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January 04, 2026

Photo Essay: Starting Over at the Rose Parade (In the Rain)

Sometimes I like to not have a plan for New Year's Day, and just see when I wake up and decide on the spur of the moment if I want to go to the Rose Parade. I'll drive over there, snag a last-minute parking spot, and find somewhere to stand. 

But when I did that last year, I didn't love the position I got—too crowded, too many trees in the way, too tired to stand the whole time. And given the fact that I didn't love my view the year before that (with seats facing the back of the floats), last February I decided to finally spring for official Rose Parade grandstand seats. 

I spent a long time researching the different areas, looking for one without tall buildings casting shadows or trees, light poles, or street signs to obstruct the view. I got front row grandstand, far enough down the parade route so I wouldn't have to get there super early, and where I would more likely be able to find free parking at the last minute. 

I was going to start 2026 off right!

 
But 2026 had other plans for me. 

December 30, 2025

Year In Review: 2025 Updates to Past Posts

Los Angeles has been through a lot in the time that I've lived here. It took a big hit during the pandemic, and the homelessness crisis just keeps getting worse and worse. 

But nothing in my tenure here has compared to January 2025, when the entire city seemed to be surrounded by fire—and two communities were flattened in the blink of an eye. 

I can't even speak to what so many people went through, losing their homes and possessions and all sense of safety. I can only document a little bit of it, and help preserve the memory of some of our public places with the photos I've taken and the stories I've written. 

The more time that passes, the more it feels that I have a certain duty to share these stories and spread the word about places in danger of being lost, and places that have been spared and saved (including those from the Eaton and Palisades fires and the Sunset Fire at Runyon Canyon).

Because for as much as we mourn and grieve, we must also pay attention, intervene, and celebrate.

We couldn't manage to hold onto Pacific Dining Car. Or David Lynch. But the building that once housed Corky's returned to its former Googie glory. The Crystal Cave in Sequoia National Park finally reopened. And The Los Angeles Breakfast Club turned 100.

While those all got their own new blog posts, here are the updates I made to older posts in 2025:
 

February 28, 2025

Photo Essay: The Huntington's Japanese Garden and Its 320-Year-Old Transplant

After all of the times I'd been to The Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens, there was one major area I'd never seen: the Japanese Garden, added by Henry Huntington to his then-private estate in 1912.

That is, until I finally got to visit in November 2023. (Sorry it's taken me so long to share my experience!)
 
 

January 05, 2025

Photo Essay: A Festival of Rose Parade Floats, 2025

Going to Floatfest after the Rose Parade is a totally different experience than watching the Rose Parade live—but even so, sometimes I only do one or the other. 

 
This year, I did both—mostly because I left the Rose Parade a little early and missed a couple of floats (and was feeling so ill during the parade I was sure I'd missed out on a lot of details).

January 02, 2025

Photo Essay: Kicking Off Yet Another New Year at the Rose Parade (2025 Edition)

I don't go to the Rose Parade every year. After all, I didn't even go at all until 2015. And I skipped 2019 and 2022.

   
But this year, on the first day of 2025, the pull to watch those floats, marching bands, and horses crawl down Colorado Boulevard was so strong...

 
...that I woke up with a start (and without an alarm) at 8:15 a.m. after just five hours of sleep and made a beeline to Pasadena.

September 22, 2024

Photo Essay: Bowlium, A 1950s Bowling Emporium That's Fit for the 21st Century

In the first year of the pandemic, I hauled my cookies a couple of times out to Montclair, California—about 45 miles east of where I live—to catch a movie at Mission Tiki Drive-In (which unfortunately closed in 2023). 

That's how I first became interested in the Bowlium bowling alley—which was fortunately nearby but unfortunately closed for COVID-19.

 *photo taken 2020

"The prominence of the building, which makes it clearly visible from the street on the parking lot's far side," writes Alan Hess in his book Googie Redux, "shows the importance of bowling alleys as community centers in the new suburban areas of the 1950s."

July 08, 2024

Photo Essay: The Huntington, Where Billiards and Bowling Gave Way to the Rose Garden Tea Room

The Huntington is one of those places where I just keep discovering new things, every time I visit. 

 
Towards the end of last year, I'd wanted to go back because I knew I'd missed some historic faux bois (fake wood made of steel-reinforced concrete)...
 
 
...so my quest to see that in person led us to the rose garden on Black Friday. 

October 15, 2023

Photo Essay: Covina Bowl, Partially Preserved, Awaits Its Second Chance

It was New Year's Day. I was hung over but I'd managed to go on an adventure with the guy I was dating at the time, the same guy who'd wimped out on our New Year's Eve plans the night before. 

We were headed back to LA from Pomona, and he was driving. 

"Can we please drive by Covina Bowl?" I asked. 

"I don't want to go bowling..." he said, probably flatly, though I heard it as a whine. 

