Mount Wilson

One of the things I love about LA is the vast variety of terrains there - not that you can always tell this when you're driving past identical strip mall after identical strip mall for mile after mile. However, aside from the bland urban landscape (which does have its own appeal...), there are beaches and deserts and mountains all within easy reach of almost any part of the city for those with a car.

On my last night in LA before heading back to New York I took a drive up to Mount Wilson. It's along the Los Angeles Crest Highway (#2 Freeway), about 20 miles away from Glendale into the mountains. The driving is great fun during the day, lots of tight hairpin curves climbing for 5700 feet. The last five miles before the Mount Wilson Observatory are so tight and windy that tonight I got a little unnerved. There weren't many cars around and off the edge of the road (along its entire length) is a sheer drop for hundreds--if not thousands--of feet down the mountainside. When I got to a certain altitude I got the feeling there might be black ice on the roads and if I spun-off, I could easily spend the rest of the winter at the bottom of a ravine until I was found by hikers in the spring. This happened to a bass player from some LA band a couple of years ago - his car crashed and he wasn't found for months. It is called the Los Angeles Wilderness after all. Quite....

This is a rare dead mans curve with a safety barrier, most didn't.



When I got to the top the view was amazing, as it always is. There was a slight dusting of snow on the ground and the car told me that it was only 28 degrees fahrenheit ( -6 celcius) outside. It was a very still cold - there was no wind but I felt it was stealing my breath. Up above the city it was very very quiet except for the cracking of branches in the nearby trees and the sound of my own feet on the gravel road.

This is looking south towards South Central and Torrance.



And this is down the mountainside into Pasadena, which is apparently 7 miles away as the crow flies....you can see the route of the 210 freeway going left to right.



LA is so vast. From Mount Wilson you can easily see to the Pacific Ocean (29 miles away to the West) and down to Long Beach to the South and out east to where the city peters-out into the desert. So many millions of people laid out flat below, so much infastructure, hundreds and thousands of cars traveling somewhere. The silence and the ice and the sheer weight of the darkness in the sky (depsite the thousands of stars visible) spooked me. It took half an hour to get back down to the freeway (18 miles) , driving with the car sitting in second gear all the way down to use the engine as a brake.

I think one very obvious option now is that I should move here for a while as I'm so fascinated with the place. I don't want to relocate permanently, but I want to get more immersed in LA in a way that one can't when one's only visiting. Not sure if I can take working in California for long as it's still a (sometimes charmingly) alien culture to me, but there's only one way to find out. If I don't go live in Asia, that is.

Btw, if the adage is true, I'm taking up cards. By rights I'd be cleaning up about now.

Here are some more pictures - these are from Runyon Canyon. I guess with the cold north winds blowing the air had been kept clear of smog and the views from Runyon Canyon are worth the climb (or you can drive up Mulholland, but really that's very lame....).




That's Catalina Island out in the distance...



And that shadowy headland on the left (below) in the far distance is Palos Verdes. The running trails cover the Hollywood hillside. I was taken with the signs that said Beware Rattlesnakes.




Finally, on my way to LAX before my flight I took a drive around Palos Verdes. This is a posh residential area south of LA and north of Long Beach, it sits on a headland that you can see from anywhere in the city. The views of San Pedro harbor are spectacular as are the views of Los Angeles to the north.

It's such a huge port, with Long Beach, and eventually Mexico, to the South.



Some surfers were out too. What a boss way to spend sunday morning.



In the far distance you can see Downtown LA through the haze. Mt. Wilson is one of the mountains beyond.



And a sailboat under the smog, looking north towards Malibu and the Santa Monica mountains.



One thing that wasn't so spectacular on the way to LAX was the detour I took. A friend of mine had made a documentary about Outsider Art featuring the Watts Towers and I've always wanted to see them. So I took a few minutes and came off the freeway to drive-by. Thing is, I was on the phone and not paying attention so I got a little bit lost and suddenly I was off the main drag and driving down some side streets. It looked just like Watts / South Central looks in every rap video and movie you've ever seen, down to the gangs of guys hanging around on the street corners. Fact is, coarse as it sounds, I was too white to be driving around there in a nice rental car, sightseeing. It wasn't my place and while there are thousands of good people there I'm sure, I would have only had myself to blame if I'd got into trouble with anyone who was looking to make a point. (Comparatively) rich white boys shouldn't go sightseeing in Watts. It's like a 21st Century version of the Dickensian sluming it. I made my way out and back onto the freeway as soon as I could. It's easy to forget in America that the line between being in an ok area and being in a bad place can be as short as a block or two. Check-out the Tenderloin in San Francisco, or north of Bourbon St. in New Orleans....easy places to make a wrong turn in. Last week in San Francisco, outside the venue we were working at, I had some clown walk along behind me trying to grab my shoelaces. I told him to Fuck off but he wasn't bothered by me, not really. I'm 6ft tall and solidly built. There were 4 cops on the corner. He only left me alone because some brothers told him to stop clowning. Lucky me, I reckon.

