Los Angeles, Where Madness Is Common

I cannot quite sum up the trip to Los Angeles in a practical matter except that it was a combination of madness and learning experiences. First and foremost the reason we came there was for the ASCAP Expo, held in the heart of crazyville Hollywood which I'll sum up as follows:

As neither a musician nor songwriter, I immediately felt out of place through the entire expo. I must say that despite the shameless self-promotion of a few individuals, I met some very amazing artists who shared with me stories, hardships, and inspirations as musicians. Still the best part of the Expo were the ASCAP Panelists who were extremely diverse... ranging from congressmen, lawyers, publishers, famous songwriters, and musicians (such as Heart, Jeff Lynne, Richard Marx, and many others). Despite being surrounded by musicians as friends, I never knew the real business model of how they work on promotion, earning money, and the various resources out there to protect their rights. I learned the basics of copyright laws, etiquette of reaching out to producers and decision makers, and the most interesting of them all how established songwriters made it where they are. Often times coming from a business background, I complain that despite my academic achievements, it really does come down to who you know to boost your career. In the music world, it's achievement, who you know, where you are, and most importantly PURE LUCK. That's got to be rough.
Some of the most memorable moments from the Expo included the interview with Richard Marx, who wrote "Right Here Waiting", describing his coming to fame being so ironic that it was literally like a plotline for a movie. After explaining his rise to fame, the history behind the song, and what it means to him now, he decided to perform the song and encouraged the audience to sing with him. Now keep in mind it was a room full of performer / songwriters and when the chorus came in, beautiful harmonious singing filled the room. I started crying a little.
Some other memorable moments included Heart's interview where they actually performed some of their songs, completely spot-on with those distinct voices still holding steady from the recording years ago. It made me want to quit smoking forever. Jeff Lynne was the most entertaining interview of all. What a character! (and yes, he had on sunglasses). Although I found the interview and panelist portions of the Expo most informative, I got goosebumps at seeing these and other songwriters perform their own work with such passion all the while being very humble. I realize that I love the company of musicians because not only do you have to be humorous in this industry (because let's face it, NO ONE can take themselves too seriously), but I find myself with no musical talent in complete awe and respect not only of the talent in which they perform their work but the passion and love they have for what they do. I wish I had that sometimes...

Outside the Expo...
We found an awesome watering hole in LA called the Powerhouse right in the middle of Hollywood that we frequented between sessions and at night. The place held quite the combination of characters. In Texas style, we ended our welcome the last night when Christine punched someone in the chest for touching her boob.

Every day I walked past crazy drunken pirate and superman characters that danced around front of the Chinese Theater. To save money, we ended up staying at a hostel down the street, which was a new experience for me. We shared a matchbox-sized room with three strangers in bunkbeds, some with questionable sanity... We moved rooms after a sour confrontation with a bunk-mate who had a manuscript on her bed reading "In 2135, madness was common. Murder was rampant, and she was hungry for more" and seeing a blood-stained pillow on her bed. A, how does one say, over-zealous young man who had a fascination with me ended up checking into the place and following me around to which I was flattered but eventually quite terrified. Needless to say when the time came we checked out as soon as we could.

Christine had rented a mustang, or in her words a "status car" which we ended up taking some wild rides through Muhulland Drive, up and down Sunset, pulling all sorts of illegal maneuvers that only Christine could get away with. At one point we were buzzing in and out of oncoming traffic to catch up to some characters driving in a vintage Cadillac who motioned us to follow them to this place called Jumbo Clown Room, a go-go bar frequented by famous people like Iggy Pop and David Lynch. They were absolutely crazy, like Ron Jeremy-type doctors, accountants, and fashion designers with lots of money and absolutely no respect for personal body space. We got a picture with their car and bolted.

Sunday was a beautiful day and being still drunk, it made the terrible encounter in the morning more bearable. We checked out befor over-zealous man could stalk us and got to the Griffith Observatory then to meet some friends at the Getty, a beautiful hilltop museum with the most gorgeous view in Los Angeles. We had lunch and walked the gardens and photography exhibits and upon coming up some escalators stalker boy was there, with a stern upset look on his face wondering why his 'new friends' ditched him then somehow finding where we were. We managed the situation and escaped. It was such a beautiful day for such strange encounters. With a few hours to waste we hit Venice Beach, Christine's old stomping grounds where we ran into the truly colorful characters of Los Angeles... crazy artists, drum circles, beach bums, punks, and gay bodybuilders. We had a few drinks and watched the people then hauled ass to the airport for our late night flight. I shared my flight with the entire TCU Baseball team and Jessica Simpson & Tony Romo. Interesting indeed!

