This Little Hippie O' Mine...

...Is so cute I had to eat him.



Tasted like chicken.

GGC

Loving Los Angeles

I know I do a lot of talking about leaving L.A. which I would love to do, not because I hate L.A. but because I cannot sit still. I am bored. I need a change of scenery and world travel (a former-hobby and life's ambition) is a temporary impossibility. Trust me, if I could afford it, I'd be raising Archer on the Orient Express, out of a suitcase, and English would not be his first language. In dreams, perhaps but this is reality. The reality is here and now: Los Angeles, the most misunderstood city in allllllll the land.

This month will be my seventh anniversary here. Seven years. Eight apartments. All but one in Hollywood. West Hollywood. East Hollywood. Hollywood. The magic place where the actors look like bums and bums are selling their homemade films on the sidewalk. The magic metropolis where everyone is famous and no one asks for an autograph. The wasted wonderland where husbands get carjacked and the people stop to look for cameras.

Welcome to MY city and if you hate it here, go home.

Los Angeles is the easiest city in the world to make fun of and every time I leave, everyone does. It doesn't matter if I'm in San Diego or New York or Whereversville.

"You live in L.A. I HATE L.A."

"I know."

"How do you STAND it."

"I know."

"It's just so fake and everyone has boob jobs and the TRAFFIC."

"I KNOW!!!!"

Los Angeles is the "joke-about city" the place everyone can hate together. People seriously bond over their Los Angeles loathing and I'm going to go out on a limb dot com to call everyone on their shit-talking and workshop L.A.'s busted image.

Because I have yet to read anyone blogging about how cool and down-to-earth Los Angeles is, I'm going to go ahead and do that. Not because I'm annoyed at the fact L.A. bashing is about as obvious as Bush-bashing (the president, not the pubes) but because the people who come to L.A. as tourists go to all the wrong places. In all fairness, that is nature of "the tourist". What I like to call Eiffel Tower Syndrome, a terrible disease.

There are two kinds of people in this world, the kind that visit the Eiffel tower when in Paris and the kind who stay as clear away from it as possible. I like to think of myself as of the latter and hope that if you, dear reader ever come to Los Angeles to visit, you will put forth some effort to look a little deeper. Los Angeles may have thick, botoxed skin but there is something going on below the surface. A lot of something, even.

And so I am including the following list of places NOT TO GO if by chance you ever decide to visit us. The following places are full of people NOT from L.A. and therefore give us a bad rap. The following places are full of TOURISTS. Attempt them and be disappointed.

And so, Do Not Go Here:


1. Melrose

Melrose (between Fairfax & La Brea) is the most popular destination for tourists and teen girls driving up from San Diego. I know because many a summer me and my girlfriends hopped in my cabriolet convertible and headed to Melrose for cheap shopping and platform shoes. People who live in L.A. do not shop there. Shit is cheap and about as ghetto as these finger nails and if you're looking for celebrity sightings, the closest you're gonna get is Ice T's wife... She hangs out in front of the Subway.


2. Hollywood Blvd, Walk of Fame/Hollywood and Vine/ Graummans Theatre

I suppose it's cool to step on Mel Gibson or take a photo next to Shirley Temple but other than that, the walk of fame is home to every runaway in North America and they all camp out with their dogs and beg for money. It isn't glamorous, people. Hollywood Blvd is the armpit of Los Angeles so do a drive-by if you must and call it a day. I'm sure Hollywood and Vine was a beautiful, classic location in the thirties but these days it's busting with broken souvenirs and broken noses.


3. Map of the Stars

If you read this post you will know, the map of the stars is about 30 years outdated. Why the fuck bother?


4. Venice Beach

You can buy your bong elsewhere, trust me.


5. The Hollywood Sign

You cannot actually go to it. Not like they did in that episode of 90210. You can see it from anywhere south of Sunset. Spending a day trying to get the perfect photo in front (Beachwood would be the place, although Hollywood and Highland has a very tacky walkway where you can pose in front of a giant griffin and see HO WOOD in the background. Nice) is a waste of time when you could be really exploring the really great nooks and crannies of L.A.


6. Rodeo Drive/Beverly Hills

Beverly Hills is so over. No one goes to Spago anymore and Rodeo Drive is a joke. No one shops there except the people that think people shop there. Know what I mean? The paparazzi doesn't even drive by anymore, too busy hiding out behind Mary-Kate Olsen's robes on Robertson. I guess if you feel the need to pop into Gucci or have lunch at The Cheesecake Factory, please by all means do so, but contrary to popular belief, that is NOT experiencing L.A. L.A in the movies, maybe. Indeed there is a difference.


7. Sunset Strip

It smells like beer and exhaust. The Rainbow Room is full of sorority sisters and just because River Phoenix died in front of the Viper Room does not validate it's existence. The bands that play there usually suck. Same goes for The Roxy and The Whiskey. In the 80's they really rocked. Now? The only good show I've seen in the past 7 years was the 3rd annual Air-guitar championship.


