Favorite Place in Glendale

My Burbank friend and I have finally found the perfect middle ground: Favorite Place (that's its name) in Glendale.

I'm not a foodie. I'm not a restaurant reviewer. I can't describe the delicate blabbedy blah on the palate or the minglings of fine spices in the this and the that. What I can tell you is the food is fresh and tasty and unusual, the service is not just friendly but downright sweet, and the atmosphere is all charm.

From a glimpse of the outside you could be fooled into thinking you're about to enter a greasy-smelling diner to sit at a Formica counter and drink coffee that's been sitting on the burner since last night. But don't judge a restaurant by its storefront. And do call ahead for reservations.

Favorite Place has unself-conscious class. Also they have rose petal lemonade. Who else has rose petal lemonade?

Seriously, Though

It's safe to say that every moment in one's life is the result of all previous moments, but some moments are more culminating than others. Every once in a while there's the rare instance that requires you to stop and remember what brought you there.

It's a gratitude moment. It's standing at the end of the diving board and pausing to remember--not your training, because that's in your muscle memory--but your trainer, your friends, your family, your education, your lover, your past, your present, your good and your bad. All of it--all of it--has brought you there and made you ready. You don't know what's next, but you give thanks.

And then you dive.

And then you laugh at yourself for having chosen a picture of cement to accompany these thoughts.

Guest Post: Dianne Emley and "Love Kills"

Today we welcome guest author Dianne Emley, best-selling crime novelist. Her Nan Vining "thrillogy" is set in Pasadena and features a female Pasadena Police Detective. Dianne was the first author I interviewed for PDP and she's been a friend of the blog ever since. I always wondered how she researched the books and today we get to find out.

Hello Pasadena Daily Photo readers. I'm delighted that Petrea invited me to contribute some words to her blog space. My current series of suspense novels features Nan Vining of the Pasadena Police Department—homicide detective, single mom to a spirited teenage daughter, and survivor of an ambush by a knife-wielding assailant who got away.

I'm often asked whether I do a lot of research for my books. Yes, I do. Research is fun. And since I'm writing about the life, work, and mindset of a police detective and her colleagues, it was absolutely necessary because before I began the series, I had virtually no experience with the real world of law and order. So why did I decide to write about cops?

I had the first glimmer of the idea while attending the Pasadena Police Department's Citizen Police Academy (CPA)—a wonderful program available to anyone who lives or works in Pasadena. I found that I was fascinated with police work, from the tactics and procedures, to the psychological aspects, to the politics. I wondered, could I pull off writing a novel about cops? I knew if I did it, I'd have to nail it. Frankly, I was terrified.

Of course, I read books: cop novels, cop non-fiction books, and police science and forensics textbooks. The books were valuable, but they weren't enough to help me give my story the colors, textures, and emotions necessary to make it seem real. For that, I needed first-hand experience.

The CPA gave me a head start because the program includes a patrol car "ride along." Boy, was that eye-opening. I arranged more ride alongs, with a male rookie recently approved for patrol, a female seasoned officer, and a veteran officer who'd seen it all. A helpful lieutenant let me shadow her. I probed friends and family for other connections, leading me to a prosecutor in the L.A. County District Attorney's Major Crimes division, the first female LAPD Deputy Chief, the first female FBI Executive Assistant Director, and the LAPD Robbery Homicide detective who led the task force that nabbed the notorious "Grim Sleeper" serial killer. Yes, there's value in studying how Joseph Wambaugh's cops talk in his novels but it's richer to hear it firsthand.

A great place to meet real law and order professionals is at conferences. There's a terrific one, The California Crime Writers Conference, on June 11 and 12 at the Hilton Pasadena. It's only held every two years, so don't miss it. Those folks I mentioned are going to be present there, plus several more, as I organized most of the Forensics track. Keep your pen and notebook handy.

A Stubbornly Persistent Illusion

I've always had a desire to travel back in time. I've even written a novel about it called Camelot & Vine.