My Luggage:


So I love Vancouver, except for one tiny little detail. During our show some thieving pikey bastard went into the bays under our bus and stole three suitcases. Two of which were mine and one of which was Steve's, our guitarist. Whoever did it had brass balls and must've come with a car because my cases are so heavy I can barely carry them through an airport myself; Steve's wasn't light either.

Steve lost about $2000 worth of clothes. I lost about $8500 worth of suits, burberry overcoats, expensive luggage, British leather boots, the works. On one hand I couldn't really care less about the stuff - its only stuff and at least no one was hurt - but it'll be such a drag to replace it as I get most of my clothes in England. (Which begs another question - as I dress like a banker, both in actuality and as per cockney rhyming slang) who the f*** in Vancouver will want to dress like me? I know it was part of the commonwealth and all but really....

We didn't find out until the morning when I checked into the hotel in Seattle and opened the bus bays to get my bags. Fuckers.

Because I'm such a picky tart when it comes to clothes I really don't want to buy just any old thing to replace the stuff I lost but I had to go to Old Navy and the Gap when I first found out to get some essentials. Consequently I feel like I'm dressed to deliver pizza these days. Vanity, always vanity. (And I hate quoting Margaret Thatcher but she's right. That was her reply when she was asked what was the worst thing about working with men. And for the record she should be tried for treason for what she did to Britain in the late seventies / early eighties, in my opinion. Evil government. *Shudders*).

Anyway, I hope the person who's got our clothes is too short and fat to get into them. I hope htey all have size 12 feet so they can't wear my Australian man boots. And if they do wear anything, I hope when they nod out on smack in whatever khazi they habitate I hope they're stabbed in their sleep by another pikey and bleed out into my Brooks Brother's sweaters and replica 1970's Coventry City Away Strip. But apart from that, I'm over it.

Tossers.

Went to L.A. on January 1st. I had to see some places I’m writing about and I wanted an excuse to travel to L.A. God help me but I love it there, even if it is the world capital of disappointment. All the blond, sunny Hollywoodland stuff passes me by – I think it’s a deliciously dark place, very noir, full of melancholy and desperation dressed up as positivism (obviously I’m using broad strokes here to make a point). Also, once you’re there, the West Coast laid back mindset seems to make more sense on every level. L.A. feels like its own universe and really, it’s at the end of the day internationally speaking so it is kind of isolated in many ways. I really want to live there fo a period of time but can’t see that happening right now as I have no point there nor do I want to go to LA to start over from point zero. I think it could be a cold place to live if you don’t have something going on, much like New York can be too. However, I’m fascinated with the place. I don’t understand how time disappears in the city. No sooner have you got going than the day is over. I ate some (too much) amazing food too and it seemed easier to do than it does in New York when to my mind, trying to go to eat feels like a bit of a rat-race, so to speak.

I went running (or crawling on hands and knees) in Runyon Canyon, an amazing place in the hills just north of Franklin Avenue in Hollywood. The trails lead all the way up the steep hillside to Mulholland Drive and above – in places I had to scramble to keep climbing but when one gets to the top the views across L.A. and the Valley are legendary. And it’s great for your thighs too…photo’s when I go back if I remember to take my camera.

Now we’re in Vancouver. Canadian immigration is really weirdly either very hot or cold – always has been every time I’ve come through – I’ve talked Britishers into Canada without passports before now but sometimes I’ll be interviewed by Nazi Jack McNazi, the Nazi Mayor of Naziville Canada on St. Nazi’s Day at Nazi O’ Clock…. But not today, thankfully. I kind of forgot I was changing countries if I’m honest. That’s LA-itis right there. If I’d come from New York I’d have been much more switched-on. Whatever, dude.

I’d forgotten how much I like it in Vancouver too. It feels like Hong Kong to me, only a hip, English-speaking version. Gorgeous, friendly, well-mannered people, junkies begging outside the Organic Market just to keep it real. I’ve got a boss room too, which, is always a great thing to discover. There’s even a steam room in the gym to look forward to tomorrow morning before we get started. I get to see friends and ponce about in a gym. What a slack tart.

