L.A.’s New Hampshire and Vermont Mystery: Partially Solved

Last week, I asked why New Hampshire Ave. is to the west of Vermont Ave. in L.A., when up in New England, Vermont is the one on the west.

Bob Timmermann, who earlier this year spoke about Sepulveda Blvd. at the Central Library, did some digging:

From my half-assed sleuthing at the Central Library, the reason why Vermont Ave and New Hampshire Ave in L.A. are backwards in relation to the states is due to the fact that the streets weren’t named at the same time.

Vermont is a very old street in L.A. terms. It first shows up in 1866. New Hampshire wasn’t built and named until 1887, when it was part of one of the developments that sprung up in Southern California during Real Estate Boom I.

Next year at the Central Library, I plan to follow up on my Sepulveda trip with a journey down Western Avenue. Unlike Sepulveda, this should have slightly better scenery and fewer trucks.

Thanks Bob!

L.A. Mystery: Vermont and New Hampshire

Up in New England, Vermont is to the west of New Hampshire. So why then…

… is L.A.’s Vermont Ave. to the east of New Hampshire Ave.? Any city nerds out there with the answer?

24-Hour Fitness Gets On the Wrong Side of B-Side

Ben — better known as B-Side, one of the founders of TVgasm, recently blogged about his run-in with the folks at his gym — or shall I say, former gym — 24 Hour Fitness.

It’s an epic tale that begins:

For years now, I’ve been splitting my time between two or three different 24 Hour Fitness gyms, and as such, I’ve had to pay an additional $5 per month to grant me access to all the clubs at my membership level. This means that every month, I’m supposed to get billed a certain amount for my membership and then the added fee for the all-club upgrade. Pretty standard stuff.

Well, late last week, I moseyed into the gym, and after having my ID scanned in, I proceeded forward to the gym floor.

“Wait!” called out the guy at the front desk. “You’re only One-Club.”

That was strange. I’d been All-Club for years and years. Why would I suddenly be downgraded to a lesser status? Clearly there had been a mistake.

“Clearly, there’s been a mistake,” I said. The guy looked back at his computer monitor, which had now been taken over by a big red screen to warn him of my alleged delinquency, and told me that no, I was not eligible to work out at this club.

From there, B-Side gets caught up in a tangled web of 24 Hour Fitness rules and misguided customer service. Needless to say, he’s moved on. Read about it here.

What’s Your Burning L.A. Question?

You know, the one that probably doesn’t have an answer?

I’ll start it off: Whenever I’m stuck in truly horrible, bumper-to-bumper gridlock on a Los Angeles freeway, I’ll flip to KFWB and KNX to check out what’s impacting my commute. Yet almost always, the freeway I happen to be on won’t be mentioned in those traffic reports. How can that be? Is it simply that ALL traffic is bad in Los Angeles, and I happen to just always be stuck in gridlock that wasn’t caused by any specific incident or SigAlert?

Your turn!

Tu Ciudad, Mi Fotografia

I took this photo of a City of Los Angeles manhole cover during the Great Los Angeles Walk, amused by the “Made in Mexico” notation. If you know anything about Los Angeles history, you know that’s true — even if, in this case, they’re literally talking about the manhole cover.

Tu Ciudad editor Oscar Garza was amused, and asked to use it in the mag. Hence, my first photo credit in a major magazine (outside of the two I’ve worked for, Variety and Electronic Media, where photos of mine have appeared as well).

The photo, which was published in Tu Ciudad’s March issue, is paired with a short essay by Daniel Hernandez:

It’s not often you get a cultural lesson from a piece of municipal property, but this actual manhole cover plainly conveys the essence of Los Angeles, day after day, politics and media games aside. The message, etched in steel, is not a call by Chicano nationalists for a reconquest of the American Southwest. It is simply a statement of fact.

How? History tells us that L.A.’s roots and soul were indeed made in Mexico, but so does the present. We’re reminded in the way the city is laid out, along the former boundaries of old Californio ranchos. We’re reminded in the flavors and sounds of the cultural landscape — la comida, la vibra. In the faces of the people, who come in every shade of brown mismatched with black and white and yellow and red and everything in between.

Today, Glenn Beck, Lou Dobbs, Jim Gilchrist, and hordes of faceless lieutenants in the relentless hate-talk war against “illegals” too often cloud our historical perspective. In Los Angeles — the undisputed capital of modern-day Alta California — even our manhole covers are smarter than that.

What’s With Los Angeles Movie-Goers and End Credits?

(Pic via alvinology.wordpress.com.)

LA Observed guest blogger Ellen Alperstein brings up a uniquely L.A. phenomenon: Unlike the rest of the country, much of L.A.’s movie audiences sit through the closing credits.

It’s something I definitely noticed when I moved here. Elsewhere, people dash out the second the first name hits the screen. Here, people patiently wait for the scroll to end. Ellen writes:

In L.A., a movie isn’t over at the fadeout; we want to see who was the best boy, who stood in for Julia Roberts and who got the catering gig. For Angelenos, the movie isn’t over until the Dolby Sound System logo has appeared, and the house lights have come on.

