The absence of presence of posts on this here blog of mine has been due to the fact that the raging fires  in Los Angeles have literally engulfed my life.  I woke up both Friday and Saturday in the wee hours of the morning because the horrid smell of smoke had managed to penetrate throughout my entire house.  From 4 a.m onwards, I couldn’t go back to sleep, a phenomenon confirmed by my neighbor who also woke up at the same time.

It wasn’t until another neighbor across the street came to knock on our door early Saturday afternoon that I realized the capacity of these fires, especially when all I had to do was walk out to my driveway and see this:

Oh my God. Fire behind my house.

Stay calm. Stay calm.

A quick browsing of all local news channels revealed nothing, everyone was preoccupied with the funeral of Ted Kennedy, which was fine – the man deserves it, but suddenly hours started going by and houses were severely threatened by this fire raging literally in my backyard and beyond and no single channel was on it. So I turned to what I usually turn to in situations where I need information fast: print and online. The Los Angeles Times, LAist and the various Twitter accounts of fire departments and city officials came to the rescue. Broadcast journalism got a big fat FAIL.

Then a journalistic instinct hit me pretty hard. I barely had time to grab everything I needed and head out the door. I decided I was going to go firechasing.  It didn’t matter that I had to be ready in an hour for an event I was covering, I had to go. I drove around La Crescenta for about 45 minutes, going up to areas near Briggs Avenue that hadn’t been sealed off yet.

I saw deer and coyote escaping the fire, and more people on the streets of Los Angeles than I had ever seen before – some with cameras, others with their pets, all watching in awe as the mountains violently burned in the visible distance. Near an area closer to the fire, residents hosed down their roofs while police directed traffic.

The air was thick with plumes of gray smoke – ashes strewn on every which way you can imagine.

It got out of control enough that a few of my relatives were evacuated and came to spend some time with us. I decided I wasn’t taking any chances and packed up a few bags just in case. On my drive to Burbank later that night, the fires were glowing, completely out of place in the night sky.

On Sunday the fire had pretty much doubled in size and as I write this (Monday, August 31, 2009), the fire has doubled again from Sunday, having destroyed around 87,500 acres.

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No Los Angeles summer is complete without a fire and this week, we not only got one, not two, but FOUR.

A fire in the Angeles National Forest, literally a hop, skip and a jump from my house was set ablaze today, a sight I could see 35 miles away in Santa Monica.

Isn’t the photo above quintessential Los Angeles? Palm trees, freeway, cars. Oh yea, and a brush fire.

I was halfway home before I realized that I was literally driving into the fire. As I got closer, the thick gray cloud gave way to a orange fiery blaze underneath. It looked like Los Angeles had transformed into Dante’s Inferno. It was something out of dreams really. I don’t think I have ever been that close to a fire and when I saw it up close, I noticed that the fire was the exact visual interpretation of what I felt when I saw that hot mess Heidi Montag snatch Britney Spears’ retired costume from an MTV performance eons ago and shimmy on stage at the Miss Universe pageant to words and sounds which I would prefer NOT to refer to as a “song.”

Here’s to hoping these fires are contained as soon as possible.

I have a confession to make. I’ve lived in Los Angeles practically my entire life and though I have visited downtown on occasion, I never saw much of the beauty in it as I should have, that is until I saw 500 Days of Summer.  Unconsciously, that was probably the inspiration of our little downtown adventure. We could have taken the metro to another locale, but downtown Los Angeles, with all its grittiness, history  and renewed interest seemed like the perfect place to spend a Sunday afternoon, and being someone who loves old, good, things, Clifton’s Cafeteria was just the right place to start.

I know what you might be thinking. Why would you go to eat there? Clifton’s it seems, doesn’t have the best reputation concerning their food. I’ll tell you why I went  – because you don’t go to Clifton’s because you’re hungry and in need of some elitist four-course meals to savor your appetite. You go there for the atmosphere, the people, the kitschy-coolness of it all and if you can’t get past the taste of the food to see all that, well then I don’t know what to tell you. Go to a swanky restaurant on Sunset and call it a day.  Let’s move on to the green jello.

Yes there’s jello. Lot’s of it. This particular one above is a pear jello, but there were all sorts of flavors, including a “cheese jello” that looked a bit strange. Clifton’s also has bread pudding, fruit salad, tapioca – you name it, they got it. They’re also quite the creative bunch, as evidenced by the vegetable swan/duck below.

