was feeling just a bit anxious about the whole experience when I was being fitted for my snowboard. "It's harder to back out now," I thought. "After all, I've rented the equipment. "

On the ride up to Breckenridge, I started having second thoughts... "what if I break my leg or I hit my head or God know what else?" Before I knew it, we were on the shuttle, I'd gotten a lift ticket, and we were headed up the neverending gondola to the sky. "There's no going back now...," I thought as I looked at how far we'd ascended into the sky and how much that damn lift ticket cost.

When it was all said and done, I was astounded by how much fun, yes fun, I had on the slopes my first day out. I thought it would be so painful, so frustrating, and so awkward that fun would never be a part of it until I actually knew what I was doing. I didn't break my leg, or an arm, or my head... I wasn't especially sore afterward ( a little bit, yes, but not alot.)

Yes, I lost count of how many times I fell or ate shit in the snow, but each and every time, I got up again. In the beginning, it was mostly due to Barry, my snowboard instructor, making me try again... even though I wanted to quit. I didn't think there was any hope for me (or the nonexistent snowboarder inside of me.) By the end, I kept getting up because I knew I could conquer that damn mountain-- OK, I'll be real: majestic slope-- and I realized that I was exhilarated because I'd tried (and succeeded) in something I was fearful about.

My advice to first-timers: Take a 1/2 day lesson. It's worth it, even though you'll see 6 year olds snowboarding better than you and old people skiing faster than you can walk with your ski boots on. I'm convinced that taking the lessons helped me get the basics down in time to actually enjoy myself.

Thanks, Barry for being my snowboard muse last week and not laughing in my face, even though I'm sure you were tempted quite a few times during that day, especially every time I ate shit coming off the ski lift which was oh, every time! And thanks to my brother, for taking me up to the mountain and making me find my way down and giving me a unique experience to take back home. Snowboarding's something I wouldn't have attempted without a little prodding, but now, well, I just may go again someday!

P.S. There's a Beaujo's pizza in Idaho Springs, CO. So, if you need any other incentive to get down the mountain, deep dish pizza with thick, bready crust is a good one! And after skiing/snowboarding all day, you can afford to down a lot of it!

Copyright 2009 by KLiedle
Photo credit: "Doll Snowboarder" rockymountainroz/flickr
"Breckenridge" kavy2/flickr, "No Snowboarding" maureen/flickr

It's Always Smoggy In L.A. -- "Sugar"

2009-03-24T15:24:00.000-07:00

*Click above to view the episode*

"Sugar" / Episode #104 starring Alisha Nichols, Padriac Culham and Brandon Alter
Created by Scott Vogel and produced by Kendra Liedle and Scott Vogel, IT'S ALWAYS SMOGGY IN L.A. episodes can by kooky, they can be dark, and they can be twisted, but they are all unquestionably L.A.

It's Always Smoggy In L.A. episodes are currently running exclusively on Cocoa And Caffeine Hollywood Travels and Smoggyinla.com

For future episodes and more information about the show, please see the official website: smoggyinla.com

Copyright 2009 by KLiedle

Tunnel Vision: Diving Bell And The Butterfly

2009-03-19T17:33:00.000-07:00

When my imagination does horror, dreams turn to nightmares and suddenly I'm drowning. Beauty extinguished. Life washed away.

Or I look at the sun for a moment too long. A razor blade slices the vision out of my eyes, a la Un Chien Andalou. I'm blinded and <<whoosh>> I'm in a Bunuel film, chased by a Minotaur and unable to find my way out.

I think of death and I accept the inevitability of it... I just wish I could predict how and when. It would just make things a little more convenient-- planning-wise. What I don't think about often... nor do any of us... is what if death didn't come, but instead my life ( or your life ) was forever altered in some tragic way. What, then?

For me, the nightmare would be blindness after a lifetime of gazing at the beauty and pleasures of this world... the movies I love, the places I've been, the artwork I've created, the people I've known. I'd never again be able to experience them fully.

Or the nightmare would be experiencing the feeling of drowning: water slushing up my nose, free-falling deeper and deeper, struggling briefly and giving up silently... and then waking up-- deep breaths, coughing, and magnificently terrified.