8. 3rd Street Promenade

It may be by the beach but the beach isn't much to look at here and the stores are bo-ring and the only think worth seeing is the one-man-band and his skills as an engineer. He has somehow rigged a mouse-trapesque concoction of guitar, drum, and various utensils and is famous for his twist on "Secret Agent Man." Yes, that's right, the rocking Chinese man and his band of one sing "Secret Asian Man" like nobody's bid'nis.

Okay, scratch that. You should totally go to 3rd Street Promenade.


9. The Grove

It's a mall with a trolley and a Mac store and everyone who works there is an asshole. I mean... NO WONDER YOU HATE US!


10. Hollywood & Highland/ Kodak Theatre

Once a year the Kodak theatre is a glamorous Oscar-hosting piece of architectural ass. On every other night, it's part of a really tacky mall. A mall that is currently home of the Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency. That is all.

Instead,
you should go here:


1. Runyan Canyon

Sure it's a dog park and a hiking trail but it's so much more. Once Errol Flynn's debaucherous estate, it now belongs to the city and is open from dawn till dusk (you can break in after hours, if you desire and hike the trail with a flashlight and a bottle of wine. Creeeeepy.) Runyan boasts hidden parks and mysterious gullys as well as a run-down tennis court a la Great Expectations and just about every celebrity in town. If you hike Runyon canyon, you will see movie stars and will also overhear stories about them you wish you didn't.

(Enter Vista or Fuller, above Hollywood Blvd)

2. Larchmont Village

By far the quaintest, coolest, bestestest block of shopping and happiness and I'm not just saying that because I live three blocks away. Please visit the antique guy on the corner. He has a whimsical story for every piece he is selling and has photos of my dogs in the window. Larchmont also boasts the best children's clothing store in the world, Flicka and the greatest pizza place (Village Pizzaria) in the city.

Larchmont Blvd. Between 3rd & Beverly

3. The Cinerama Dome

By far the coolest movie theatre in the world. Not only is The Dome of historical and cultural significance but there is no cooler place to see a movie.

Sometimes the director will show up and say hi, or the editor, or the key-grip or whoever. Movies look and sound amazing and everyone claps at the end of the movie and stays through the final credits because likely, the people watching the film helped make it.

You can even grab a cocktail in the lobby of the box office while you wait.

6360 Sunset Blvd (next to Amoeba, so you can get your rare EP fix)


4. The Walt Disney Hall, MOCA, Downtown

Buy tickets in advance as they sell out pretty quickly. The L.A. Phil is well, the L.A. Phil (I'm married to a classical musician so I don't want him to make fun of me for trying to reference something I know very little about, but...) and the Frank Gehry designed Disney Hall is unlike anything you have ever experienced, unless you have been to Bilbao. Regardless, it is a beautiful place full of beautiful sounds. Stop by MOCA on your way over (located across the street.)

135 N. Grand, Downtown

5. LACMA/LA Brea Tarpits

I have lived most of my L.A. life down the street and have spent many a day cruising the halls of LACMA and the Tar pits (Page Museum.) The park is perfect for a picnic and rolling down the grassy knoll on your head. The permanent collection is as good as the temporary collections and the Page Museum has been a fave since I was a kid.

5905 Wilshire Blvd

6. Micelis Restaurant

The first Italian restaurant in Los Angeles, Micelis is the most charming little place in the city. Food is cheap and the waiters have been there since the Ice Age. Pianists serenade while you eat and servers sing along. A bass player joins him/her on Fridays and the second Tuesday of every month, the most amazing 167 year-old woman comes to play. Miceli's is old Hollywood. The real deal. I would happily live there if I could and Archer and I could run a coat-check.

1646 Las Palmas (Just below Hollywood Blvd)


7. The Getty

The permanent collection is mediocre but the experience is awe-inspiring. The architecture. The garden. The view. If you are a photography fan, the photography exhibits are always gorgeous. I have spent many an afternoon rolling around in the grass, above the world.


8.The Burgundy Room

One word: Torrance. He's the doorman and he has been there since always. Do not be intimidated by his stature. He has lived, man, and has the stories to prove it. He also reads Dostoevsky in his director's chair out front and knows every patron by name. I will always have a soft-spot for Torrance. He has counseled me on many occasions and let us smoke in the bar even when I wasn't allowed to. Ask Torrance (very nicely) to sing you song and you will be blown away. I promise.

I haven't been in a few years and hear it gets really packed so go on a Monday or a tuesday. At midnight the girls set the bar on fire.

1621 1/2 North Cahuenga (Between Sunset & Hollywood Blvd)


9.Hollywood Forever Cemetery

The old movie stars may be dead but in the summer, they materialize before you. Every week movies are shown in the cemetery so you can see the stars, among the stars. Morbid and fabulous. Only in L.A. you say? Hell yes.