Beyond the desserts and salads, you find enchiladas and turkey breast and meat loaf and all the macaroni and cheese you can eat. Candy colored beverages, in flavors such as watermelon, mango and lemonade line the end of your journey as you make your way to the counter to pay. It’s only when you’ve gotten a handle on your food that you begin to notice the decor of Clifton’s.

It looks like the home of a hunter who decided he couldn’t fathom being away from the forest during off-season, so he did the next best thing: brought the wilderness into his home. There are moose heads and bass hanging in various places around the cafeteria, along with a fireplace and various objects on the wall – it’s like Elmer Fudd’s mothership, but that makes for a more interesting time and conversation.

After Clifton’s, it was time to wander around, hopefully do some shopping and waste time before we had to be back home. Because Los Angeles is so huge, you tend to forget what else it has to offer beyond the 10-mile radius you live in. It’s just waiting to be explored, there are so many interesting parts of this city that go unnoticed because someone happens to live in Santa Monica and it’s just too much hassle to drive beyond the 405, a sentiment that is probably echoed in the other direction by  your average Valley dweller.

The Orpheum Theatre above opened in 1926 and was a popular venue for the Marx Brothers, Judy Garland as well as Ella Fitzgerald and Duke Ellington. I mean, Ella Fitzgerald was in Los Angeles, in the same building, decades and decades ago – that just blows my mind.

The buildings below make up the famous Santee Alley, known for its fashion and furnshings you can score at affordable prices.

By the end of the day we were tired, but the 20 minute ride back home was calming, except for the girl who went on endlessly about how other people shouldn’t be blaming her for being more successful than them. I guess the cost of public transportation is annoying people, but you take what you can get.

More photos here.

Taking public transportation in Los Angeles is an anomaly.  This 498.3 square mile city’s driving force is the car . Because of this, the metro is often ignored, under funded and unexplored. Beyond the concrete jungle that spans the entirety of L.A., there’s a rapid transit system that spans about 73 miles of rail and has five lines: Blue, Red, Green, Gold and Purple.

Though a rail system is synonymous with a major, metropolitan area, the people of Los Angeles had this crazy idea in 1963 to close down all streetcar lines in favor of using cars on the freeway system. This action, as you can guess, helped created one of the most traffic-congested cities in the country. in the 80s, a measure was passed for a half-cent sales tax increase to rebuild the metro and light rail lines, with the Blue Line opening in 1990, with subsequent lines opening later. Amazingly, the Red and Purple lines averaged a weekday ridership of 153,928 by June 2008, making it the ninth busiest rapid system in the U.S.

Having always been fascinated by the metro system in other cities I’ve visited like New York and London, and since I seem to spend quite a majority of my waking time in the car, taking the L.A metro had been on my mind for a while and this Sunday, the opportunity presented itself. With a True Blood episode to catch at night, we set off to downtown in the afternoon, starting off at the Lake Ave. stop in Pasadena.

Let’s talk about the ticketing system of the Los Angeles metro system: it works on an honor system. AN HONOR SYSTEM, meaning, there are no turnstiles, no little machines you insert your ticket in before you can get through, no regulation. Basically, THEY TRUST US. Big mistake. Huge mistake. We  could have not bought tickets and have managed to get home and back on a free trip, in fact we saw many people that did just that.

Ticket barriers are coming, however it is estimated that the Metro loses 5.5 million a year because of this method.

The trains were really clean, with cushion seats and the most eclectic bunch of people you could have imagined, accurately reflecting all sectors of L.A. One of the major reasons I’ve always loved public transportation is because you can feel the heart beat of the city within its system – everyone with somewhere to be, someone to meet or something to see, everyone with one specific aim, shared by their mutual journey. It’s a lovely feeling, one that this city severely lacks. In L.A., everyone is a lone soldier, in their own car, after their own priorities – we even lack the proper patience for pedestrians.

After taking the Gold Line, we arrived in Union Station, opened in 1939 and known as the “Last of the Great Railway Stations” built in the U.S.

It’s a lovely place that makes you feel transported to the 40s. Serene and quiet, the most you hear there are the footsteps of travelers hurrying by with their families or luggage to get from one place to the next.

When we finally arrived in downtown, the sign below was the first thing that caught my eye. I wish all newsstands, however many there are left anyway, looked like that.

The blue building on the left is the Eastern Columbia Building. Opened in 1930, the Art Deco building housed clothing and furniture stores until it turned into condominiums that opened in 2006.

Our first order of business was Clifton’s Cafeteria, another Los Angeles landmark, that was recently in line to be sold, due to declining profits. Part deux of the exploration of a different side of Los Angeles coming tomorrow.

