Part III (but fourth in the series)

On Thursday I walked around Hollywood. Stopping off in the Hollywood Forever Cemetery (they show films there every Saturday night... maybe only in the summer, or just in June... you look into it, I couldn't make it). 

They have peacocks patrolling the place. Squawking and honking their ways around the grounds. Regal, but eerie, especially their cries punctuating the chirps and tweets of the small brown birds.

There are some gaudy monuments around here. Lacquered black and reminiscent of a baby grand's shine.


How strange it would be to have a grave marked and waiting for you. C'mon Death? My bed's getting cold. The hours have slipped into years, and here I am, waiting still.


I bet Emily Dickinson had a waiting grave. She was probably terrified by it, too, and that's why it consumed her words as well as her soul.


I'm not a fan of this quote I see before me, "Blessed are the poor in spirit for they shall see God." Why only the poor? Why not the rich? Will they not be rewarded with His grace? Or is it just a case of context, or lack thereof?


I did, however, enjoy Joey Ramone's grave. A statue of him wailing on his guitar and a quote about measuring success in life with great friends, and then six quotes from famous friends sharing their love of the man.

Fay Wray? Made me think of this awful and stupidly poptastic song.

The portraits on the graves are unsettling. Onward to L. Hubbard Way and his church of Scientology. Bum bum bummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Yeah, I went to there.

Again, it was something else. All razzmatazz and jazz hands, but lacking in any actual information as to what the beliefs are. Where's the stuff about the space ships and paying to become a higher member? All "we're here to save the world from itself and drugs." and none of "Zor is the king and I will fly in the sky with him when I die." I left in frustration before I could ask any of the black pantsed, white shirted cult member how they got started and which way to the spaceship. Oy. That latter part wouldn't have been appropriate.

That evening, Katie, Wes and I went to Merkato, a tasty Ethiopian restaurant. 

Then Katie and I headed downtown to check out the Art Walk (something that goes on the second Thursday of the month). It was so crowded which wasn't the most fun to navigate through or find parking, but excellent for people watching. 

A bottle of wine and whispers in the living room, so as not to disturb her roomies, finished off the night.

Friday finished the trip with a walk down touristy Hollywood to Grauman's for a Penguin pic. Of course!

On the walk back to Katie's, an Italian couple mistook me for a local and asked me for directions. Surprisingly I did know the general direction that they were to go in, so I explained my truth and pointed them in the right way as best I could. Smiling at the thought of my apparent chameleon-ness as I walked away.
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Again, it was so lovely to see all my friends happy and healthy and doing things they wanted to do, but I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness, especially with my Chicago friends since living in LA will make it kind of hard for them to live in Chicago also. Life keeps moving even when you can't see it's progress first-hand. I suppose it's always going to be this way.

Being home has been strange in seeing that nothing has changed except for everything. Aging is a phenomenon I have yet to grasp. I'm reminded of meeting a gentleman at a Chicago Dramatist 2008 Holiday Party, he told me that no one knows what they're doing, they just get better at pretending the older they get. Hmmm. Food for thought.
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Thanks for all your hospitality and an amazing re-introduction to America, LAers. I missed some things the first go around, so I'm sure I'll be back.