The image below was taken on this day, Oct 24th, 1988 in my senior year dorm room. I'm embarrassed to reveal that still have most of the stuff pictured. That kilm is sitting in our kitchen floor. The Tibetan mask is staring at me here in in my attic office. The postcards in a desk. Etcetera. I haven't even throw out the Macintosh IIf sitting on the desk (it still boots!). I never throw away books.

There is so much I did not know back on that date. Within a little more than a year a series of tragedies would turn my world inside out and send me reeling... So much I could not have imagined standing there looking at my tripod... but I should not feel smug in what little I know now, because that moment of complacency is when life's broadsides can do the most damage.

I do wish I could go back and talk to my college self and tell that guy that it all works out. That all those years in between are worth it. That you can end up exactly where you want to be, in love with your family, enjoying life more than should be legal, and looking forward to what's next.

I lived in LA for 10 years. For 8 years I hated it, comparing it unfavorably New York. I would say annoying and pretentious things like "there's nothing sublime in LA" and spent way too much time being miserable. But then just as I was leaving I got it. I'm not sure why or how, but suddenly the place made sense to me... Now I often find myself missing the place and pitching it to skeptical New Yorkers... but it's a hard pitch, because LA is at least for me is all about private spaces, little pockets of magic hidden from public view... hanging around someone's pool on a hot summer night watching some minor movie starlet doing cannonballs in the deep end... Hard to explain.

But that's another post.

A buddy of mine asked what to do in LA when he visits. Here's a very partial list compiled with the help of my friend (and master seeker-outer of all that is fantastic) Julien Nitzberg:

EATING

Uzbekistan @ 7077 Sunset Blvd - go at night when all the Russian gangsters are there

Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles the one on Gower- fantastic fried chicken, open late. I prefer it to the equally legendary (non-fried) Zankou Chicken (some LA folk complain Roscoe's is too touristy, but for me that's part of the fun).

Hirozen - Delicious Japanese. Cucumber sunumono salad. Yum. 8385 Beverly Blvd, Los Angeles, 90048

Thai Elvis at the Palms -one of my favorite restaurants anywhere. A Thai Elvis impersonator sings nightly. The food is spicy and delicious.

Chung King in Monterey Park - double spicy and double delicious and you get to check out Monterrey Park.

Ktown Restaurants - I particularly
love the Prince @ 3198 1/2 W Seventh for it's lounge lizard off-kilter oddness.

Nanbankan on Santa Monica Blvd (a few blocks past the 405) - My #1 favorite restaurant in LA. People come from Japan for the bacon wrapped asparagus.

And if you want more good eats, pick up Jonathan Gold's Counter Intellegence: Where to Eat in the Real LA. It, and the associated column in the LA Weekly, are indispensable starting points for diving into LA's culinary stew. He writes about food with such enthusiasm that I inevitably would find myself heading out on an adventure after reading his reports.

FUN STUFF

Free brunch at the Police Academy in Elysian Park on Sundays

Catalina Island - Often overlooked, but a a fun day or overnight trip.

Magic Castle - Where all the kids who wanted to be magicans (and some actual magicians) hang out.

Museum of Jurrassic Technology

Horse Riding in Griffith Park

Black Facts & Wax Museum- 3742 W. Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd., Los Angeles, Telephone: 323.299.8829 call to make sure they are open, but don't miss this.

Moonlight Rollerway in Glendale - 5110 San Fernando Road, Glendale, CA 91204-1006

Marty and Elaine - Still cool despite their popularity.

Naked Trucker at Largo

Steve Allen Theater

Silent Movie on Fairfax - Try to catch some Buster Keaton.

Watts Towers

Hollywood Forever Cemetery

Forest Lawn Cemetery

RoseBowl Swap Meet 2nd Sunday of every month

Barbata's Steak House 20001 Ventura Woodland Hills 91634 818-340-5914; geriatric swing band on Fridays and Saturdays. Dancing 9-2a

The Derby - Non geriatric swing

Club Los Globos - 3040 W Sunset Blvd, This place will blow your mind. Dress sharp. Be prepared to dance.

