End of an Era.

(Photo - Photo I took of my dad at a Braves game in 2005.)

John Smoltz is no longer an Atlanta Brave.

Baseball season has begun, and the man that was the face of the one Atlanta organization I cheer on with pride, is gone.  Smoltz came to Atlanta when I was four years old, an age at which one doesn't typically remember things like team rosters.  

My earliest memory as a Braves fan comes from October 1991.  My mother and step father had taken my best friend, Lauren, and I to Orlando, FL to go to Disney World for my birthday.  I was in the second grade, and the bulk of my memory of that trip comes to mind in the form of a badly themed restaurant for breakfast, and the local paper on the table in front of me.  The Braves lost the World Series to the Twins.  Bummer.

The next year, third grade, would see a loss to Toronto for the 1992 title, and the start of a fanatical little girl screaming at a television set.  The year following that, the Braves wouldn't return to the series, but I would get to sing the National Anthem on the field at Fulton County Stadium with my fourth grade class.  And being the klutz that I am, would bump into a warming up Javy Lopez on our way off the field.  

By the sixth grade the Braves had returned to the series, against the Cleveland Indians.  This was a big series for me, my brothers lived in Cleveland, and considered it home, while I was from Atlanta, and the Braves were all I could see for tomorrow.  David Justice had long since replaced Donnie Wahlberg on my walls, and with my face painted half blue, half red, with a white stripe down the middle I set off with my father for the 6th game of the 1995 World Series.  Pandemonium doesn't describe the feeling at the stadium that night, and my hero, David Justice was the reason for it all.  The only home run in an otherwise scoreless game, the savior of Atlanta Braves baseball, and we all loved him for it.

At the time my father was Vice President of MGR Food Services at the GA World Congress Center and the GA Dome.  The official championship party took place that the Congress Center, and my dad came home with two prizes I still hold dear to me.  A commemorative gold laced baseball with the 1995 Championship Braves logo, I later got signed by Ted Turner, and a scrap of paper that I still have that reads, "To Austen -David Justice". 

This of course is the pinnacle of my Braves memories, games were something I often did with my father, and I'd switch between my Atlanta Journal Consitution sponsored signs that said "Smoke Em Smoltz" and "Neon Deon".  That was certainly the height of my Braves fandom, where Smoltz was the best pitcher I'd ever seen, and David Justice could swing a bat like no other.

The Braves broke my heart when they traded David Justice to the very team he'd helped to defeat just over a year later.  In Jack Wilkinson's book, Game of my Life ATLANTA BRAVES, I find I'm not the only one to feel that way.  "That tore my heart out," Justice recalled.  "...All i ever wanted to be was a Brave," Justice said.  "That's the team that brought me up.  Every trade after that was pure business.  But that one really hurt me.  The Braves were family."

This brings me to my current situation.  It's always the business end that seems to kill the heart of a sport.  I know the business is there, and has to be dealt with, I've seen it over and over.  I know that the Braves have a reputation as one of the most stable franchises is baseball history, holding a record of fourteen consecutive division titles, they have to make sure they maintain such a reputation.  But this doesn't help it.  It would appear that this move was the fault of the Braves front office and not that of Smoltzie.  To me, he's the face of a team I've loved since I was a child.

To add insult to injury, I'd been so caught up in basketball season that I didn't know about this until somewhat recently.  And the news was delivered by none other than my freinemy (only during basketball season) Danny, a Boston native, who having found that his team in basketball can't touch mine this year, delighted in delivering this blow.  One could argue, if Smoltzie was going to go anywhere, at least he went to the birthplace of the Braves, blah blah blah.

No.  That doesn't work for me.  I'm sorry, but being the Laker fan that I am, and after a season of enduring the Celtics beating the Lakers for the 2008 Championship title last year, I think I might actually have gone from hating the Celtics to hating anything to do with Boston (except the New Kids on the Block, though Donnie and I have had our words over this rivalry).  And then to have a Boston team step up for a legend when the city he's so lovingly embraced over the years didn't?  Kill me please.

Speaking of the Lakers, I'd just like to pause to appreciate where they're at as of today.  On their way to the post season with the first place seed locked down, Andrew Bynum back on the floor with 16 points and 7 boards in 21 minutes of play, one game down from Cleveland for the home court advantage, and sitting pretty for the coming playoffs.  I'm happy, tell the Celtics we'll send them a postcard from the Finals.

