Archives for category: favorite things

Tonight I went to the Arclight in Hollywood for a special screening of “Ayn Rand and the Prophecy of Atlas Shrugged.”  The documentary, although falling short, in my opinion, artistically and in editing, was food for my soul (despite the fact that Ayn Rand was a strict objectivist and atheist and may not have believed in the concept of a soul).

One of the best treats of the evening (other than a packed, large theatre, in the middle of Hollywood of all places!) was that Chris Mortensen, the director, and Yaron Brook, the president of the Ayn Rand Institute, were there for the screening and held a Q&A session after the film.  I raised my hand.  They called on me.  I cleared my throat, leaned forward, took a breath, and asked, “Do you think, or do you think Ayn would think, that it’s too late, that we can’t come back from this, that we’ve gone too far?”

Silence.  “Well…” Mr. Brook began, “I think it will have to get a lot darker before it gets better.”  I agree.  If it is possible to come back from this, it will not happen anytime soon, and certainly not under Romney’s watch or Gingrich’s, let alone Barak Obama’s.  “Atlas Shrugged” is prophetical, but all of it will have to come true, not just the decline of society, not just the all controlling, ever-present government, not just the loss of freedom, enterprise, and private property, but the very lights of New York City will have to go dark in order for us to turn around, wipe the slate clean, and start over.  I pray that I will not have to see this, and at the same time, hope that I do.

The tiny silver lining that Brook offered was that “as long as there is free speech, there is hope.”  No matter how dark it gets, if there is even a dim, little light, a tiny spark of truth and reason, it may, one day, have the power to overcome the darkness and cover the world in its bright, glorious light.  There can be no light without dark, so although I fear it, I want us to fall, if only so we can climb and rise back up and triumph once again.

You knew the truth, Ayn.  You knew it all too well.  I wish you were here to see us now.  You would be devastated to see how far we have fallen, and yet, you would not be in the least bit surprised.

Saturday morning routine.  Run into Urth Caffé on Melrose to grab a Spanish Latte Granita with boba.  My favorite.

I wait for my drink.  It takes them about 15 minutes to make the damn thing.  They’re always slammed on Saturdays.  The place is overflowing with beautiful trendy people; men with scruffy facial hair; thin, tall women who drink soy and eat egg whites; their little boys with hair down to their shoulders who have names like Fin; expensive clothes that have just enough of that “I don’t care what I look like, I just threw this on” look.

I stand off to the side, trying to stay out of the way of the 50 Hispanic baristas whirling around with plates of food and perfectly frothing cappuccinos, the foam expertly crafted into the shape of a leaf or the occasional swan.  I catch a glimpse of the large bulletin board covered in business cards and flyers.  I walk over to get a closer look.  I gaze over the board, the corners of my mouth upturned, looking as though I had been told some fantastic joke that only I knew the punch line to.  But it is a fantastic joke.

Only in Los Angeles, perhaps the most spiritually progressive yet exquisitely stylish location in the world, where they do full body cleanses, read tarot cards, play with crystals, where there is a yoga studio on every corner, only there, would you find adds for (and I quote):

Essential Massage

Transformational Workshop and Retreat

Model, Actor, on Camera Media Couching and TV Hosting Intensive

Certified Advanced Clear Light Healer

Soul Memory Practitioner

Indigo Healer

Herbalist

Angel Therapy Practitioner

It amazes me that not only do these professions exist, and in ridiculous abundance, but people actually pay for these services.  Dwindling economy?  Unemployment?  No need to worry.  There is plenty of money to be made in this crazy city we call Los Angeles.  Just take some transcendental workshops, attend some spiritual retreats, get a degree in past life regression psychology, and you’ll be on your way to rolling in the dough (although it will be organic, gluten free, vegan dough).

What else can I say?  I live here.  I love it here.  Welcome to Los Angeles.

This morning I woke up with an immense craving for a Spanish Latté Granita with boba from Urth Caffé. Despite this establishment’s primary clientele (wealthy, beautiful, socially conscious, trendy liberals) and its hip buzz words, like “organic” and “sustainable,” all of which cause me to groan and roll my eyes, they make a mean ice blended coffee.

The ironic thing about my trip there this morning was that I probably looked like the most “liberal” person there, with my skinny black pants tucked into gray suede slouchy boots, white tank top, and exposed arm tattoos. Maybe I should reconsider my assumptions. Perhaps those trendy, pretty people sitting at the tables, with their green tea and organic fresh fruit, are all conservatives like me.

I grabbed my six-dollar Spanish Granita and began walking back to my car. I looked down and noticed the plastic cup I was holding. I stopped dead in my tracks and laughed loud enough to prompt all the nearby patrons to turn their heads and look in my direction.

I guess no one else found it funny.

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I went to the Annenberg Space for Photography today to see the Beauty Culture exhibit.  First, I went to eat some fresh mozzarella and prosciutto at Obika in the Century City Mall.  That place is so pretty and so full of pretty people.  It was quite fitting to begin the day at this trendy, expensive, indulgent shopping center before heading to the art exhibit deconstructing beauty and consumerism.

The exhibit was amazing.  It is described as “a seminal examination of photography’s role in capturing and defining notions of modern female beauty and how these images profoundly influence our lives in both celebratory and disturbing ways.”  I think Lauren Greenfield’s work is my favorite.  She thumbs her nose at our massively accepted yet unattainable notions of beauty and status.  She is quoted as saying, “In deconstructing the pressures of the world around us, it starts to take their power away.”

The show is free and parking is only $1 on the weekends.  If you want something fun, provocative, and eye-opening to do on a Saturday afternoon, head to the Annenberg to explore the “culture – and cult – of beauty.”

lauren greenfield

I went to LACMA today with a friend – a former art dealer with extensive knowledge of the superficial values we assign to oil and canvas.  We discussed Banksy and street art (or as some might call it – and I would include myself in that group – vandalism), Warhol, Jeanne-Claude and Christo.  While everyone was busy waiting in line for the Tim Burton exhibit, we explored the rest of the space.  One of my favorite things to do is go to museums to pooh pooh all the pretentious deconstructionist pieces (which doesn’t leave room for many works I actually like).

I can appreciate the significance of Marcel Duchamp, but I despise him, just as I despise the Dadaists.  I hate the absurd and loathe the nonsensical.  I can’t stand Jeff Koons and Damien Hirst.  I like art that builds up, not art that tears down.  I am a fan of the modernists, the abstract painters and lofty, idealist, artist-philosophers of the mid-20th century.  Don’t get me wrong, they were insanely pretentious as well, but at least they were striving to capture man’s ideal, not putting a urinal in a museum and calling it art.

Warhol I can get on board with because he was brazenly and with full intention selling people crap for millions of dollars.  He took a Campbell’s soup can that you could buy for 5 cents and sold it for $5,000,000.  He was quite the capitalist.  Koons and Hirst are doing the same thing now, I suppose, but Warhol did it first and he did it best.

I could debate this stuff for hours.  I love art.  I love to love it and I love to hate it.