For Jean-Dominique Bauby, then editor-in-chief of French Elle Magazine, it was a massive stroke that put him into a coma. When he awoke 20 days later, he was paralyzed from the neck down. Although he was conscious and mentally aware of his surroundings, he was unable to communicate with anyone. He'd lived the high lifestyle of fast cars, women, fashion, travel... And in a flash <> it was gone. He'd become a lump of clay, a 'living vegetable'...

“What kind of vegetable?” Jean-Dominique wondered. “A carrot? A pickle?”

He was experiencing 'locked-in syndrome,' a claustrophobic life in which a person retains mental alertness, vision, and hearing, but is unable to communicate with the outside world. It is like being buried alive, but Bauby wasn't ready to be buried. He was going to live, albeit in this strange, altered world.

Bauby triumphed against his circumstances by doing the seemingly impossible: He wrote a book. With help from a transcriber using a common letter alphabet, he blinked his left eye to write the experiences of his internal world-- how a life forever altered was affecting him and those around him. His book, published in 1997, became The Diving Bell And The Butterfly.

Jean-Dominique's unique story became a movie directed by Julian Schnabel, a painter turned film director. The Diving Bell And The Butterfly, originally released in 2007, is an masterful achievement in both directing and cinematography.

In an instant, we're transported to that moment... the moment we weren't ready for, the moment that came up too fast...

Suddenly I'm drowning. Beauty extinguished. Life washed away.

From the first frame of Schnabel's film, I'm Jean-Dominique. The camera won't let me see anything beyond this tunnel vision. I see doctors and nurses and people from my past. They look at me and shrug. They look at me and cry or apologize. They look at me as though I'm not there. I speak. No one listens. I shout. No one even flinches. It's like I'm in a coffin, but I'm not dead. I'm caught up in my own head. It's a nightmare. It's painful, it's claustrophobic, and at times, it's downright terrifying: The thought of never being able to escape this fate.

But I keep watching, transfixed by the vision being presented to me. The film opens up and I'm momentarily released from Jean-Dominique's prison to discover his past and the people around him. I'm introduced to the person he was before life altered itself. I'm reminded that any of this could happen to me or someone I know or anyone for that matter. The unthinkable. I experience heightened sensations, beauty rising through the ugliness, the magnificent in the ordinary. I hear Jean-Dominique's poetic view on his circumstances, spiked with sarcastic tone and dark humor and hope (of all things, hope!) I learn that art can come from tragedy, passion can be exhibited in a multitude of ways, and film can be life-altering as much as anything I can experience directly. It is a beautiful film, a life-altering film, that I highly recommend. It will change how you experience every moment thereafter...

"And so, curiously enough, a movie about deprivation becomes a celebration of the richness of experience, and a remarkably rich experience in its own right." (New York Times Movie Review)

Diving Bell And The Butterfly: Let your imagination set you free

It's Always Smoggy In L.A. -- "Women Are Scum"

2009-03-14T14:46:00.001-07:00

It's Always Smoggy In L.A. -- "Rhino Boy"

2009-03-03T12:42:00.000-08:00

Cocoa and Caffeine Hollywood Travels is proud to announce that "Rhino Boy," the 2nd episode of the new web series, IT'S ALWAYS SMOGGY IN L.A. is now available for viewing at smoggyinla.com and shortfilmplanet.com

Created by Scott Vogel and produced by Kendra Liedle and Scott Vogel, each short episode of IT'S ALWAYS SMOGGY IN L.A. explores the unique effects the entertainment industry has on the people who live here. Our episodes can by kooky, they can be dark, and they can be twisted, but they are unquestionably L.A.

For future episodes and more information about the show, please see the official website: smoggyinla.com

Cultural Shopping: My Grocery List is long...

2009-03-02T17:36:00.000-08:00

In L.A., I could just go to one grocery store, "double-coupon Ralph's," and get it done. However, I'd be missing out on a great deal. I'm not talking about coupons, I'm talking about culture and my grocery list is long, yet interesting.

Los Angeles has a vast array of smaller ethnic and specialty markets. I try to go to farmers markets. I regularly shop at Trader Joe's. Who doesn't? Most importantly though, I venture into unknown markets-- places where I may very well be the only native English speaker. I may not always have the money to travel, but I can walk into a Russian gift shop and instantly be on foreign territory.