But I digress, looking at the beginning of the next era in Braves baseball, watching the only guy there for all fourteen division titles leave the Braves clubhouse, barely even recognizing him in a Boston uniform, it makes me a little sad.  This era was supposed to end with Smoltz retiring as a Brave being inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.  

So long Smoltzie.

My New York

My New York by Kathy Jakobsen was given to me by my mother for my 10th birthday on October 7, 1993.  It was given to me as part of my larger birthday present, my first trip to New York City.  I would be going to New York City with my mother for the first time in my life, just the two of us. 

At the time my mother and step father in their advertising business had the Swissotel account, which meant big things for ten year old me.  We would be staying in suite at The Drake Hotel located at the corner of Park Ave and 56th St in Manhattan.  I suppose one could call it fate, because it was the preferred New York hotel for many of the big touring rock bands of the 60s and 70s.  Of course my first New York experience should be in the newly renovated spot that the likes of Led Zepplin and The Who called home on days off, Old Blue Eyes himself had a preference for it as well.  For me, at that age New York meant two things that held absolute wonder to me:  The FAO Schwartz store on 5th Avenue, and the portrait of my then childhood hero that hung at the Plaza, Eloise.

Upon arrival to this magical hotel, where I would be my very Eloise, I immediately stated that our first priority MUST be FAO.  And so we went.  I was big into Barbie at the time, and was delighted when I got separated from my mother in the store only to wander into the floor of the store dedicated to Barbie.  My first trip also meant something that less than ten years later I would only fully appreciate.  I got to see the twin towers of the World Trade Center.

I know that it's not September 11 and it's odd topic to write about, however, I was looking at one of my many photography books tonight, New York September 11.  It's a collection of photographs from the Magnum Photographers.  I remember exactly where I was that day.  I had just begun college at the Savannah College of Art and Design, we'd been there less than a week.  I woke up to my cell phone ringing around 9:20AM.  My mother was calling, she told me to turn on the TV, two planes had flown directly into the two towers thirty minutes apart.  Seventeen minutes later, another flew into the Pentagon in Washington D.C.  My roommate, Patty, was from Nutley, NJ, but her mother was a teacher in the city.  She was having trouble reaching her.  One of my best friends from my newly completed high school years, had a father who was a Delta pilot, scheduled to fly from JFK to Narita in Tokyo that morning.  And a sister that lived in the city, he too was having trouble reaching his family members.

I remember sitting in my bed in my dorm room, staring at the TV, not really knowing what to feel.  I actually don't think I believed it.  I went home that weekend to Atlanta, a four hour trip from Savannah.  It wasn't until I saw the photo spread in the New York Times that I fully grasped what had happened.  For me, instead of watching it happen over and over again on every major network in the country, seeing the stills of the burning buildings, the people covered in ash running in the streets, the bagel carts abandoned, and the fire fighters digging through rubble, that made it real.  The photographer had to see it in her own medium to understand.  By then it had been determined that the loved ones of my friends were safe, but in shock.  The towers had fallen, the skyline was still covered in smoke, and you still couldn't see what would become the new New York.

I was so overwhelmed with emotion at the sight of these photographs I began to cry.  I didn't know how to feel what I was feeling, I was angry, and sad, and in shock.  And then I felt envy, envy of what?  I didn't want to be there, I was grateful that I wasn't there.  Had I not been in New England for most of high school, I might have chosen an art school in New York, it was certainly something I had considered.  But because I'd been away from home, I wanted to be near home.  Thank God for that.

No my envy did not come from the photographers actual physical presence there, it came from their ability to translate what they were feeling into photographs.  The language of grief I had learned to speak by that time in my life was through my lens.  

I consider myself a fierce patriot, constantly wanting to learn more about our political process, it's brilliance and it's idiocy, the heroes and the villains, the history and the future.  I was never a fan of our recent former President, and the political use of this tragedy that followed sickens me.  I know people who've fought in the wars we're in tangled in, and they never had to be there.  But what really grabbed me about the book I was looking at tonight was a photo of then recently former President Clinton, embracing the wife of a fire fighter in the streets of New York.  It spoke volumes to me of the care for every individual American he had always seemed to have.  I think that might have made me the saddest of all, that the man who just left office seemed to have a broader understanding of what had just happened than the man (at the time) currently in office.  He stood in the crowd, while the leader of the free world stood on the rubble with a megaphone.  He hugged the people while W shouted at the people.