Christmas In New York:

A boss Christmas. Normally I’m all Bah! Humbug about things but this year, as much as my creaking enthusiasm and innate cynicism allowed, I got slightly more into the spirit of things. The city seems to empty-out over the holidays, mostly. I’m always happy and surprised when I get the park to myself when I go running. There are times it’s possible to do this – after a storm is a good time. I’ve run around the reservoir and seen no one before now during/after a rainstorm. I highly recommended it-having Central Park to yourself is amazing. It’s one of my favourite places to go running in the world. (Along The Peak in Hong Kong is another, as is along the Bosphorous in Istanbul).

This is the Jackie O. reservoir in Central Park, made famous by the movie Marathon Man. It’s 1 1/2 miles in circumference and a great place to run.



I’ve seen countless movies too: Babel’s great, but doesn’t resolve like an American movie--but I like that. I’m the worst person to send for movies as I always like dark things—“This is a good one: it proves there’s no God and the blind orphan gets left alone to starve in a cave at the end sitting next to the worm-eaten corpse of her dead child. It's in Urdu with High-German subtitles. It’s brilliant!” while everyone else was hoping that I’d get Air Force One…..; Casino Royale is totally boss – I saw Die Another Day on TV this week and it seemed pale and camp in comparison what with it’s invisible cars and hammy John Cleese as Q. And I think Brosnan’s Bond is okay but Pierce Brosnan always seems like such a pompous tosser. Daniel craig is the Don if you ask me; The Painted Veil is good but slightly thin although I could understand most of the Chinese in it which made me feel more cleverer than I should; The Curse of The Golden Flower was similarly okay. Gong Li and Chow Yun Fat were both really good but Zhang Yimou seems to have seen Twin Towers too many times; some of the set pieces felt a bit tired and overdone. However, I could watch Gong Li peel potatoes for hours on end (and pay for it) so I wasn’t unhappy. I’ve only ever seen her be crap in one movie and even then she looked amazing and I simpered away to myself for 2 hours anyway. (I never said I was a reliable critic); Notes on a Scandal is deliciously malicious. Both Cate Blanchett and Judy Dench are amazing in this and the story is great (The book by Zoe Heller is excellent too). The bench where they sit on Parliament Hill on Hampstead Heath was where I used to go to mope when I’d first moved to London and I was a bit skint. I’d sit on that bench and feel sorry for myself (which I did/do to Olympic standard) and wonder at the size and romance of London in front of me. You can see all the way down south to the hill at Greenwich from there--the whole of the city before you. Anyway, I digress, the opening shot shows suicide bridge over the Archway Road too. I don’t know how many people have jumped off that bridge – it’s not quite so romantic as jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge might be, for example. You land on a road and get squashed by a Number 43 bus going to Muswell Hill. It lacks any kind of flair, I reckon.

Finally got some writing done. Writing’s very like going to the gym for me – it takes a while to get myself motivated, then I feel a tremendous guilt of I don’t do enough of it but I feel completely exhilarated once I’ve finished for the day. Time glides past. It’s similar to playing when you’re a child and being lost so completely in something that you don’t realize really where you are or what you’re doing. Writing anything for this blog would have felt like cheating on the other writing. And it would have been, too.

This week I’ve been listening to Ryuichi Sakamoto’s film music while I’ve been writing (He wrote the outro piece used for Babel which is very simple and haunting – it’s called Bibo No Aozora. It fits the closing scene perfectly to my mind). The pianos, violins and cellos are all simply layered but very delicate and beautiful. It’s impossible for me to get tired of this music. (However right now I’m listening to Panic! At the Disco, go figure….)

I wanted to get the song Djabaram from Sakamoto’s Beauty LP but it’s not on I-tunes. It’s such an amazing song and sung by Youssou N'Dour. I’m kind of glad I can’t understand the words as it adds to the song for me.

Buying a physical CD has started to feel a little strange to me these days…can’t quite work out how that happened. Must've been after my Myspace profile logged its 5000th friend and I started riding a skateboard around Carroll Gardens while working on an animated short based on my autobiography. No, really, it's like V for Vendetta only better and I'm also recording all the music myself on garageband....I was flagging a cool lifestyle blog for a while. It kept me current with what the kids are into but it's so cool it changed its URL as its old one had become passe and know one knows what the new one is.