I'm not the only one with this desire. We want to go back and take a look—safely, of course—with plenty of food and decent sanitation and toilet paper. And beer.

Renaissance Faire! That's the way you do it. You can go, have lunch, and be back in time to feed the dog.

Friends of ours spend their spring weekends working at Faire. The mom is a serving wench. The older daughter dances. The younger—I'm not sure, she's cute enough to sell anything and she'd make a fine pick-pocket (she'd fit right in with these kids). The dad is a Poxy Boggard. (Don't click that link unless you enjoy sublime harmonies and profanity as much as I do. Click this one if you want to skip the profanity.)

My only regret is that we waited until the last day of this year's Faire, and a massive crowd of other time-travelers did the same. But the weather was cool, the mead flowed (very good and very strong but not very cheap! huzzah!) and we had a good time.

I realize this post doesn't help you one bit, as it's too late for you to time-travel to the Renaissance Faire this year. But I couldn't time-travel to the future to post it, so I've done my best. 


The distinction between the past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.
--Albert Einstein

Zen Monday: #147

Here's your Monday Zen, a chance to give us your thoughts on the photo without me telling you what I think it's about.

There's no right or wrong, no secret, no prize. Just tell us what the picture makes you think or feel. Have fun and enjoy the other comments, as I do every Monday.

No Darwin Awards Yet

Close, but no cigar. I wonder where that saying came from.

We had a good time here Friday making fun of predictions of the rapture. We weren't the only ones. The internet is rife with photos of piles of clothes left empty. At parties last night, people celebrated not being raptured. I heard of a gathering where they released 20 blow-up dolls filled with helium. Hilarious.

It's a tad less hilarious for those who believe(d) in this stuff. 

I don't think Harold Camping deserves 100% of the blame. Sure, he perpetrated a fraud (and collected $18 million from his followers to advertise it), but it's not like he forced people to believe him. Folks needed this. They ate it up. A few wanted so badly to leave this awful, awful earth that they sold everything they had and spent their life's savings in the process.

$18 million. Imagine if Camping had decided to do something good, like help people.

They say God helps those who help themselves. You know the story about the guy stranded in the flood who's sure God will save him? A boat comes by and he refuses to get in it, saying "God will save me." A raft comes along with friendly folks aboard. He says no to their offers of aid. "God will save me." A helicopter comes but he won't climb on. "God will save me," he says. Finally, when the water's up to his chin and there's no help in sight he calls out, "God, why haven't you saved me?" and God says, "Hey! I sent you a boat, a raft and a helicopter! That's all I've got!"

Some churches have offered consolation and counseling to those followers of Camping whose hopes were dashed along with their bank accounts and their pride. Maybe a few will see the hand of their God in that generosity, offering a life raft. But when Camping has disappeared from the limelight, the rest of the cowards who are too lazy or scared or just plain tired to help themselves will seek out some other Jim Jones, who will be more than glad to lead them by their noses to their ignominious doom.

I feel sorry for these people, I really do. It makes me angry to see them abused. But they make it so easy for the bad guys.

I post at midnight. I hope this story doesn't get any worse by morning.

If only the numerals in the photo said "2012." Close, but no cigar.

Thank You, San Rafael School

A distinguished group invited me to speak to them yesterday morning. I was summoned to their headquarters at 9:15 a.m.

They were the bright, charming 5-year-olds of Pasadena's San Rafael School. These kids are part of a dual language immersion program, where English-speaking and Spanish-speaking kids go to school together. Most of their classes are taught in Spanish at the start, and gradually English is introduced. By the time they graduate all the children will be bilingual. They've been learning about different careers and they wanted to know about acting.

My Spanish is abysmal, and after a brief demonstration to that effect the kids were willing to hear me in English. They had wonderful questions about stunts, make-up, plays and movies and they told me stories about their own acting experiences. I was in my first play when I was about their age, so we had a lot in common.

I studied French when I was growing up and would have loved a language immersion education. Pasadena has a dual language immersion program in Mandarin Chinese, too. It's a fantastic opportunity for the kids.