It was a confusing time to be an American.  Thousands of people had died in an unspeakable tragedy, the building that holds the keys to our military and our force around the world had just been hit, and it was the first major foreign attack on American soil since Pearl Harbor.  It was the first time I truly experienced what I refer to as a "Kennedy moment".  The first major event in my life, that I knew from that moment on if the subject came up I would say, "I remember where I was when I heard..."

My nephew Edward would say "Aunt Austie sleepin in the bed."  And that was one of the many things that came over me tonight looking at this book.  Edward wasn't even born yet, he joined us a few months later.  But this amazing little boy, who just turned 8 years old, never saw the New York skyline that I so looked forward two when I was only two years older than he is now.  And he and his little sister have been to New York.  They've known a place called Ground Zero that I knew as the Twin Towers.  

I've been to New York more times than I can count since that first trip, I went to boarding school mere hours from it, I tour with rock bands that take me there regularly, I've advanced and run a show at Mercedes Benz New York Fall Fashion Week, I've been to Broadway Plays, had Captain Crunch Chicken that can only be gotten backstage at MTV in Times Square, I've been to Columbia University football games, I've seen the Met, I've been on carriage rides in central park, shopping with rock stars in SoHo, I've been to the top of the Statue of Liberty, and the Empire State Building.  I did social studies reports on Little Italy, which has all but been taken over by Chinatown.  I've stood on the balcony of my suite of my five star hotel, lording over My New York as Eloise.  And My New York had the Twin Towers.

***Foot note - In writing this blog I looked for an image of the cover of the book My New York, and interestingly enough the only version I could find was the anniversary edition.  Which doesn't have the towers on it.  I think it absurd that we hide from the memory of imagery of what used to stand there.  And very saddening that this book will show children nothing of those towers now.  Nut not nearly as sad that any coming generations will only know them as memoriam. 

**** The Drake Hotel was demolished in 2007.

***** The photo is on our balcony of our suite on that trip.

The Longest Year(s) of My Life

Why do we celebrate the New Year?

Is it because we get to write or type something new for a date? If so, then why not celebrate every new month?

No, that wouldn't work.

I suppose it's because in writing out the date, the one constant for three hundred and sixty-five (or sixty-six) days, is the year. And maybe we celebrate because we just get tired of writing the same four numbers in a row.

This year New Years Eve seemed a bit more mellow to me. My theory behind this is two-fold but ultimately comes back to President-Elect Obama. Either people celebrated a new life in November and are looking forward to the actualization of that dream on January 20, or they're mourning the fact that in eighteen days he'll be our president. Either way you slice it, this particular changing of year is a turning point in our civilization worldwide.

Being that I was getting over what I can only assume was the flu, I decided to keep my NYE pretty low key. And because I plan to recognize the new year officially when I can drop the "elect" from the title Obama currently holds. I want to celebrate the idea that we've spoken as a nation for change, and that someone actually might be able to do something to put us in the direction of......putting us back where we were eight years ago.

That's really sad. The change we desire is not as much change as it is time travel. Put us back where we were eight years ago, so that when your (hopefully) eight are up, someone can pick up where you've left off (where Clinton left us as well) and actually change.

That's how bad this time under W has been. We don't even really remember how good it was, and how we were perched on the precipice of greatness as a nation. I've said something before about this once great nation, and it was, and can be again. But I look at this brilliant man about to become the leader of the free world, and I feel something in the nature of pity for him. What a mess he's inheriting, and why do democrats always have to come and clean it up? Why can't we, as a nation have the forethought to prevent this in the first place?

My stepfather wrote a blog about the wonderful life we could have had. You should read it, whoever you are.

I was having a conversation with my old assistant in the not-so-distant past about the America we knew growing up. She's five years younger than me, which it turns out is just the right amount of age difference to not know Clinton as the president of her formative years. William Jefferson Clinton left office in January of my senior year of high school. He was elected while I was in elementary school.

My school had an election in 1992, he won. He was the man that I knew to be the President of the United States, not just then, but overall. Because he was the only living breathing active face to the office I'd ever known. I lived a pretty wonderful young life because of him. I got to do things I may not have had he not restored the middle class. Generally I think the man was a hero, and I'll tell anyone who'll listen as much. I look forward to President-Elect Obama, brilliant in his own right, looking to the first President of the United States to have been a Rhodes Scholar, for advice and as a confidant.

