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The buzz on the blogs is that the Hollywood Sign is soon scheduled to undergo an authorized transformation of some sort. I’m fuzzy on the details of the metamorphosis but I believe it has something to do with raising money to publically procur the parcel of land near to it that’s been for sale some time.

Anyway, since our second floor guestroom affords us a view however distant and semi-obstructed of the landmark through the palms standing atop the Micheltorena ridgeline, I thought I’d zoom the webcam in as far as it could go in hopes of maybe capturing a timelapse of any activity undertaken.

Here’s a still from this morning. As you can see it’s signage as usual:

The image updates (and archives) about once a minute so for a current view (probably of more of the same), click on the Webcam thumbnails in the right column or visit my Webcams page.

On the morning of November 28, Susan and I drove through a pretty steady drizzle from Mesquite Springs campground to Ubehebe Crater, which is next to the road to Racetrack Playa, with long-wanted plans for me to bike its 26-plus miles of washboarded badness while Susan drove it.

Arriving at the crater we were confronted by cold and wind and the reality that the storm that had done not much more than sprinkle us on its outskirts was pretty much parked over the valley the racetrack road traversed, leaving the bracketing mountainsides nicely blanketed with snow, and me realizing the long and the cold and wet haul getting from the crater potentially above the snow line and down to the playa would be seriously lacking in The Fun.

So I climbed along the lip of the crater, grim and gruff and bummed that the challenge that initially drew me to this wonderful place back in the winter of 2002 would go postponed once more… to be done either next spring or fall under what I hope will be less meteorologically challenging conditions and thus more with The Fun.

Turning around to head back down to the camper, the sun peeked out from a break in the clouds, and in a heartbeat my camera was out to capture what I expected to be a brief illumination. It lingered a little longer than expected and I was able to end up with a rough three frames that allowed me to show you the whole 2,000-year-old hole:

(You’ll wanna click it for the bigger picture)

Ubehebe Crater is 600 feet deep and half a mile across. Known as a maar volcano, the crater is estimated to be between 2,000 to 7,000 years old, and was created by steam and gas explosions when hot magma rose up from the depths until it reached ground water. The intense heat flashed the water into steam which expanded until the pressure was released as a tremendous hydrovolcanic eruption.

Eastsider L.A. has a post up considering the present loss and future restoration of the Echo Park Lake lotus. Showcased in the entry is an absolutely amazing picture of a lotus pad floating atop the reflecting waters while holding what looks to be someone’s spilled fruit punch. The unlikely combination of elements somehow combines to speak so fluently of the spirit of the lake as an urban oasis and the landmark it is for those who frequent it. But the photo tells of something else as well, something ominous — the lotus is bleeding.

If the magnificent and historic plant was still thriving as it had for years, I’d think nothing of the garish red fluid. But with its demise, the invasive beverage indicts us. Whether such a foreign substance, and one the garish color of blood, was added carelessly or intentionally does not matter. What matters is it was done. Just as was done whatever manmade events and toxins ultimately conspired to doom the lotus, be it fouled stormwater runoff, polution. They weren’t purposefully added. But we added them just the same.

Turns out that foretelling image was taken back in 2005 by my friend Hexodus who lives in Echo Park but who I last saw last summer when Susan and I were vacationing in Guanajuato at the same time he was doing an extended-stay study program at the university there. He introduced us to the Truco 7 Cafe (pictured at right), which is THE place to go for breakfast in Guanajuato, so write that down because Guanajuato should be on your list of places to go.

Similar to the “Office Trees Over Time” set I’m compiling over in this set on Flickr, I made a resolution in 2008 to stand in the same spot beside the lotus lagoon every day and take a picture to document the growth of that year’s bloom. I broke that one immediately and it’s just as well because it never happened. Instead, the only blossoms that rose last summer were prints of his photos of the flowers that another Echo Park friend of mine, Mr. Rollers, had staked out along the lake’s banks as memorials to the vanished beauty.

Here’s one I took of a blossom in 2007, pretty much the last year they bloomed:

Well, I’m back home in L.A. and that rhymes with yay! I’m still getting re-settled while avoiding a laundry list of things to do — one of which is laundry. So in the meantime, allow me to share with you this outrageous flyer found upon a return visit to Dealey Plaza on my last day in Dallas. It was plastered upon the light pole nearest to the “X marks the spot” Elm Street location where the second bullet struck President Kennedy on November 22, 1963 (click for larger image on my Flickr photostream).