Three of my English-speaking neighbor children go to San Rafael. Two of them were in yesterday's class. It's their first year in school and already they speak Spanish well enough to translate, negotiate deals (truly) and know abysmal Spanish when they hear it. These girls were responsible for inviting me. Seeing their smiling faces in the group was my favorite part.


Update: You can contribute to the San Rafael School here.

Oh Joy, Oh Rapture

I don't know about you but I've left my weekend calendar open, especially tomorrow--you know, for the rapture and all.

I don't fool myself that I'm going anywhere, but I'm excited to see who's holy enough to get raptured. Who do you think? The pope? John Boehner? Beyonce?

Anybody who thinks they're holy probably isn't, so it's going to be a surprise. It's supposed to be only about 3% of the world's population, so maybe we won't even notice.

Are you going? Anybody you know? Whom would you like to see raptured tomorrow?



Oh Joy, Oh Rapture Unforeseen (Boz found this particularly annoying.)

Baby (pant pant) Steps

Yesterday I did a strange thing. I got up at 6:30 in the morning and went running.

I haven't been running in...ever. I tried once in Chicago when I was in my twenties. I think I did about a mile and decided it wasn't for me.

A mile. I was so ungrateful.

I don't want to tell you how far I didn't make it yesterday morning. The important thing is I went. I'd run a bit then walk until my lungs gave me permission to run again.

Okay. I'll tell you, because it's all right for you to know I'm not an athlete, and because maybe my lack of prowess will inspire you to start your own pathetic regimen. I went around the block. I had to stop running four times and walk. But hey, I started four times! And it's a big block! And I ran in the rain!

It felt good. I plan on doing it again today. I'd be sitting on the edge of my seat waiting to see what happens, except my butt kind of hurts for some reason.

Pure Love

When you set up a cage at the Farmers' Market and fill it with puppies, you will draw a crowd. The sign requested cash for photos. I tossed a dollar in the box and started shooting.

Would a legitimate breeder sell dogs at the Farmers' Market for $3,000 a pop? (or pup?) Apparently so. I looked them up when I got home and as far as I can tell, the operation is aboveboard. This sweet baby is a Lakota Mastino, "not for the passive owner who has no plans on working the dog. Needs a strong leader who understands dog behavior." 

In other words, you don't bring this dog home, stick him in the back yard and give him a bowl of kibble and a Nylabone. You train him. Every day. If you don't, pretty soon you've got 125 pounds of muscle, teeth and chaos on your hands. This breeder will find homes for these dogs even at the price he's asking. I hope he's clear with the buyers about what they're getting into so the dogs don't end up in shelters, or worse.

I have nothing against purebred dogs. Though my personal preference is for mutts, some of Boz's best friends are purebreds. But if you're in the market for a dog, I recommend skipping breeders altogether and going straight to a shelter, even if you're looking for a purebred--even if you're looking for a purebred puppy. You can find what you're looking for if you're willing to put a small effort into the search because there are so many unwanted dogs. Spend a couple of hundred dollars instead of a few thousand and save the remainder for your pooch's Nylabone fund. Now those things are expensive.

Nylabone images

Not On Their Watch

I've had my head in the proverbial sand for some time now. We unplugged our TV a while back and I've turned off my car radio so as not to hear about politics because I want to enjoy life.

Today I drove John's car. The radio was on when I turned the key in the ignition and I heard "brush fire near JPL." I forgot my errand, turned west and took Oak Grove Drive above Devil's Gate Dam.

The radio said the flames were moving slowly uphill, away from the Jet Propulsion Lab. I could see that, yet I had to pull over when I saw the smoke. My reaction was physical, a loss of breath, an almost-sob. Look--a 5 acre brush fire is nothing compared to the Station Fire of 2009, but of course that's what I thought of. I've seen flames on these hills before. I've stood on the dam and watched the mountain burn because I couldn't take my eyes away.

I'm not the only one who remembered. 115 firefighters shut this baby down in fewer than ninety minutes. I may have watched an inferno from atop the dam, but they've seen it from within.