I've spent the last days recovering and giggling to myself about the adventure. I'd like to return again for a longer more sedated visit perhaps. A little less bar-fights, creepy stalking, and crazy driving. That was my taste for L.A. Don't think I could ever move there. I've come to the realization the town is meant for ecclectic social individuals who depend on standing out among peers to make connections through crazy antics, clothing, and rarely extreme intelligence. I would love to visit again, but in a long long time from now.

Hehehehe... anyone can be a star.

Route 66 and the Wild Wild West

I wish I was talented enough to express the beauty of the Texas panhandle and the New Mexico mountains but I cannot. This vacation was a feast for the eyes and there is definitely something very theraputic about miles and miles of open land and the hospitality of people in small towns who thrive on visitors. Here's a quick recap of my trip.

I headed out Thursday towards Amarillo. Like the majority of the trip it was just me, the open road, some good music, and the trucks. I always wonder if truck drivers separate themselves from the drive. They are paid to go across the nation yet cannot make the frequent stops out of curiousity. I explored this amazing junk yard, stopped and got a bit drunk at the , pulled off to explore some beautiful broken down factories. I must have seen over a dozen signs for my destination that evening, The Big Texan, claiming a free 72-ounce steak, free limosine services to the restaurant, and the ridiculously themed motel. If I hadn't read up on the history of the place, I'd say it's the definition of a tourist trap.


The next morning I headed into the restaurant for some coffee and a Texas waffle. I've never seen so many Stetsons before noon. The restaurant is huge and the smoking section was right up near the entrance, where I shared it with a young french couple drinking black coffee and wearing matching black cowboy hats, a truck driver with a gigantic plate of bacon, and of course my server Rachel, who hovered over me the majority of the morning telling me the most interesting stories.

There must be something about having a camera and being alone: people suspect you're out to document something incredible. She had worked there for 15 years and I noticed quite the aggitation in her voice when telling about the fact that she's never been allowed enough vacation time to travel. Almost reaching 60, she'd never left the state of Texas even. We discussed photography and her many encounters with famous people there, like the time the Munchkins from the Wizard of Oz visited. By the end of my small breakfast, I was buzzing from the coffee that she poured steadily while talking but she insisted I took a cup to go.

I visited the Ozymandias Legs and did a quick photoshoot. Seeing photographs of them I thought they would have been much bigger than they were. Perhaps the fact that they are in the middle of nowhere makes them seem like such a presence. Written at the base was an interesting quote "I'm just a soul whose intentions are good..." I then headed out to Cadillac Ranch where I was almost sickened by the smell of cow shit. Cow patties surrounded the vehicles, some even humorously spray painted on. The smell was so overwhelming I couldn't stay long. Although there were no other tourists there that day, a hroup of young hippie men were out with trashbags collecting the hundreds of empty spray paint cans, all the while making a chorus of clinging aluminum in the otherwise quiet field. I spray painted a small section of a car pink, stenciled a fleur de lis, and wrote a few things before heading off to New Mexico.

The drive into New Mexico was painfully boring so I ended up pulling off at almost every small city along the way, photographing old motel signs and stops along the Route 66. After many road trips I've always been fascinated by wind turbines and in Tucumcari there was a whole Wind Energy Institute. What do you know, there was a wind turbine in the parking lot! I went up and hugged it because it was the closest I've ever been to one. Like mirages, you see wind turbines in the distance but never get close. It was very intimidating.

The wind was almost unbearable to drive in but I continued. I must have massacred a dozen tumbleweeds along the way. I decided to plant myself in Albuquerque for the night at a cheap Day's Inn. The next morning I ventured out to the biggest mountain on the horizon, not knowing the weather conditions or the way to get there. Fuck it, why not. I ended up going for 12 miles up a windy steep road to Sandia Peak, right near the radio towers for Albuquerque radio stations. I was listening to an oldies station at the time blasting "Roots of Rock": doo-wop, country, and old elvis tunes. Pretty awesome station. The peak was like another world... the wind gusts were 50 mph, the temperature never got above 20 degrees, and the view of the desert basin was nothing I'd ever seen before. I saw a trail to go hiking on but about 100 meters in it was nothing but 5-6 inches of thick slick snow so I turned around. I saw, I conquered.

I decided to take the Turquoise Trail (NM 14) into Santa Fe and I must say I've seen some beautiful stretches of land but this tops them all. There was not a car on the road to tail me or attempt to pass so I could just keep my own pace, soaking in the turquoise skies, the tufts of clouds, and the beautiful blue haze of the desert out to the west. I went through the coolest town called Madrid (which used to be a ghost mining town and where parts of Wild Hogs was filmed). It was like an artist commune with weird sculptures, wind chimes, and coffee shops up and down the half mile strip of roads. I stopped in the Java Junction where two locals with dread locks and tattered brown clothes were gossiping about their neighbors and where the ashtrays were made from Illo coffee cans, one where a perfectly rolled blunt half smoked lay. I walked around town and chatted with some stranglers at the old Boarding House Merchantile, then headed to Santa Fe. I remember Santa Fe from my childhood as being a pretty artsy fun place but when I arrived to the main square, I was sorely disappointed and I cannot quite pinpoint why. It just felt like an open-air shopping mail disguised in freshly maintained adobe buildings, filled with expensive fine art, over-priced tex-mex cuisine and sushi bars, and boutique western ware. $2 got me an hour of parking and that's all I needed. I headed out to the little town of Tucumcari to stay the night.