10. The Hollywood Bowl

Where else can you see Belle and Sebastian play with the LA Phil? Bring a bottle of wine and a bag of food, Eat, drink, share your cheese with the couple in front of you. Good times. Good times.


City of Angels, I got your back. Your skinny little pint-sized back AND your front.
We may be a freak show but what city isn't?

L.A. may be the whore in a land of prudes, but she embraces her whoredom and does so with grace in True Religion jeans.

Los Angeles has amazing places and boasts great characters. Plastic, some. Trashy, of course but underneath her surface there's a lot of good stuff. There are beautiful places and wonderful things to do. There are places for kids to play and some of the best dive bars in the world. There are doormen who sing and old ladies who rock-out and cemetery picnics in the summer.

I invite you to look a little deeper. Yes, I said deeper because we aren't all plastic. We're paper too.


GGC

On Past and Present Futures

The other day I got to thinking about this blog and why I started it in the first place. Why I left behind my stream-of-whatever-I-felt-like-writing-about and decided to blog with parameters, sing a new tune. Why I went from pointytoeshoefactory.com: no shoes, no service (as of this week, defunct) to GGC and the new and improved titty-flashing all nighter.

Girl's Gone Child, the blog about parenting and my life as a mother and Archer's life as my child and the adventures in urban-motherhood, and me and my obsession with baby hats and indie rock and how I make it all work. How I have transitioned from life as a writer/odd-job-working/commitment-phobic/care-free/ chain-smoking/table-dancing/thinker to my current life as a work-at-home mother. A mom. Mommy. Woman with offspring.

When I became pregnant, the record stopped. It had been broken, so it wasn't difficult to finish it off. A karate chop to it's ridged heart and CRASH! The pieces were on the floor. A broom and dustbin and all was gone.

I wanted everyone out of my life who had taken from me, taken and not given back. I wouldn't let them near my child. I wouldn't let them near me as he grew inside me. I erased phone numbers, contacts, friends, mostly men who had drained me financially, emotionally-- societal orphans, misfits with skateboards and spiky hair who needed Mommies. I was saving the world, one lost boy at a time but I was killing myself, without even realizing it.

I was never able to ask anyone for a favor. It was hard for me to except a gift, borrow money. I was unable to call for help, call for a ride, tell my truth. Instead I gave everything away, opened myself up like a shelter, let the world inside. Up all night to talk a friend off a ledge or away from a needle or a married man. Flying across the country to hold a hand.

I didn't want to bring Archer into a world where drug-addicts might pass-out on our doorstep, even though they were at a time, my friends. I didn't want Archer to see where I had been and who had joined me. All of my life I had taken in stray dogs, and now I would throw them out. On their asses. Because of Archer. Because stray dogs never become men. Because lost boys live in never-land and girls aren't allowed there. Or women. Or my baby.

When one has a child, one changes. More than I imagined. No longer is at all about you. It can't be. I may have played the part of mother and acted like I cared about the world, wanted to join the peace corps, hold the hair of the puking drunk, love everyone unconditionally. I may have acted like I was selfless, honest, real but I was a good liar. Even I believed me.

I said I love you to everyone who needed to be loved but did I love them? Of course not. I loved saying so. I loved that my love was enough to make a difference, at least until morning. I loved that my words could be an easy fix, could numb the pain. Fix a moment. Fix an hour. Fix a life. I loved that I could be the strong one, even though I was falling apart. I felt like I was worth something. I was alive.

When I got pregnant with Archer I started screening my calls. I stopped answering my phone after midnight. I stopped giving money to every bum who begged for it. I stopped pretending to care about friend's affairs with married men and drug-problems. I stopped pretending I could make a sick child well again. I stopped trying to save the world. Friends had become leeeches and I was just as at fault for offering my blood.

I wasn't afraid to be alone. I wasn't afraid to start over. I was excited. I was relieved.

Girl's Gone Child is supposed to be the new and improved titty-flashing all nighter, because there is nothing wrong with yesterday. There is nothing wrong with my BC* blog and my past. There's nothing wrong with the original titty-flashing all nighter or whatever I was doing when I knew people were looking, even though I pretended I did not. There is nothing wrong with my days of mothering fuck-ups and losers. There is nothing wrong with who I was. Then plus now equals tomorrow. I have no regrets. Just epiphanies.

And the words will continue to crawl across the computer screen like insects, bloated with everything that nobody knows, the white space full of secrets. And I will marvel at what has changed since my biological makeover.

I am not and never will be defined by motherhood, but I will wholeheartedly admit that motherhood has inspired and enabled me to define myself.

Girl's Gone Child is proof that parenting has changed me, moved me, agreed with me, that having a child has given this girl more than she could have imagined. Mommy. Mom. Woman with offspring...Whatever people are saying this week.

I would have grown up eventually. I would have been fine, more than fine even. I would have found happiness and love and dot dot dot, but that's not what happened. This is what happened. I got pregnant. I had a baby. I became myself, and THAT is what this blog is all about.


GGC

*Before Child