I'm always on the lookout for unique spices (especially Greek seasoning, one of my favorites!) I've found excellent apricots, dates, figs, Turkish/Armenian coffee, and falafel at Mediterranean and Middle-eastern markets in the area. I can also find good, inexpensive fresh fish plus unique Asian gifts at 99 Ranch Market (a Chinese supermarket chain.) Some of the best and least expensive produce can be had at supermercados like Vallarta and El Super. They are usually considerably busy, but I enjoy the experience (mostly) and it gives me opportunities to practice my Spanish.

For a vast majority of Angelenos, English is not their native tongue. I find it interesting to turn the tables on myself: Experience a different worldview. Speak a different language. Doing so adds a whole new dimension to the usually mundane task of grocery shopping.

Los Angeles is one of those places where countless languages are spoken and culture can be found on every corner. Embrace culture and have the curiosity and courage to seek it out. You'll feel like you've traveled even if you haven't really left home. No passport necessary!

Select ethnic markets, etc. in the Los Angeles area.
(There are many, many more!!!)

El Super (Latino)
Vallarta (Latino)
99 Ranch Market (Chinese grocery chain)
Papa Cristos C&K Importing (Greek and Arabic food/deli)
Golden Fork Cafe (excellent Armenian/Russian/Middle-Eastern food)*

*P.S. Thanks to our neighbors, Paul and Amy, for inviting us over last month and introducing us to the amazing cuisine at Golden Fork Cafe!

Copyright 2009 by KLiedle.
Photo credit: RalphBijker/flickr

INTRODUCING:

2009-02-18T11:31:00.000-08:00

Cocoa and Caffeine Hollywood Travels is proud to present "The Little Tramp," the premiere episode of the new web series, IT'S ALWAYS SMOGGY IN L.A.

Created by Scott Vogel and produced by Kendra Liedle and Scott Vogel, each short episode of IT'S ALWAYS SMOGGY IN L.A. explores the unique effects the entertainment industry has on the people who live here. Our episodes can by kooky, they can be dark, and they can be twisted, but they are unquestionably L.A.

For future episodes and more information about the show, please see the official website: smoggyinla.com

Just One Bite! (Foods that should not exist)

2009-02-16T15:24:00.000-08:00

Early in the morning, I approach a craft service truck and I'm instantly confronted by it: The inescapable, God-knows-why-it-exists, breakfast burrito.

I've never understood the phenomenon of the breakfast burrito. "Oh, okay, let's just roll up some bacon and eggs and some leftover herbs with some ham and onion and anything else we can scrounge up and Voila-- a tortilla smorgasbord of goodness! Uh, no thanks."

Given the choice, I'll always opt for cold, sludgy oatmeal with raisins, dried cranberries (if I'm lucky) and granola. To me, breakfast burritos belong in the same category as pot pies, another food item that should not exist. Pot pies exchange the tortilla for puff pastry and usually include a creamier chicken ensemble. Of course, you can throw ham or bacon or eggs in there, too.

This made me start thinking about other food items that should really not exist. Beets and bean sprouts top my list. I believe the bright red color of beets is a warning from nature alerting us that they are not meant for human consumption. Egg yolks are another one. I remember meticulously removing what I referred to as the "icky yellow part" of the egg. I was probably five at the time... and I still refer to egg yolks as the "icky yellow part." All the protein is in the white anyway. They have seedless watermelon. I wish there was a way to make a yolkless egg, but somehow I don't see that happening. I end up wasting yolks or paying a premium for egg beaters cartons. I also don't understand why they bother canning peas. Once they're canned, they automatically assume a pukey green color and a mushy, already-digested mouthfeel. I feel sorry for the pea that finds itself canned.

As much as I hate (and question some foods), I've discovered that I like some foods that I never, ever would touch as a kid. I now like yams. Yams, for god's sake! I also like cashews...a lot...and I always used to tease my dad for liking them. I thought they were beyond disgusting. I even drink almond milk and soy milk and sometimes I even eat cabbage-- on purpose. I'm a coffee fiend, something I swore to my mother would never, ever happen in this lifetime.

So, even as an adult-- force yourself to try "just one bite." You may find that, even among the sometimes odd selection at craft service or your nearest buffet, you'll rediscover something you never thought you'd like. I don't see myself changing my opinion on breakfast burritos or pot pie anytime soon though.

Copyright 2009 KLiedle
Photo credit: thinguy/flickr and sashertootie/flickr

Aging Out In Hollywood

2009-02-07T18:42:00.000-08:00

Entertainment has traditionally been able to weather the storm. During economic downturns, people still sought escapism. Even in the midst of the Great Depression, people who could barely afford a loaf of bread would save up a nickel for a movie. It meant that much to them.