I look forward to Hilary Rodham Clinton serving as Secretary of State, and I look forward to Vice President-Elect Joe Biden. But mostly, right now, I look forward to the celebration of the longest year of my life ending on January 20, 2009. A year so long, it was actually eight.

2008 : A Year That Was...

I'm sick, it sucks.  I'm bored.  Because I severely neglected this blog in the year of 2008 I decided it would be good to do a recap.

January :

I rang in the new year at one of my tour manager's homes with friends and a lack of fireworks.  And then the year got off to a flu-ish start.  It was a relatively uneventful month.  But a rumor started that whisper the return of a once famous boy band and my heart skipped a beat.

February:

Was a very busy month.  I got to experience the stress/thrill/whatever of dressing a nominated band for the Grammys and the Clive Davis party that preempts it.  This month also saw my first professional wrestling experience courtesy of the tour manager of the aforementioned band.  The second half of the month was relatively bland.

March :

Brought the visit of my once minion to California, and the busiest day anyone who works for 311 has.  I traveled to New Orleans, LA to document what is known officially as 311 Day.  Every two years on March 11 (3/11) fans from all over the globe flock to this beautiful city to celebrate their favorite band.  And the crew and band prepare for what is our hardest work day of the year.  My job in this celebration which has now become a three day event is simple, document every possible thing 311 related in the city of New Orleans for three days.  This includes rehearsal on March 10, the official fan party later that night, the pre-party the day of show, the line the day of show, the six hour show, and whatever aftermath comes.  Three days of no sleep, more than 50,000 total photos taken, and my first sober trip to NOLA later, I returned to Los Angeles.  To embark on a week of not sleeping and turning around photos while narrowing them down to an impossibly low number.  At the end of the month I got to shoot Bon Jovi.

Oh, did I forget to mention that?  More on that in April.

April :

Daughtry opened for Bon Jovi for about two and a half months.  Much of this month was spent documenting this.  I got to shoot at the Staples Center, which was incredible and more than I could have ever hoped it to be.  Plus, that whole shooting Bon Jovi thing.  That was pretty neat.  I also got to finally see the Beatles LOVE show by Cirque Du Soleil at the Mirage in Vegas.  I've been wanting to see it since it opened.  Thanks so much to JB for that one.  It was beautiful and it moved me to tears.  Also, five bad brothers from the Beantown Land were spotted on national television together for the first time in 15 years. 

May : 

  May was the month of the hospital.  I spent just over a week at Cedars Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles for severe abdominal pain.  I would go ahead and tell anyone and everyone to NEVER go there for anything outside of say, AIDS.  It was a nightmarish experience.  They kept me and continued to put me through many painful tests only to come to the conclusion that it was entirely in my head and I was fine.  They sent me packing in worse pain than when I arrived, and gave up on me.  It had been recommended to me that I go to Century City Doctor's Hospital, I did.  They only needed roughly four hours to figure out what Cedars couldn't in a week.  I then had to return to hospitalization for another week shortly after for different issues, but I went to Century City, the hospital sucks no matter how you slice it, but at least they know what they're doing there.  Both of these experiences were lessons in just how lucky I am to have the amazing friends in Los Angeles that I do.  And the most amazing mother in the world.  This month also brought the new single "Summertime" by the New Kids on the Block and their Today Show performance that was the first one in 15 years.

June :

June saw that second round of hospital.  But it was also when I went into the studio for pre-production with the D.  That was an exciting experience due to the people I got to meet from it.  I got the opportunity to get in touch with my inner 14 year old and swoon over Gavin Rossdale.  And it was also the beginning of the Summer tour for 311 with Snoop Dogg as the opener.  

July : 

July continued my studio experience and led up to my return to Atlanta to work the hometown show.  All of my parents were in attendance for the event.  It was also the first 311 day off in the A-town in almost ten years.  We went to my father's restaurant that night which was a great amount of fun.  I spent some time with my family and my dog and I'd say all in all it was a good month.  This was also the month I found out one of my tour managers was pulling double duty for the year, for he was also doing what he does, but with the New Kids on the Block.  I almost died.