Photo 1& 2: Scenes from Madrid / Photo 3: Awesome store in Santa Fe

I was determined to stay at the Blue Swallow Motel, a gem off the old Route 66 decorated in bright pink and blue neon lights, ornate murals, and glowing with the original baby blue stucco exterior. The owner, Bill, gave me a brief tour of the place, showing the original glass fountain they dug up on rennovation to the garages painted with Route 66 references to the cute little room that he set me up in. It was his daughter's favorite when she visited to study for exams. I have to say it was the coziest motel room I've stayed at in a while... with an extremely warm gas heater, nice carpet and original wood floors, and the tiniest little bathroom with a cubby shower that was so nice and hot.
When venturing to the grocery store down the street I almost felt like an intruder. Every single patron there knew each other and I was entertained hearing the conversations. I could both love and hate living in a small town...

I slept the best sleep in a while that night against the howling wind. In the morning Bill and Terri provided the guests some real coffee and real creamer with an array of unmatching coffee cups (I emphasize 'real' compared to the chain motels' coffee). I talked to Bill and Terri, the owners, for an hour about the management of the hotel, the different kind of visitors they encountered, and let them give me loads of advice on places to visit on my way back into Texas, one of which was the Midpoint Cafe in Adrian.

Adrian Texas was the smallest 'city', all of which seemed to revolve around their one cafe, on the midpoint of Route 66, and the churches. Again the presence of my camera lead to constant attention, story-telling, and service. I learned the Cafe used to be named Tommy's Cafe, after my server who's father started the business. All I mentioned was that 'Bill and Terri sent me" and all of a sudden Tommy runs to the back and an elderly lady comes to my table and introduces herself and asks how they were and how was my stay. I felt like a queen, seriously! Like every tourist stop on the old Route 66, in addition to having the Midpoint to brag about, they were also "home of the ugly pie crust" which after reading the history I was not quite sure of the relevance. Down the road I photographed the Bent Door Cafe which they were rennovating to open, a saucer shaped building with the door bent at the same angle.

(Photo 1: Car outside Midpoint Cafe / Photo 2: The Bent Door Cafe, under construction / Photo 3: The Midpoint Cafe)

I was so impressed by the charm and service of these Route 66 stops that I decided to continue to stop off in all the towns along the way. In Conway, Texas I found "Slug Bug Ranch", a parody of cadillac ranch with half a dozen or so VW Bugs plowed into the ground. I stopped in Groom, Texas to see the Leaning Water Tower of Britten (a wonderful marketing scheme for the owner of the truck stop that was further down the exit). Apparently visitors pulled off at this exit to investigate the leaning tower then, while they were there, why not stop at the 'Leaning Tower Cafe', which ironically was burned town back in the day due to there being no water sources around. You can't have water in a leaning tower!

(Photo One: Slugbug Ranch / Photo Two/Three: Leaning Tower of Britten and old Cafe sign)

I also visited the supposed biggest Cross in the Western Hemisphere and the Blessed Mary Cafe, which relies totally on donation.

(Photo 1: Biggest Cross in Western Hemisphere / Photo 2: Blessed Mary Cafe)

I took a route up north to Pampa, Texas to visit the Woody Guthrie memorial, a sculpture of musical notes out in the field that play out "This Land is Your Land, this land is my land". Ironically, it was butt up to a newly built apartment complex, which made for terrible pictures and terrible irony. This land is your land, but not my land anymore...

(Photo 1: Artwork in Pampa / Photo 2 & 3: Woody Guthrie Sculpture)

The last stop was Shamrock, Texas to photograph the beautiful U Drop Inn building which was probably the most rennovated of the buildings along the route. I had made such good time that I decided to just drive back home a day early because I couldn't afford any more motel rooms. It was a sad drive back... having felt like I was tossed into a ton of different worlds in such a short period of time... but there was definitely something missing from this trip. In addition to the wonderful places you visit, roadtrips are meant for bonding with other people. I had to admit I was surprised to find how uncomfortable being alone and isolating it was, despite the business owners constant chatter with me. However I got to travel how I wanted to... I know how to do roadtrips, I know what to bring, how to plan lodging and food, and got to see the things that no one else would care to see. It was a wonderful escape and adventure.