These days, while people still seek escapism (witness the phenomenon of Paul Blart Mall Cop), it doesn't seem to matter so much anymore. Amid ticket sales and recent innovations like 3-D, there is evidence that this time, it's different. This time, the motion picture industry is increasingly turning inward. With strikes of the past and threats of strikes in the future (SAG has yet to reach an agreement,) the industry has become like a rattlesnake out to eat its own tail-- unless the economy gets to it first.

In January, Warner Bros. announced that it was cutting 800 jobs---450 of which would be jobs lost in their Burbank, CA facilities alone. Many other entertainment giants are seeking cutbacks as well, citing the changing entertainment landscape, consumer preferences, and escalating costs.

Even more surprisingly (for me), the Motion Picture & Television Fund announced that it would be closing down its on-campus hospital and nursing home, based in Woodland Hills, CA. due to "...sobering economic realities...," according to David Tillman, fund chief executive (as reported by The Los Angeles Times.)

This is a major blow to entertainment professionals and their families. Upwards of 100 long-term care patients at the facility will be relocated to various nursing homes-- not to mention the impact and added stress to their families, loved ones, and the nursing staff who will lose their jobs.

I was well aware of the fund's Woodland Hills long-term facility and I always felt that if time and circumstances arose that required long-term care, that would be the preferable place to be. I always loved its uniqueness-- each person living there has some connection to the entertainment industry. Perhaps that person was an actress or a cinematographer, a script supervisor or a stuntman... (Marilyn Monroe may have been a star, but let's not forget that her mother, Gladys, was a negative cutter at RKO.) Many people at the MPTF facility are just that: below-the-line professionals whose livelihoods were just as important as any other contributors to the arts.

Think of the unspoken bonds they share with each other. The stories they can tell. Perhaps, they lunched together at the MGM commisery one day without even knowing it. Maybe they remember the antics of such-and-such a director and can still laugh or smile about it, even today.

These wonderful people contributed to some of our favorite classic movies and are now faced with the harsh reality of establishing a new home amid advanced age and health difficulties. Many may not survive the transition and that's what I find saddest of all. Current patients will have to make the adjustment when they are at their most vulnerable stage of life.

Even my grandmother, who recently has had some health setbacks was vehemently opposed to moving from assisted living to another facility. "I am not moving. I am going HOME." Those were her words: HOME. A number of years ago, we took great lengths to find a facility that would suit her (and my late grandfather's needs and wishes.) We visited a number of facilities always getting my grandparents' feedback. We were guiding them, but THEY were chosing their home. Although, she does not reside in any MPTF facilities, her concerns are similar to those facing displacement.

To these patients and to the those affected MPTF employees, this facility was (and still is) their home, the place they chose to spend the 'final reel' of their artistic lives. You can't look at numbers on a keyboard and state that only "so many..." patients will be affected. Nursing home patients are the ones most directly affected. However, those currently in MPTF independent and assisted living, who always had the security of knowing that first-rate nursing home care through MPTF would be available and accessible to them, will be equally uprooted (when and if) the time comes for nursing care.

People are fragile beings, especially late in life: A cold can become pneumonia, a fall can cause a hip fracture, and the added stress and anxiety of moving, as well as being separated from your fellow patients and the caregivers you know and trust can be truly devastating.

It's unfortunate that any care facility has to make cutbacks. The Motion Picture Television Fund may be trying to cut the costs, but by doing so, they are betraying their pledge to "Take care of our own..." These people deserve more than an onscreen credit in a forgotten project.
They are not forgotten. Their contributions to the industry will stand the test of time. At the very least, the industry should be there for them in the time they have left.

*MPTF's says they are not closing down all facilities, only long-term care facilities in favor of more community-based care. Assisted living facilities are not expected to be shuddered.

For both sides of the issue, please see:
Saving The Lives Of Our Own
Motion Picture Television Fund Website

Special thanks to those who've contacted me as a result of this post!