Why is it such a really  good idea as breakfast on Christmas Day at one of my favorite never-closed places in LA is an idea that never occurred to me until now.

Oversights like that frustrate me to no end, but I guess it’s better late than never to start an annual Breakfast At The Pantry tradition, which we kicked off with my mom, who came over for Christmas Eve and then spent the night trying not to freeze while asleep on our couch.

Coincidental bonus points for our server’s name being Jesus — who we left a 50% tip because anyone forced to forsake their own lives and those of friends and family on this day to instead serve strangers deserves nothing less!

Merry Christmas!

I am thrilled by the news that the restored twins, Sinai and Olivet have been unmothballed and re-installed on their Angels Flight tracks (clickably thumbnailed below in a photo I took in the summer of 2007) to once more (at a date as yet to be determined) go up and down Bunker Hill.

I paid my quarter and rode those short and steep rails several times between the year the landmark funicular was reopened with much fanfare in 1996 and 2001 when it was shut down following a fatal accident, but it was that first year that also provided the most memorable trip because it happened a day or two prior to the Academy Awards and I found myself on the downhill trip standing next to Nicolas Cage — wearing a white leather sport coat no less — who was with a friend or assistant. As he was a best actor nominee for “Leaving Las Vegas,” I figured he was probably on lunch break from some pre-show happening up at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion and perhaps heading off the hill to Grand Central Market for a bite.

Our brief history is that when he was still just Nicolas Coppola and before he dropped out of Beverly High to pursue his dream having been cast in the male lead in “Valley Girl,” we were in the same drama class together. Andy Grenier was the teacher.

I toyed with the idea of wishing him luck and telling him I knew him peripherally from back in the day, but I opted to keep all that to myself and instead marvel a bit both at his outlandish fashion sense and at the coincidence that the two times I saw Mr. Cage in person were separated by 15 years but both related to acting.

A couple days later he won the Oscar.

Thank you.

Thank you. Thank you.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Restless and not ready for sleep, I was scrolling through the images of our Mexico trip and came upon the seven-shot sequence I snapped shortly after our arrival (following a long walk across the city) at the landmark and historic Queretaro Aqueduct, started in 1726 and completed in 1738.

I’ve had little luck the last few tries with the stitching program I employ to put my panoramic shots together, and so when I loaded in the images I did so with little confidence it would work the first time out. Too my entire surprise, it did and allowed me to turn insomnia into something somewhat productive and share with you the vast majority of the 4,400-foot long Roman-style water project that while now long dry did in its day 270 years ago quench the freshwater needs of the burgeoning city (click to humonginate):

I’ve only been to the 5,475-foot-high Dante’s View in Death Valley once (in 2002) but it is a spectacular place in a park full of spectacles that leaves an indelible impression. One not quite as indelible as the national park’s 11,049-foot Telescope Peak that I summited in 2006, but enough so that when I saw this advertisement in the April issue of a magazine, I had no doubt as to the vista in the final photograph (most likely a composite of a stock image taken at Dante’s View and a studio shot of the woman):

The ad’s headline “Let Your Worries Go,” could be the slogan for Death Valley what with its unmatched, beauty, solitude and serenity. Got to find a way to get back there this year.

One of my favorite views in Los Angeles happens to be found from up at the top of our backyard. So much so that had it not been for my interest in pixeling it from there yesterday I would not have discovered the unfortunate scene that prompted yesterday’s post.

In reviewing the above image this morning something caught my eye that I’d never noticed before despite not only knowing it was there but also having spent cumulative hours over the last few years gazing at this scene. It’s the blocky structure there to the left of the frame’s center and about midway between the top and bottom. Here’s a blown-out close-up:

Hey, it’s Frank Lloyd Wright’s Ennis House! Howdy neighbor. Looking good in all its renovational glory, too!

Yeah I’m a geek in that I think it’s awesome that I have a direct sightline to such a landmark work of my favorite architect. Of course it’s far enough away to prevent me from seeing any detail — at least not without busting out the binoculars — but it’s nice to know it’s there and looking better than it has in a long time!