Zen Monday: #146

Here's your Monday Zen, a chance to reflect on the photo and give us your thoughts without me telling you what I think the photo's about.

Just say what the picture makes you think or feel. There's no right or wrong, no secret, no prize. Just have fun and enjoy the other comments, as I do every Monday.

Sunday, Sunday

There are worse things you could do than sit on the back steps of Pasadena's Central Library on a Sunday. (Not all branches are open today, but this one's open from 1-5.)

You could go north, where the Friends of the Altadena Library conclude this year's book sale from 1-4pm.

You could catch five free museums at Museums of the Arroyo Day (MOTA). 

And it's open house weekend at the Jet Propulsion Lab, when our normally modest rocket scientists get to show off.

No matter your plans, keep in mind that the Pasadena Marathon is also today, so check the map for street closures before you head out if you want to find the runners--or if you don't.

Isle of Art

Yesterday I posted hastily because I was rushing out of the house to see an art exhibit in Culver City, which is not in Pasadena. Today is the last day* to see works by the LA Fine Art Squad at the Cardwell Jimmerson Gallery at 8568 Washington Blvd. (they're open 11-6). I know you may not get down there and I know this post is late and I know you may think it has nothing to do with Pasadena. You'd be incorrect on at least one count. One member of the "Squad" was and is Victor Henderson, who lives Pasadena-adjacent. His friends sometimes refer to him as "Mr. V." I don't know if he likes it.

*UPDATE: THE EXHIBIT HAS BEEN EXTENDED UNTIL MAY 28TH. YOU GET TO GO!

The work above is called "Isle of California." It was painted in 1971-72 and is the only mural remaining of several such large works the Squad painted in the LA area. Much faded but still towering, the work depicts "Arizona beachfront property" after an earthquake dumps California into the sea. The parking lot attendant told us an earthquake occurred in soCal "two weeks after the painting was done. People came from all over and brought offerings--flowers and things."

I couldn't find a record of such a quake, but the San Fernando, aka the Sylmar earthquake (thank you, PA) occurred during painting. (see comments)

It would be nice to see this work restored. I know that means money. At least it's under LA City jurisdiction, and not LA County.

Even if you don't make it to the gallery today, you can visit the mural at 1616 Butler Avenue in Los Angeles, not far from the 405 freeway. Henderson has posted some good, unfaded photos of the work here, where you can get a better idea of the apocalyptic dream quality of it.

The rusting squares you see are visual irony--plates that anchor reinforcing bolts to keep the building stable during an earthquake--obviously added after the painting was finished. I think the drips of rust down the building add truth, if not beauty.

Der Sandmann

Yay! Blogger's been down for a while (I guess we all know) and now it seems to be back. Enough said about that.

I never miss an opportunity to roam the CalTech campus, and last night I had the opportunity to attend a film there. The film is Der Sandmann (The Sandman), directed by Peter Luisi, who attended the screening and answered questions.

I'm not a reviewer but I'll tell you this much: Der Sandmann is realistic and absurdist at the same time, an absolute delight, and you must see it if you get the opportunity. What a privilege it was to get to see it in its Caltech premiere.

Update: Now that I'm not hurrying to post and rush out of the house, I'll add that "Der Sandmann" has begun festival rounds in the U.S. and is seeking a U.S. distributor. It ought to have one. Last night's CalTech audience ate it up.

Bring a Wagon

I believe this rose is called "Easy Does It."

Here's one called "Neptune."

I don't know if these are part of the Huntington Library and Gardens' 37th Annual Plant Sale, but I know they grow them at the Huntington because I photographed them there. So it could happen. Have no fear: legions of other plants are waiting for you to take them home.

The sale is a big deal for lots of reasons, not least of which is that some of the best gardeners in the world work at the Huntington, creating hybrids and propagating heirlooms. (Some plants in the Desert Garden are over a hundred years old.)

The members’ preview sale is this Saturday, May 14th, from 10:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. and the sale opens to the public on Sunday, May 15th.