Copyright 2009 KLiedle
Photo credit: Shanty Cheryl/flickr: Hollywood on Fire
Pancakes Barbara/flickr: Marlene Dietrich and Rita Hayworth at the Hollywood Canteen
(circa 1942)

We Are All Slumdogs

2009-01-28T10:17:00.000-08:00

Back in November, I was introduced to a little-known film from Fox Searchlight. Much of it was in Hindi, it had a strange title, no known stars, and a very modest budget for Hollywood standards. The film's original distributor, Warner Independent, had been shuttered by its parent company. For a time, the film was an orphan and its future was in limbo.

But, its destiny was written...

I could feel a strange electricity in the air. Thirty minutes prior to Boyle's Q&A that night, Producer Christian Colson, ducked into the theatre to watch the film's climatic ending. He'd seen the film countless times, but he said he never tired of it. A few minutes later, I met Danny Boyle. I was instantly sucked in by his untiring enthusiasm and the glimmer in his eyes as he discussed the experience of making what was to become my favorite film of the year: Slumdog Millionaire.

Like a bicyclist, Slumdog Millionaire has slowly but surely gained on its competitors in the Oscars race. I've heard that visiting India is an experience of overwhelming proportions. It has a cultural richness that few other places on Earth can offer. But you must be willing to accept India for all that it is-- its light and its dark. Slumdog Millionaire has been criticized as being "poverty porn" and/or "slum voyeurism" and parents of the slum kids have come forward to say that their children were not paid their due, especially considering the success of the film.*

Success rarely comes without controversy.

Boycott the film and you'll be missing out. Like India, you have to embrace Slumdog Millionaire for what it is, love it for all its dark and all its light, and embrace it like a person--like yourself. In a sense, we are all slumdogs trying to get by in this mess of a world we live in. Like Jamal, we all have the capacity to write our own destinies, regardless of our circumstances.

In the land that is India, there is poverty and torture, grit and grime, but there is also color and beauty, love and passion, dance and rhythm. Light and dark: one cannot exist without the other. Boyle's Slumdog Millionaire exposes both.

Notes:

*The children depicting young Jamal and Latika in the film are now attending school at the expense of the filmmakers. According to Mr. Boyle and the film's producer Christian Colson,"financial resources have been made available for their education until they are 18." When they finish their schooling, they will receive further payment from a trust fund. To me, this was the best way to approach the sensitive subject of how to compensate these children. A large sum of money now would quickly evaporate, but an investment in their education will last forever and pave the way for future success.

*In Boyle's previous film, Millions (2004) production donated money to Water Aid, to build a well in Africa (like the family did in the film). (imdb/trivia)

*Among many other places in this world, I hope to one day visit India and my wish is that the place, the real place, is as invigorating and intoxicating as I imagine it to be.

2009 ACADEMY AWARD NOMINATIONS: SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE

A Tale of Lost Treasure...

2009-01-19T19:50:00.000-08:00

A few years back, a producer asked me why I'd wanted to get into this 'crazy [movie] business. It's the magic... it's the way that movies--their images, characters, and stories can become imprinted into your memory. I wanted to be a part of that...creating that experience for other people.

Even as the mystique of filmmaking has worn off as I've worked in the business, I still firmly believe in the magic and influence a well-constructed film can have on an individual.

For me, it all started with one movie... and that was The Black Stallion. Few people may remember the very first movie they ever saw on the big screen. I remember it all. I remember how I didn't weigh enough to keep the theatre seat from staying down and how I was too short for my feet to touch the floor. I remember looking up at cascading, gold curtains suspended from the ceiling, just as those curtains parted to reveal the movie screen. There was no advertising, no interruptions... once those curtains parted, I was completely enveloped in a story set in a far-off land about a young boy and his relationship with an Arabian horse.

By the time it was over, I was in love. In The Black Stallion that day, I saw beauty as I'd never seen it (in the cinematography of Caleb Deschanel), I saw parts of the world I never knew existed, and I learned about the influence that art can have on a person, especially a person as little as myself.

After the movie was over, the other patrons exited, but I raced to those gigantic, gold curtains as they closed on the most mystical experience I'd had by that time in my life. I wanted to meet the horse, I wanted to be back in the story. I didn't want the magic to end...not ever, really, and that, you see, is why I wanted to go into the movie business.

I was thinking the other day about how that movie experience has been changed, even seen my childhood. We're so bombarded by the America obsession to multi-task to such a degree that we're not even present. Two days ago, I was talking on the phone to my dad (who still lives in Omaha.) In passing, he noted that my childhood theatre, Cinema Center was closing down for good. Cinema Center (82nd and W. Center Road, Omaha) was the place where I'd seen the majority of those films growing up, including my first-- The Black Stallion.