August :
I stayed in Atlanta long enough to see my sister Maggie get married in Asheville, NC, meet my newest niece, Anna, and celebrate my mother's birthday.  It was a wonderful time.  This month also saw my return to tour with the D.  Oh, and I met Nick Lachey (shhhh don't tell anyone, my crush on him is a guilty pleasure).

September :
September continued the run with the D.  Which involved me having to face my fear of prop planes in order to get to Allentown, PA for the Great Allentown Fair.  That was....a time.  This was probably my favorite month thus far on the road with these guys, it was just fun.  We did the 105th Anniversary of Harley Davidson at Summerfest in Milwaukee, WI.  Which certainly provided interesting site seeing.  I also got to watch Joan Jett and the Black Hearts from just off stage right.  That was definitely a high light.  Milwaukee is covered in bikers from the view point of a glorified ski lift, in case you were wondering.  Meanwhile a few of my friends headed to Canada to begin THAT tour.

October :
October is the month where in we celebrate my birth.  But before that happens we celebrate the birth of my friend Toad, and my "little brother" Cody.  Then me, me, me.  In my previous blog I mentioned how grateful I am for my friend/tour manager Dave.  One of the many reasons is because of the gift that was given to me by him for my 25th birthday.  I got to meet Donnie Wahlberg.  I got to meet the New Kids on the Block.  I have a NKOTB laminate.  My life, is like, complete.  Dave made a dream 18 years in the making come true.  And later in the month the other part of that dream came true.  I got to shoot them as well.  I'm sure things like me returning to Atlanta, other birthdays, reuniting with childhood friends/members of the Reruns, and Halloween happened that month.  But ya know, who remembers when Donnie Wahlberg's giving you hugs and talking about a great basketball rivalry with you?

November :
In November I returned to Los Angeles.  It was one of those mostly uneventful beginnings.  It picked up after that when I had to shoot the red carpet at the American Music Awards as a favor to a friend.  Got to photograph my lovely friend Jane as well this month.  She's absolutely gorgeous and most likely more photogenic than you are, I'm sorry.  I got to attend/hang out at the final New Kids show of the US leg of 2008.  Thanks again Dave, by now this was more about spending time with friends than being at a NKOTB show.  It was lovely to have so many of my people from other tours around on their tour.  I spent turkey day with some extended family (at least that's how I see them) and it was lovely.  Then about two days later I booked the BullRun job.

December :

This was mostly covered in my previous blog.  But I had a blast on BullRun, a lovely Christmas, I'm sick now, so I'm whatever about New Years.  Have you ever had a fever that was high enough to make you feel high?  That's where I'm at.

Happy New Year and I'll more with this in the coming year.

Photo Guide:  

January : Nathalie and I on NYE.

February : The view of WWE Raw at Staples Center from the suite.

March : The sign marking my territory at 311 Day backstage.

April : Me waiting to dive back into the madness stage right on the D/BJ tour.

May : Totally sexy post hospital IV arm.

June : Snoop Dogg bikes backstage.

July : Various 311 Family at Dante's Down the Hatch.

August : Knute and Todd in the god awful RV given to us as a production office at a festival.

September : Myself and JB high atop Summerfest at Milwaukee on the "Sky Glider".

October : Donnie Wahlberg and myself the day after my 25th birthday backstage at Staples Center.

November : I have November photos and this is like 2 days before Nov, but I wanted to use it so deal with it.  Dave and Sarah and myself at Dante's again.  I love them both so much.

December : Me and Bill Goldberg on the set of BullRun2, Bill hosts the show and he rules.

A Quarter Century Christmas

I'm twenty-five now.  And I did not spend Christmas with my actual family.

The final month of the beginning of my twenty fifth year on this earth has been a bit of a whirlwind.

The first twenty days were spent on the road with a television show entitled BullRun.  I showed up expecting the job to be the TV version of a band assistant on tour, only to find out that it was the TV version of a tour manager.  As one of my favorite tour managers to date put it, "You were expecting to have a me, only to find out you were me".  Yes, Dave, exactly.  He is one of the best people this insane life has given me and I'm forever grateful for him for a list of reasons too long to mention.

I went many places I never would have, saw many things I'd love to tell you about, and encountered things I never expected to.  All of which, at some point I can write about after the show has aired.

My life is a stack of non-disclosure agreements.