SEEDY BUT WONDERFUL

Cindy Club Thai Restaurant - (4273 Beverly Blvd., Koreatown, 323-906-1640)

La Lucha Libre - In East LA you can sometimes find Lucha Libre matches fought in parking lots and backyards. Ask around the Luchaworld boards to find out where/when.

This is Jenn's grandfather in a photo from this date, October 20th, 1958. He was a translator in the military (both Korean and American) for much of his young life before emigrating to the states in the 70's. He looks pretty much the same today, a bit smaller perhaps, but the same bearing. He misses his wife terribly and talks to her every time he visits her grave. Breaks your heart.

The third act of last week's This American Life (Real Audio) brought tears to my eyes. The accents of the people interviewed might sound foreign to some of you, but they are the accents of everyone I grew up with. As usual This American Life's reporters got right to the heart of the story.

especially when this is on the ipod.

[An interactive Flash feature on dn.se was embedded here; it is no longer available.]

One of my favorite photoblogs, Myopic.us has been full of compelling images lately... If you're not already a fan, click over there.

It's pouring rain here in NY.

At about 4:00 I was in a cab in lower Manhattan.

The scene: A wall street guy is jaywalking through the slowly moving traffic. He runs from behind a bus in front of a cab and almost gets hit. Totally his fault, but he stops in the middle of the road, flips off the driver and starts cursing at the top of his lungs... The driver silently takes it but steams. My driver is also upset at the injustice of it all. Eventually the man cools down moves on and up the street.

Traffic clears a bit and the cab in question spots a large deep puddle, speeds up, and manages to plant the entire contents on the wall street guy.... a large arcing wave of muddy water... Now the man is literally hopping mad. Indeed he is jumping up and down in an apoplectic rage. My own driver looks back at me, gives me a little smile, and hits the gas giving the guy a second dousing. He chuckles to himself all the way over the Brooklyn Bridge.

Ahhh. New York. Gotta love it.

My flickr favorites. Good stuff in there.

Somehow it is almost 2am again. Try though I might I never seem to be able to get to bed before 3. It has been this way for a very long time. As a kid I would play possum until my parents were safely downstairs, construct a decoy with pillows and read under the bed with a flashlight. Later it was Letterman back in his first seasons. I would watch on a small black and white television set with the volume very very low and stifling my laughs with a pillow, later still I would sneak down to my Apple //e clicking away and connecting to far away BBSes. And there was one of the great joys of my adolescence: the late night listen to the full album (while wearing big headphones of course) in a darkened room. Long evening phone calls with girls came around junior year in high school and made me forget music and computers and everything else for a while...

In college, well it was college... and nobody ever sleeps. I tried to never schedule classes before 11 in the morning to compensate.

Then in those giddy first years in NY it was Elsie's Oke Doke Pub, a speakeasy run by the 80 year old Elsie Rene-an anachronistic little bar where the most recent song on the jukebox was 30 years old. Elsie often wouldn't open her doors until midnight and even then the place wouldn't get going until 2 or 3 (the truth is the doors were never open, she only let you in if she knew you). We would sit at the bar together sipping Jagermeisters ("It's medicinal," she would say, "full of herbs. Sip it.") as she told me stories of New York in the 30's and 40's. The entire geography of her life was contained in just a few blocks of Yorkville and after a few drinks she would always launch into tales too tall to be fiction. I would stop by virtually every night and eventually my picture hung on the wall. One of my great disappointments on moving back to the city last year was walking up 84 street and finding the place shuttered and dark.

Now of course there is a baby who fills so much of the day that many of the things I should be doing do get pushed until he is asleep and the house is quiet. It is very quiet now. I should get back to work.

I am headed to bed, but before nodding off I thought I would fill my head with a bit of Neruda, actually picking up a book, instead of scanning the usual internet dreck. I always say I don't understand poetry (and secretly think most of it is unreadable), but Neruda's words always wash over me and make me feel the beauty and sadness of the world all balled up together with impossible grace. His poetry also reminds me of my courtship with Jenn and that long hot summer when we first met... he was always my secret weapon...

Anyway, a bit of Neruda is a nice way woo someone... and if you've found that someone, it's a nice way ease yourself into dreamland. Goodnight all.