Like Indian Hills Theater, another favorite, Omaha theatre of mine, Cinema Center has succumbed to corporate development. Indian Hills Theater, built in 1962, showcased films in Cinerama format. Despite protests, the theater was demolished in 2001 for a parking lot.
Cinema Center, open since 1967, officiallly closed on Thursday. In its place? Office space-- and with this economy, office space that will probably be vacant. It's a sad thing to see... from the standpoint of a moviegoer as well as a film professional.

Not every battle, even those well-fought can be won. Cinema Center, and all the memories I had there, will still exist in my mind.

But most of all, I will always remember seeing those gold curtains for the very first time and how excited I'd get whenever I'd see the studio emblems of Universal or 20th Century Fox or I'd hear that MGM lion roar: I knew I was at the movies and the magic was just about to begin...

For more information about Cinema Center and other lost theatre treasures, see the links below:

The Curtain Is Falling
Cinema Treasures

The Black Stallion
1979/ Directed by Carroll Ballard.
Francis Ford Coppola...executive producer, Fred Roos and Tom Sternberg...producers
Omni Zoetrope

Copyright 2009 by KLiedle
Photo credits: The Black Stallion/Omni Zoetrope, tsunagan/flickr, plasticfootball/flickr.

Day Trip Driving... And Stunning Outlooks

2009-01-14T14:37:00.000-08:00

I haven't quite gotten to my new year's resolutions for 2009. I don't have anything written down, even vaguely: no goals, no bad habits to break, no vacations to plan. I guess you could say I'm a little behind.

Instead, I'm still crossing things off my 2008 list. I'd achieved many of the goals I'd set for myself, but a few remained. Why make a new list? So, yesterday... I crossed two of those remaining items off my 2008 list.

I drove over to Sierra Madre for no particular reason other than the fact that I wanted to check it out. See, I had no concept of what Sierra Madre was like, but I was curious. Los Angeles seems to have infinite pockets of neighborhoods that I know nothing about so it's good to get out and see them.

Located off the 210 Freeway, just East of Pasadena, Sierra Madre sits at the base of the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains. It's got a small town vibe, but it's close enough to Pasadena that there's no shortage of conveniences like shopping, grocery stores and the Santa Anita Racetrack (if you've got gambling on your mind.) Like most smallish towns, it seemed to have lots of churches and schools, a women's club, a community theatre (Sierra Madre Playhouse), post office, liquor store, and a local coffee shop (competing with a Starbucks four doors down...)

On the way home, I decided to cross something else off my list. After living in L.A. for 7 years, I was embarrassed to say that I'd never been to Griffith Observatory. Sure, I'd been hiking in Griffith Park many times, but I'd never set foot in the observatory. Part of this hasn't been my fault. Just a few months after I moved, the observatory was shut down for renovations. It was shut down for ages (and in my mind, it had never reopened.) I didn't think of it again until recently when two things happened: A friend of mine mentioned they'd actually been there and then last week, I saw the observatory in the current movie, "Yes Man."

I saw Griffith Observatory written on last year's list and I started feeling guilty. Yesterday was the clearest day in L.A. that I'd seen for awhile. It was one of those days when, from certain vantage points, you can see downtown shimmering in the setting sun on one side and the glimmering Pacific Ocean on the other.

Griffith Observatory was the perfect vantage point to see all of this and, of course, the Hollywood sign. My timing could not have been more perfect. I got there right as the sun was disappearing below the horizon-- leaving behind streams of orange across the Los Angeles skyline. Inside, the observatory offered exhibits about the universe, the big bang, how stars form, meteorites, and public telescopes at every opportunity. I was intrigued for much longer than I'd anticipated. By the time I'd exited, the stunning city lights had emerged and the observatory outlook offered such a spectacular view that I didn't really want to leave.

I'd like to go back to see the planetarium show, but at long last, I can now say as an Angeleno transplant, that I've officially been to the legendary Griffith Observatory-- "on the slope of Mount Hollywood...1,134 feet above sea level." (Griffithobservatory.org)

Photos by Larry Gerbrandt/flickr and icraz/flickr

Walts of the Greatest Generation: Gran Torino

2009-01-05T14:04:00.000-08:00

My grandfather never allowed us to curse. We weren't allowed to say damn, or shit, and certainly never f***. The rule need not be written-- we just knew. If you cursed when you were in grandpa's presence, you may or may not live to tell about it.