About the wagon: really.

Pat It and Prick It and Mark It

Ugly mural, no?

No?

Someone thought so, and now Altadena's Patticakes Dessert Company is having to defend itself--albeit with a legion of fans to support it.

Patticakes is a good place to buy baked goods for an event, as well as nice little spot to have a cup of coffee and a piece of cake. Perfectly innocent. Yet the art on the exterior wall is apparently in violation of a county code.

Seriously.

Yep.

That's what I thought, too.

Is this art or is it advertising? The discussion on Altadena Patch got some saliva glands going; if the complainers ever get caught they might just get baked in a pie.

I once had a brick wall for a fence. I speak from experience when I suggest the following: if the County paints over this mural, the County--or whoever lodged the complaint--gets to take on the cost and responsibility of painting over the graffiti that will appear on this wall--guaranteed--at least three times a week.

You don't have to be from Altadena to stop by Patticakes at 1900 N. Allen Avenue and sign the petition to keep the mural. (I did, and I bought a chocolate tartlet thingy while I was there just, you know, to show 'em I mean what I say.) I wanted to get a picture of the mural without cars parked in front of it, but every time one car left another two arrived and I didn't have all day. Apparently the County's done Patticakes a favor, at least in the short term: right now, business is sweet.

Update:
The mural stays.

See
Altadenablog
Pasadena Weekly

I Might be Able to Get You its Fax Number

Kevin over at East of West L.A. photographed a courtyard not long ago. (Go! Peruse his noir!) It reminded me of my reaction to Los Angeles upon moving to the area: nostalgia. Yet I hadn't been here before.

Why did roaming the streets of a new city make me long for -- what? home? youth? Yes, but not my home, not my youth.

I'd been watching Los Angeles on television all my life. I thought I knew the place and I did, but I didn't know it as itself. I knew it as the place where cowboys rode herd, where Samantha cast spells on Darin, where ET landed and made his phone call home. Seeing it in person was like seeing a movie star and feeling like you know them personally. You don't. You only know the role they play.

Most interiors are shot on a soundstage where lighting and sound can be controlled, but exteriors are usually shot in real places. When an actor steps out of a doorway and kisses his wife the doorway's often real, even if the wife isn't. When the heroine drives down the street it's a real street. The kids play softball on a real ball field and the lovers stroll in a real park, whether it's a movie, a TV show or a commercial.

Show business is still a major industry in Los Angeles County. You can see production trailers in Pasadena, South Pasadena and Altadena every day, especially in areas where no palm trees give southern California away. But it's soCal all the same. Always was, even before I came to know it personally.

Zen Monday: #145

or

It's a Zen Monday twofer!

Today's the day you experience the photo(s) and tell us what you've learned. If you've been lurking, I hope today's the day you'll jump in.

Is this your first Zen Monday? Just say what the pictures make you think of or feel. Usually I post one photo, but today I thought two views of the subject might enlighten you further. There's no right or wrong, no secret, no prize. Just have fun.

Petrea's Kitchen Tips: Beer

When I posted my first kitchen tip (about blueberries) I didn't think there'd be another. I'm not what you'd call a kitchen maven. But behold, I have another tip for you: Don't leave your non-alcoholic beers in the freezer too long. They blow their tops.

I've come to this knowledge through years of error and error. The LA club scene intimidated me even when I was a young party animal--too much noise, too much money, too much craziness. I'm not comfortable in crowds, never was. That doesn't mean I didn't like to party in my single days. Just--with my friends. On familiar turf. As much as possible. I had more than my share of fun, though some Saturday nights were less fun than others.

Yesterday evening John, Boz and I took a walk in the neighborhood. We knew by the sounds coming from the houses that folks were home--TV, music, conversation--the neighborhood was downright noisy last night.

I think I know why. You get to a point where you've got what you want. You don't need to go out to clubs to find it. Sitting in my living room on a Saturday night with my husband, my dog and my (very cold) non-alcoholic beer is party enough for me.