(sigh)

b

Let ME take you next time– we’ll head over to the Max Factor Museum (little rooms labeled “For Redheads Only”, and “For Blondes Only”– 40’s Superluxe… dripping with caste and sex)…

Next up is the Motion Picture Archive (I’m not sure if that is the Official title–Google, Brother!) at UCLA, an ugly little series of caged rooms that have things, like, ummm, early “Blade Runner” script drafts, Erte designs for 30’s musicals, treatments and fragments from Arlen to Everybody Else. Call ahead to get a pass. Schmooze the bored Grad Assistants to get to the Good Stuff. Drool. Repeat.

Then we’ll pop into the Los Angeles County Museum Of Art (LACMA) for its permanent collection of mid-20th century American masters— upscale tokens and little gems that define this uniquely Western (i.e. adamantly NON-East, NON-NYC) society (I’m thinking Pene Du Bois’ smudgy evocations of Mestizo storefronts and neighborhoods and those fab Stuart Davis “Burning Gas Stations”– compare those with, say, Eddy Hopper’s East Coast ennui– so much more the formalist egg-head and stuffy in comparison…) Must See: Ed Ruscha’s “Guacamole Air Lines” is, to my mind, the most California mindset ever put to canvas. So Zen, so empty, soooo El Lay.

We’ve done The Industry Thang, We’ve done the Artsy Thang. We’re hungry. Which means we head to Cantor’s Deli off Fairfax.
I’ve seen EVERYBODY here (I used to spend about 5 hours a day here in the 80’s when I lived but two blocks away) and you will too—IF you arrive late. After shows close or sets are done or shoots are wrapped, say, after one AM, you will be cheek by jowl with tubloads of b-listers and a smattering of a-listers.
You MUST ORDER THE MATZO-BALL SOUP.
Gawking, discreetly, is ok.
The best seats are the naugahyde banquettes in the back room, near the restrooms–you can perch and stalk best there…

When can we go guys?

Brad