First, it was “Vicky Cristina Barcelona.” Then the insatiable sounds of Paco de Lucia. Then, it was the slew of books on Catalonia that caught by eye today at Barnes & Noble. I don’t know what it is, but it seems like Barcelona has been calling out my name for a few weeks. Of course, I can understand why – It wasn’t only where I officially met my boyfriend some 6 years ago, it was also the first destination on my traveling agenda since I made an official “places to go” list in high school.

by moriza

It’s a gorgeous, vibrant city that’s full of life, even at 2 a.m. where the streets are still bustling with people enjoying a stroll or having sangria at their favorite cafe. You feel the passion pumping through its veins, in the buildings, in the people, in the food. I loved it there, so it wasn’t a surprise when we both decided to visit again a few years later.

Though we stayed at a hotel the first time around, we decided to go the more authentic route and rent an apartment for almost two weeks the second time. It was tucked away on an ancient street, up a few flights of stairs, with the most vintage looking door lock I had ever seen, but it was gorgeous – perfect for a young couple.

by alexcastella

We saw the Sagrada Familia by Gaudi, spent time at the Barcelona Zoo, had breakfast at Bracafe on Ronda Sant Antoni, had lunch at Ovni, shopped at Bershka and went online at Bornet.

I remember La Rambla and little white bunnies being sold, street performers and content tourists. At the end of La Rambla, near Port Vell – the Christopher Columbus monument and a swap meet that we would never forget, full of the kind of ancient knick knacks you could only dream of finding in the States.  I remember sitting by the coast, with a bag of sweets from the Mercat La Boqueria (below) enough for two to share.

by uriba

It was full of the kind of candy assortment I loved – sour belts, gummy worms, everything that’s so bad it’s good. I placed the bag between us, and chewed away at a worm while watching the water sway back and forth, as if it was dancing to Spanish guitar music. He reached down in the bag and pulled out a gummy heart. I held one end and he held the other as it split down the middle, a piece for each. We didn’t need to talk. We just sat there together, eating, occasionally puckering up at the jolt of flavor from the sour belts. We were just being, and it was nice.

by brokurdotnet

I can’t describe the type of gravitational pull Barcelona has. It only makes sense to say that it changes you, it lets you breathe and let go of “rush, rush, rush” mentality that we’re so used to in the U.S and especially in Los Angeles. “Just relax, just live and let live,” Barcelona says. “Stay up till 2 a.m, here – have some sangria while you’re at it, be creative and most of all, love your life.”

Of course, Barcelona, like any city doesn’t remain unscathed from criticism. It gets hot and humid – a disaster scenario for the hair of most women. It has its seedy parts and part of the reason why I don’t have any of my own photos for this post is because our camera was stolen while we were browsing in an internet cafe.

I haven’t experienced quite the same feeling of being in Barcelona elsewhere. It’s different. It lets your mind flourish – perfect for a writer or artist. It allows you to stop and really absorb all that’s going on around you, and that’s a quality that I will forever appreciate in this city.

by aikijuanma

Last week I made a quick run to the super market after I got home from what seemed like a day of work that knew no end. It was a hot Southern California evening. The sun was slowly sinking into the horizon and as per usual, I was nearing negative digits in my “how good do you feel about your self today” percentage meter. I usually start the day off feeling around 70 percent, 80 if I’m lucky – but by the time my makeup wears away, I start to feel uncomfortable in my clothes and my hair becomes more and more frazzled, the plunge into dangerously low numbers is inevitable.

On this evening, my hair was pretty frazzled. As anyone with Middle Eastern descent knows, our hair is not suited to all kinds of weather. We pine after the straight, thin hair of our American/English/Swedish counterparts, all the while struggling to tame the lion’s mane on our heads. Sure, our waves and curls and thick like-rope-strands hair are envied, but when you go to a supposedly highly qualified stylist, and she suggests cutting channels in your hair, then makes you look like a china doll, but not before charging you an extra $25 because you have thick/long hair, you start to get a bit tired.

I drove into the parking lot, got out of the car and reluctantly went to pick up the few things on my list. I didn’t spend a lot of time in there, and I know this because usually I will glance into every single isle, trying to invent a million things I think I need, therefore justifying the money I’d like to spend on it, before I move on to the baking section, where I ooh and ahh about the spices, the beautifully chopped nuts, the cookie cutters, the molds! Oh the molds! And the marzipan! I must have the marzipan!