I used to believe L.A. movie crowds watch the credits with as much interest as the story action because they want to see how many people they know making below-the-line appearances. To recognize names, to claim relationships, is a gauge of professional status in an industry town; it’s a competition as much as a curiosity satisfier.

I’m sure that’s true for some people, but I’m equally sure that’s not the only reason people everywhere linger in the dark while the credits roll.

Take “Atonement,” a film with a complicated story that packs a breathtaking emotional punch. Almost from the beginning, the audience is obliged to pay careful attention to the narrative only to be whipsawed into an acutely powerful parallel reality when what we hear, what we see, isn’t really what happened, forcing us to experience both extremes of the human passion that informs each version.

I usually want to stay until the end in order to read the soundtrack info. There’s usually a song whose title or artist I want to find out. The music credits aren’t usually until toward the end.

Plus, these days — particularly among comedies — audiences who stay until the end are rewarded with some sort of bonus clip.

What’s With Los Angeles Movie-Goers and End Credits?

(Pic via alvinology.wordpress.com.)

LA Observed guest blogger Ellen Alperstein brings up a uniquely L.A. phenomenon: Unlike the rest of the country, much of L.A.’s movie audiences sit through the closing credits.

It’s something I definitely noticed when I moved here. Elsewhere, people dash out the second the first name hits the screen. Here, people patiently wait for the scroll to end. Ellen writes:

In L.A., a movie isn’t over at the fadeout; we want to see who was the best boy, who stood in for Julia Roberts and who got the catering gig. For Angelenos, the movie isn’t over until the Dolby Sound System logo has appeared, and the house lights have come on.

I used to believe L.A. movie crowds watch the credits with as much interest as the story action because they want to see how many people they know making below-the-line appearances. To recognize names, to claim relationships, is a gauge of professional status in an industry town; it’s a competition as much as a curiosity satisfier.

I’m sure that’s true for some people, but I’m equally sure that’s not the only reason people everywhere linger in the dark while the credits roll.

Take “Atonement,” a film with a complicated story that packs a breathtaking emotional punch. Almost from the beginning, the audience is obliged to pay careful attention to the narrative only to be whipsawed into an acutely powerful parallel reality when what we hear, what we see, isn’t really what happened, forcing us to experience both extremes of the human passion that informs each version.

I usually want to stay until the end in order to read the soundtrack info. There’s usually a song whose title or artist I want to find out. The music credits aren’t usually until toward the end.

Plus, these days — particularly among comedies — audiences who stay until the end are rewarded with some sort of bonus clip.

In T-Mobile 411′s Alternate Universe, Valley Succession Succeeded

Wednesday night I was heading into the West Valley to meet up with the extended family for my brother-in-law’s birthday. One problem: I couldn’t remember if Maria said the Thai BBQ location we were meeting at was on Reseda, or where on Reseda.

So I called 411 on my Blackberry.

“411, city and state please,” the pre-recorded voice intoned.

“Los Angeles, California.”

Suddenly, a live voice came on: “Listing please.”

“Thai BBQ on Reseda.”

“Sorry, I have no listing for that. I have locations on Venice and on Hollywood,” she replied.

“Hmm, none in other parts of Los Angeles? Nothing in the 818 are code?” I asked.

“Sir, 818 is not part of Los Angeles.”

Ooh, dem’s fightin’ words. Of course, quite a huge chunk of Los Angeles is in the 818!

“No, 818 is in Los Angeles.”

She got testy. “Sir, I’m gonna need a city name.”

Ugh. I know what’s happening here; 411 considers neighborhoods like Northridge or Reseda as separate cities.

“OK, what cities do you have there?” I asked.

“Van Nuys, Reseda…”

“But, but, THAT’S LOS ANGELES!” I spit out.

“Sir, I’m going to transfer you to my supervisor.”

I ultimately just called the Thai BBQ in Hollywood and asked if they had a location on Reseda; they did, and gave me the address. Guess I should have just done that to begin with.

UPDATE: OK, just to be a city nerd, I tried another test. I called 411 and told ‘em I was looking for a Los Angeles phone number. “Barney’s Beanery, on Santa Monica.”

They gave it to me. IT’S IN WEST HOLLYWOOD, PEOPLE!

So here’s the recap. 411 won’t recognize parts of L.A. — Northridge, Reseda, etc. — as Los Angeles. Yet it does recognize West Hollywood — a completely separate city, unlike those Valley neighborhoods — as a part of Los Angeles. It’s an area code thing, I suppose. But still!

Signs of the Times: Trendy-Adjacent

“No, no, no, we’re not trendy — just look at our roof. But the trendiness is within walking distance. So yeah, we’re gonna need four month’s rent and three references.”

I Want To Drink Your Low-Carb, Organic Blood In My Prius

“Only in L.A. can a vampire be the good guy!” — radio ad tagline for CBS’ new Friday night drama “Moonlight” (above), which revolves around an undead cop solving crime in our fair city.

What exactly does that mean? Angelenos are so weird that vampires are normal/good in comparison? I’m sure this tagline gets a knowing wink and guffaw in the rest of the country (“Ho, ho, they’re so right, those people in Los Angeles are so strange!”). But hearing that promo on the radio in Los Angeles, I felt a little defensive.