Arriving back in Los Angeles three days before Christmas Eve and thus having to embark on my shopping adventure in the most commercial city on earth in the middle of holiday madness might make anyone want to kill themselves.  But I'd like to thank my twenty days with no real concept of sleep for making me delirious enough to get through it.

Some of my friends I've known my whole life consider the life I lead today to be glamorous and filled with wonder and dreams and money as far as the eye can see.  The wonder, dreams, and occasionally the glamour they're absolutely right about.  I love my life and am forever grateful that my dreams are coming true.  But the money, oh the money.  The sad truth they refuse to accept is this: I'm still a broke twenty-something.  Just because I work for rockstars doesn't mean I'm loaded.

The point of the aforementioned rant is this, when a flight home for Christmas comes up as $1200 it is considered out of my Hollywood foothills studio price range.  And thus I was to be alone for the commercialized birthday of some people's savior.  Enter my lovely and wonderful friend Jane.

She and her family(ies) took me under their wings and into their homes for Christmas Eve and Day.  I can't express the gratitude and love I have for all of the people involved in this 48 hours of holiday this year.  They treated me as their own, they made me laugh, smile, and feel warmth.  I even got to witness the innocence of a young child's current belief in the fat man in the red suit.  He's still the age of which he not only does believe in Santa Claus, but SHOULD believe in him.  And seeing the adults in his life nurture that belief was awe inspiring.  I think it is the children who are encouraged to believe in what society deems fictional who will grow into the adults capable of seeing a better future through whatever medium they choose.  

I didn't let go of my belief in Santa till years after my peers did, because I didn't want to believe the fantastical wasn't real, that magic of that kind didn't exist.  I suppose it's why I still believe in fairies and why Disney has impacted my life the way it has.

I have what I like to think of as a bit of a visual ritual for Christmas.  Every year I watch the following on Christmas Eve/Day.

A Charlie Brown Christmas

Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas

The first is part of an entire world envisioned by the late great Charles M. Schulz.  And it was also the first animated chapter of the Peanuts universe, sponsored as a television special by the Coca~Cola Company (a company who's products I'm a fan of, but more importantly who's historical ad art I'm even more a fan of).  It tells the story of Charlie Brown searching for the true meaning of Christmas through his friends, his legendary dog, and the saddest Christmas tree you've ever seen.  I fully support this tree because due to a severe pine allergy I am essentially allergic to Christmas (which made Jane's father's enormous tree a full scale red alert of fear for me, and somehow managed to come in contact with my chin to the tune of swelling and itching for about an hour during the gift exchange).

The second is the movie I credit with changing my life.  Tim Burton showed me that anyone could see the world ANY way they wanted through this film.  And this year my friend Sarah gave me the gift of the newest special edition version of the movie at her gift exchange on Christmas Eve Eve (which marked the thirteenth anniversary of my receiving the best Christmas gift ever, my very own Snoopy).  I didn't purchase this edition when it came out in October, the beginning of the yearly Nightmare marketing season (which to the joy of Touchstone and Disney runs from the beginning of October through the end of December) because I've bought the movie in so many forms and I am as a stated a broke twenty something.  The gift that Tim Burton gave to those of us who love this movie this time around is the commentary of it with him, Danny Elfman, and Henry Selick (Selick directed the movie, not Burton, contrary to general popular belief).  I won't expand much further on this topic, as I have blogged about it before.

And so on Christmas night I lay in my bed listening to three people who made this movie happen.  Who helped me expand my mind fifteen years ago at the age of twelve when I first saw it in theaters.

The holidays also tend to make me miss the loved ones I've lost over the years, and unfortunately in my so far, short life, it is many.  My grandmother would have spent all of November and December making microwavable electric free heating pads for elderly people (because she was never in such a category having left us just three weeks after her 70th birthday).  My wonderful sponsor in the Episcopal Church would have been celebrating his eighth Christmas with his son, my cousin would have been doing something I expect to be great had she lived long enough to discovery the gift of sobriety that I got to.  My friend Ben making music I'm sure, and so on.  The holidays however we celebrate are a time for family.  And though I didn't have my blood relatives with me, I was able to appreciate the love and generosity of the people I count as family in Los Angeles in a whole new way.

I'm extremely grateful for these people that I love so much and more than anyone this holiday to Jane and her family(ies) for opening their homes, dinner tables, and Christmas trees (RUN!) to me so I didn't have to spend that time alone in my studio staring at the tour duffel I've pined for that my mother and stepfather so graciously gave me.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

In The Foothills of Life.