When I came back to my car, it wasn’t until I had backed out of my parking space when I realized that someone had covertly placed a 3 x 5 card securely in my window wiper. Oh God, I thought, it must either be a postcard telling me to see the light and praise Jesus or some coupons for a restaurant I’ve never heard of or seen in my life. In the two minutes it took to pull into my driveway, I pondered the possibilities.

Lo and behold, it wasn’t about repenting or discounts, it was something far more dangerous.

“NEW Keratin Smoothing Treatment. Tames frizz and curls for sleek, more manageable hair! Introductory price of $175 ($75 savings).”

At first glance, I didn’t think much of it, but then I began to realize that some rogue stylist maven had been camping out in that parking lot, just waiting for the next frazzly, wavy haired girl to come along, so that she could try enticing her to tame her hair, one keratin smoothing treatment at a time.

Internet, I was being targeted.

It was a ploy, a ploy to turn every girl who dares to wear her wavy, unstyled hair to the super market into a stick straight salon hair clone, like the model on the card who has staring at me, naked, with cascading straight brown locks falling past her shoulder.

Oh, Liana, you say. Get over yourself. Surely, this was just a mass produced card put on every car’s window in that parking structure.

Orly?

I sincerely beg to differ. This is not a universal service. It’s not for men or women with straight hair, therefore, for someone to put these cards randomly on every car would really be a waste of time and energy. No, a smart stylist would stake out a hiding place and carefully maneuver her cards on the vehicles where she felt the driver’s hair was in need of a frizz tame because of her unmanageable hair.

And that person, on this lovely day, happened to be me.

As I type, I’ve finally ripped that card in half, after hanging on to it so I can share its beautiful prose with you all.

So, dear stylist, dear salon – thank you, but no. I do not want, nor do I need (contrary to what you may think) a smoothing treatment. I like my hair for the most part, in all its wild glory. And you know what? If I want to make a run to the supermarket with my hair in its (gasp!) natural state, I will it. How’s that for a smoothing treatment?

I have an affinity for cover songs. I like the way they make me hear the same music in a new way, help me to appreciate the person singing them and just add a bit of flavor to a played out song. Of course, there are also a lot of bad cover songs, which you can read all about here, but I’m feeling extraordinarily generous today, probably due to the more than 5 hours of sleep I got and the fact that Los Angeles doesn’t feel like the surface of the sun at the moment, so let’s concentrate on the good.

• The Bird and the Bee – Don’t Stop the Music

This isn’t the first time Rihanna’s songs have received the cover treatment; Mandy Moore came out an infectious version of her hit “Umbrella” (ella, ella, ella) a while back, but its amazing what Don’t Stop the Music sounds like without the heavy beats and typical pop-infused background music.

• Zee Avi – First of the Gang

I’ve written about how much I love Zee Avi before, but the fact that she’s covered a Morrissey song and given it an entirely new flavor, makes her solid in my book.

• Nouvelle Vague – Our Lips are Sealed

Nouvelle Vague is known for their covers and this Go-Go’s classic is on their 3rd album, simply titled “3.” Maybe it’s the fact that I’m partial to 80s female pop singers and groups, or that this version doesn’t sound so brash, but rather allows you to just melt down with it – this is especially nice when you’re dealing with miles and miles of traffic.

• Adele – Last Nite

Oh Adele. What can I say about you that I haven’t already. In short, I love your music. If I ever have the guts to sing or write songs, I imagine that I would sound a lot like you. The thing about Adele is that there is absolutely no difference in listening to her pre-recorded album songs and seeing her live – she is the same, meaning she’s amazing, either way. Her voice has this rare quality that I just can’t put my finger on, and it manages to turn this Strokes song into something more than extraordinary.

• She & Him -  Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want

I like Zooey Deschanel. A lot. I’m starting to like M Ward a lot. Together as She & Him, I’d say they’re pretty cool, especially when they’re covering The Smiths for such a delightful and quirky film as 500 Days of Summer, which you must see – put down the remote and stop watching VH1 and get yourself to a theatre, you won’t regret it.

• Morrissey – Moon River

I don’t think I really need to explain this one – anytime you combine two of my favorite things – Morrissey and Breakfast at Tiffany’s, you know I’m sold. Morrissey’s voice has so much longing, so much sadness in this song, that I can’t help but love it.

• Les Nubians – Tabou (Roots Remix)

Again, two of my favorite things – smooth melodies from Les Nubians, coupled with a Sade song, in French! All I need is a warm breeze and tea lights and the mood seems perfect.

Clearly, this list is incomplete and ends at an odd number, so forgive me. I’m sure I’ll be back with more, but for now, I’d love to hear some suggestions.