Grandpa grew up in the 20s, lived through the Great Depression, and lived most of his life making up for it. He never cursed, but he had what most people would now consider a derogatory term for nearly every race. He didn't mean to be racist. In a sense, he was just born that way.

He came of age in the years when racist jokes, labels, and stereotypes were thrown about regularly and no one even batted an eyelash. You could pat a woman on the ass, call her 'a good-looking dame', and not be sued. It was before politically correct, before worker's compensation, before womens' lib, before social security...

This is the era of Walt Kowalski (Clint Eastwood) in Gran Torino, Eastwood's latest film. There are a lot of men like Walt: war veterans, hard-working Americans from our nation's 'Greate

st Generation' (according to Tom Brokaw anyway.) And in that era, there were also a lot of Walts (including my grandfather.)

Certainly, Grandpa didn't have the gruff voice or the commanding presence of Eastwood, but when he spoke, you didn't argue. Grandpa flipped out when it looked like I was going to be bussed to the 'black neighborhood' for 3rd grade... when I got to dating age, he made it very clear that he'd like me to find a nice, white boy of decent stock. No intermingling of races for me-- not when

Grandpa was looking anyway. When I was taking dance classes, he abruptly asked my instructor how old she was, and when she answered, he asked her if she was married. She said "No." He could've walked away. But Grandpa couldn't leave well enough alone.

A thirty-something attractive dame, unmarried? What is this world coming to?

So, his next question was: "Why aren't cha married? Something wrong with ya?" Yes, dear old Grandpa. On a United Airlines flight to Texas in the early 90's, he frisked an airline stewardess in search of more chocolate chip cookies. Publicly, she giggled. Privately, she was probably calling an attorney from the Skyphone.

His en

dearing term for me was 'pumpkin' and when he was especially proud of me, he'd say, "you're 'all white meat" which I guess was good-- meaning that I was the human equivalent of a chicken breast which I s'pose is the best part of the chicken. Although, it got foggier when he'd use that turn of phrase on a black man. I knew Grandpa didn't mean any harm. When he said it, it just meant he was proud of the black man, in a chicken breast sort of way.

The world had changed around him, but Grandpa had stayed just exactly the same. In later years, when he didn't speak much anymore, he got most of his pleasures from two things: Bessie, his big blue, 1972 Cadillac-- a car he never thought he'd be able to afford and

food--som

ething he never had quite enough of during those Depression-era days.

So, one day, we took him to T.G.I.Friday's where, as we waited for our check, he tried to stash their ketchup bottle into the inside pocket of his overcoat.

"Walt!" my grandmother exclaimed. And Walt looked up with those endearing eyes of his, and reluctantly placed the ketchup back on the table. (During the bad years, they used to make tomato soup by adding water to ketchup.) It was then that we all knew that we'd sort of lost Grandpa. He was trapped in a deflated version of his former self and lost in the fog of his own time, his own greatest generation...

Some think that Gran Torino is overcliched with Walt's 'old school' language and pollack jokes and the writer's device of the Gran Torino car, but I beg to differ. Sure, it's predictable to a certain degree, but so are most lives. Eastwood can go out with a bang-- that's the movie version o

f the story. But the countless other Walts in the world with just as powerful a presence, have been extinguished quietly... that's the real life version of the story. I know because my grandfather was one of them.

Gran Torino

Directed by Clint Eastwood

Screenplay by Nick Schenk

Distributed by Warner Bros Pictures (North America)

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The Virtues of Thank You Notes

2008-12-28T14:14:00.000-08:00

December was always my month. There was my birthday and a mere two weeks later, Christmas. Additionally, my mother celebrated Three Kings Day so my brother and I would get an extra little bonus gift on January 6. As a kid ( and even today ) December was one of my favorite months with its festivities and gifts galore. Shortly after New Years though, my mother would sit us down at the dining room table. In front of our groaning faces, she'd set down a box of notecards and a couple of pens and hand us a list of items we'd received and who'd sent them. There, we'd have to sit, sometimes for hours, until we'd completed all our thank you notes.