I moved.

Again.

I live in the foothills of Hollywood, now two blocks behind some of the landmarks of the silver screen I mentioned when Jamison and Sheila came out to visit.  It has been an interesting and peaceful experience, much to my surprise.

I took a walk to the gas station the day after I moved in, and after a mere five minutes found myself face to face with Hollywood & Highland, which I admit, I found disturbing.  I didn't know how to feel about living so close to, rather--in, tourist town USA.  But I'm a block from the Magic Castle, and enjoying some of the mystic energy of the hills.

Not to be confused with the energy I was feeling at my friend's house last summer.  This is a different part of the Hollywood Hills, one with from what I understand, a much less bloody history.  The part where he lives is not too far from both the sites of the Wonderland Murders and Sharon Tate's murder.  That combined with the interesting history of the Laurel Canyon "neighborhood" that is tied to music, provides a very odd energy, and there's just too much going on for me to feel at peace there.  But here, near the base of Runyon Canyon Park, I'm quite happy.  

My building was a residence hotel in the 1920's, the Hollywood I would have liked to witness, and the style of the building suits it as such.  One of the things I intend to do, because I pass it so much these days, is hike up to the "Cross on Cahuenga", which is the cross that overlooks the city of Hollywood from a hilltop off the 101 freeway.  I've always felt a draw to this cross, not religious, just something about the iconic force that it unwillingly imposes on the city.  And I'm curious to see the view of the cross itself.  The first time I saw it I was ten years old.  I love the way it looks when it's lit at night, silently, peacefully, welcomed and not, watching over the city.

One thing I'm grateful for in living so close to the Magic Castle, is that, I've been there before.  I had wanted to go for roughly 15 years when I finally was extended an invitation (it's invite only) for a friend's birthday party.  It was an amazing experience, and mostly didn't disappoint.  The building itself seems roughly three times the size on the inside than it is on the out.  Had I not been there already, it would sit there, my mocking neighbor; for the Magic Castle is a member's only club.

Thus I begin my journey of life in Hollywood, as I try to avoid becoming a cliché.

(I took the photo of the Hollywood Sign above about two months ago when a friend came out from Atlanta for a short visit.)

The Million Dollar Hotel

A return from hiatus.
I moved.
That's the view from my roof.

I live in downtown Los Angeles now. This is a big deal for me. I've broken free of the mold I had created for myself within this city. I spent the summer house sitting for one of my good friends in Hollywood Hills. I enjoyed the time I spent with his dog, but I won't lie, there's something up there that I don't like. I can't quite put my finger on it, just an energy that I'm not crazy about. As the summer drew to a close and his tour was winding down, I began searching for a new place to call home.

This time instead of the four block radius I had confined myself to since I was 19, I decided to branch out. And thus, downtown. I'm now living in a 3700 square foot penthouse loft with two other people. I love it. It's a house on top of a building. My room is pink and black and I feel very at home here.

One of the things I love about living downtown is that it doesn't necessarily feel like LA. Which is ironic, because they're always filming SOMETHING. But that's exactly why. Downtown Los Angeles can be made to look like anything. My first week my street had surreptitiously overnight been transformed into San Francisco.
I found myself walking to the market next to trolleys.

Another morning I awoke with a start to discover that it sounded like someone was being shot outside my window. I apparently had neglected to see the FILMING NOTICE : SINGLE SHOT GUNFIRE 7AM-10PM slip that had been posted on our building's door the night before.

But none of my stories come close to trumping that of a friend who lives a few blocks away. Said friend woke one morning to find Armageddon outside his window. The street looked as though an atomic bomb had gone off. There was a huge crater in the earth and before he had the chance to figure out what was going on cars started exploding and flying into the air.
Shortly after this he saw the director.

Will Smith is soon to be saving the world post asteroid hit.
Or something like that, I dunno, they were filming a car scene for that movie outside my neighborhood market. It was a big ordeal just to get in to buy some milk.

So living downtown has provided me with a completely different view of this city. I'm sitting at my desk staring out the window at the Million Dollar Rosslyn Hotel. Home of one of my favorite movies "The Million Dollar Hotel". I recognized it the minute I saw it.

And then felt at home.