Last weekend a friend and I drove down to San Diego to watch Southern California’s largest Hip-Hop dance competition, Fusion. For the ninth year, MASA (Multi-Asian Student Association) and 220 (Second to None) hosted the event at the University of California, San Diego. MASA’s main goal is to “bring together different communities through Hip-Hop dance and cultural exhibitions.”
In 1956, Los Angeles got a new zoo. Instead of bulldozing the old one, which had already been falling into dilapidation, they simply cleared out the cages - most of the animals had already died from malnutrition anyway - and left it there.
Today, the old zoo has become a picnic area in Griffith Park. You can barbeque where a bear might have once snoozed, stand in what may have been a monkey cage that has a gorgeous view of downtown Glendale and walk up the cold and claustrophobic stone staircases that zookeepers 30 years ago probably used to bring food to lions. Now, the zoo displays the signs of decades-old neglect: there's the human feces in the back corners of the caves, the creepy graffiti of a black and white face that greets you behind rusted iron bars at the top of the clammy stairway and the small, deteriorating building covered in corrugated sheet metal whose closet has now become the home of a swarming beehive - perhaps the only exhibit of "animals" that remains.
Several years ago one night, two of my friends discovered an abandoned military station off the winding Mulholland Drive. They raved about how they stumbled upon super secret territory and that they were chased away by guards upon entry. We imagined elaborate conspiracies about the city of Los Angeles and its attempt to hide the remnants of WWII and the Cold War in its deep, dark past. By day, however, the place is not much of a secret.
For the second day I found myself in the forecourt of Grauman's Chinese Theater looking for some interesting, little-known and slightly twisted Hollywood factoid to write about. I went there to photograph the only set of footprints made by a non-celebrity, one Charles Nelson, who, in 1949 won the privilege of placing his footprints among those of the stars by winning a talent contest put on by Sid Grauman. While this fact is vaguely interesting, I was looking for something a bit juicier, like the story of the embittered lesbian who, throughout the '60s, was reported to have sneaked up and urinated in Shirley Temple's footprints in the wee hours of the morning...no pun intended.
When visitors to the famed front of Grauman's Chinese Theatre ask to snap a photo, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore (sans Harry Potter) responds in a kindly soft English accent with, "We do pose for tips, you know."
A dollar or two is offered up, a couple photos are shot and both parties are equally satisfied: parents walk away with gleaming children, and Dumbledore's rent gets closer to being paid.
You know what life needs? Let me tell you.
I'm in the process of moving, so right now I'm sitting on a bare floor waiting for the Time-Warner cable guy to show up (between the hours of 1 p.m. and 4 p.m.) and legitimize my existence...at least to the extent that he can.