We hated, HATED writing those thank you notes. Why, why write a thank you note? It took too much time when we could be doing so many other things. Childhood wasn't going to last forever and we wanted to be able to enjoy the gifts we'd just gotten before we outgrew them in the months ahead.

My mother had established the thank you writing ritual early on. My brother and I glared at each other each and every year, knowing full well that we had no way of getting out of writing those damn thank you notes.

Today, things have changed dramatically. I love giving gifts (often more than receiving them.) And now, as an adult, I'm become a stickler for thank you notes. Yes, it still takes time, which I now have even less of, but I eventually get around to it. It's been so ingrained into my being at this point in my life that I can't imagine abandoning it.

I absolutely believe that in a digital, fast-paced world, people appreciate a handwritten thank you note even more than in years past. So, if you're way too busy to handwrite something, phone a friend a thank you, e-mail them your thoughts, let them know you appreciate what they've done. People notice and you'll feel good about giving back-- even if your gift is merely your words of appreciation. As I grow older, I've learned that words of appreciation are worth just as much ( if not more than ) those tangible gifts we all enjoy unwrapping on Christmas.

In the coming weeks, I'll sit myself down at my own dining room table and write my thank you notes. The first one will be written to my mom-- who started the thank you note ritual we'd always hated and the same one we now embrace.

From The Mouths Of Movie-goers...

2008-12-23T09:41:00.000-08:00

As a writer, I often observe and listen. Secretly, I've always wanted to be a spy. If I were a true spy, however, I wouldn't be able to tell anyone that I was a spy and what fun is there in that?[unless I get to play-act in my own rendition of Burn After Reading.] So, instead I'm an eavesdropper, sometimes a sleuth, and a writer.

Quite often, I get to listen and observe moviegoers. Here in L.A., there are people with clipboards that watch audience reactions to previews and movies and then they jot down little notes-- where the laughs were, what sequences fell flat, if a preview worked or flopped, and the demographics of the people sitting in the seats: age, race, gender.... In a sense, they're movie spies and [not surprisingly] they're employed by the studios.

I also enjoy watching several audiences and noting how they react to the same movie. What I've learned is that it's true what they say: Every single audience is different. A movie like Four Christmases that makes one woman howl with laughter may be only mildly amusing to the couple sitting in the next showing.

When it comes to a movie being a success or a flop, moviegoers have more clout than they get credit for-- [sorry critics.]

Here are a few reactions and/or things I've overheard about some of the biggest films this year:

On Rachel Getting Married:

" It's too shaky... I can't take it. How can they even call that a movie?"

(From a forty-something who needed a glass of ice water to get over her Rachel-induced motion sickness)

"Now, that's the kind of wedding I'd like to have!"

(One twenty-something girl to another upon exiting the theatre.)

On Towelhead:

Upon exiting the theatre: Silence.

On Synedoche, New York

"What's with that burning house?"

( A question posed to Charlie Kaufman at a Q&A at Arclight Hollywood. Kaufman skirted the question brilliantly and answered exactly: Nothing.)

"It's so depressing... I want to shoot myself."

(A thirty-something guy talking to his buddy.)

The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button

(not released yet)

"I think it'll capture peoples' attention with its sentimentality... and it'll garner award noms, no doubt. Brad Pitt's a shoe-in.

( An unidentified Nielsen employee)

"THIS is a job..."

( The courier lugging Benjamin Button's many, many reels after the theatre's elevator went out)

Note: Benjamin Button has a run-time of 2 hours and 55 minutes and David Fincher is probably still working on his director's cut which could very well have a run time double that!

Slumdog Millionaire

"I've seen the ending so many times, but I'm gonna go watch it again..."

(A studio publicity person at a Q&A screening with Danny Boyle.)

"Where can I get the soundtrack to Slumdog?"

(An out-of-breath woman in the theatre gift shop.)

"That is how movies are supposed to be."

(An older gentleman to his friend after exiting a late-night screening.)

Observation: Two Indian women in the middle of the theatre crying softly as Jamal and Latika reunite. They stay for the entire credits and walk out of the theatre slowly... in utter silence.

"Slumdog's got a chance for Best Picture. This is a good year for it..."

(Me)

On Milk

"I wasn't interested in the subject matter at first, but when I saw it, Sean Penn pulled me in. His performance was outstanding. It's easily one of the best films of the year..."

(An unidentified Nielsen employee at a test screening for an upcoming film.)