"I just want to see it."

And so we drove up to the mid-century bowling palace and walked in the front door. My date was sighing. 

I took a quick look around and said, "OK, I've seen it."

We turned around, walked away, and went back home. 

I didn't know back then that Covina Bowl would close for good in 2017. And that I would never get more than a passing glance at it in all its glory, never get the chance to roll a ball down its lanes. 

But life is full of strikes and gutters, ups and downs. 

 circa 2022

And fortunately, part of Covina Bowl still remains. And part of it will one day reopen to the public to enjoy once again. 

May 20, 2023

Photo Essay: Sleeping In NYC's Former Home For Shipwrecked Sailors

For my first trip back to NYC in five years, staying with a friend wasn't really an option—so I took the opportunity to stay in the weirdest and most historic hotel I could think of.

It's now a boutique hotel called The Jane, located in the westernmost environs of Greenwich Village, just steps from the East Bank of the Hudson River.

I remember its big reopening in 2008, with much fanfare. It then became a huge nightlife destination, though I don't recall ever drinking or dancing in its Victorian-style "ballroom." 

But my return visit would be very different—sleeping in a hotel room I vaguely knew had been built for sailors and that one of the Titanic survivors might've occupied in 1912.

Of course, it turned out I was actually going in a little blind—because there was so much I didn't know about The Jane. 

You see, it began its life at 507 West Street in 1908 as the American Seamans Friend Society Institute Building—built by the non-sectarian although decidedly religious (and even evangelical) Seamens Institute. 

circa 1909 (The Acts of the Apostles of the Sea, page 69) via Internet Archive Book Images (Public Domain)

According to the 1909 book The Acts of the Apostles of the Sea, the institute—whose president at the time was the Reverend Dr. Charles A. Stoddard—stood as "the largest distributor of the Word of God on the waters." Not only that, the book continues, the society "aided shipwrecked and destitute seamen of every race and nation, fed the hungry, clothed the naked, [and] buried the dead." 

circa July 2022 (Google Street View)

December 26, 2022

Year In Review: 2022 Updates to Past Posts

I wish that all this blog was for was to brag about cool stuff I do. 

But I sense a greater purpose in my documenting these places and experiences. It all feels like they'll be gone one day. 

And I feel a duty to report back when they unfortunately do go away. 

It happens more and more every year. 

But thank goodness it's not all bad news. Because sometimes I get to update on a historic place being saved from demolition, rehabilitated, or even reopened. 

I think it's important to keep these entries current with the present condition of the places I've visited. That means sometimes I have to keep going back to check on them. Or to say goodbye. And then share what I've seen (or what can no longer be seen).

So, for the third year in a row, here's a recap of all the updates I made to my Avoiding Regret entries from SoCal and Vegas over the last year—the good, the bad, the ugly, and the complicated.

Closures/Losses/Deaths/Preservation Threats


Chili Bowl 
1. Photo Essay: The Cloistered Nuns of Hollywood and Their Stately Home (Closed—Updated for 2022)
2. Adventures on Pico: From a Chili Bowl to An Oil Well (Updated for 2022)

May 11, 2022

Photo Essay: A Special Makeup Effects Creator's Own Museum of Monsters

Most of the times I've been to Boulder City, Nevada, it's been for ziplining or something related to the Hoover Dam

 
But this time around, I managed an early morning visit to the railroad museum (photo essay forthcoming)—with just enough time to visit Tom Devlin's Monster Museum before returning to Vegas. 

October 19, 2021

Icons of Darkness Descends onto Hollywood Boulevard With Horror-ible Movie Memorabilia [Updated for 2024]

[Last updated 8/4/24 3:49 PM PT—Icons of Darkness in Hollywood is closed as of 2024.]

The latest addition to Hollywood’s horror-themed attractions is Icons of Darkness...
 

...an exhibition of a privately-owned collection of movie artifacts, just in time for Halloween. 

October 06, 2020

A Last Chance Stay at a Hollywood Producer's Former Fantasy Island Getaway, Paradise Point Resort (For Now)

For my birthday last week, I was at a bit of a loss as to how to celebrate—or whether to even try to celebrate at all. 

After all, it doesn't feel like there's much to celebrate in 2020. 

But I'd already put in for three days off from my dayjob (having planned to attend the now-canceled Central Coast Railroad Festival). And I've only taken one other day off all year (and that was an emergency mental health day during the protests that had police tear-gassing illegal assemblies in my neighborhood). 

It felt like I deserved some vacation days. Even if vacations aren't really a thing right now, with pandemic travel still restricted. 

But over the last six months or so, I have had a couple of good hotel getaways—whether just for the day or for a single overnight a short distance away. 

And because all my trips have been canceled this year, I feel OK about splurging a little on a place I would not normally treat myself to. 

That's how I ended up at Paradise Point Resort in San Diego's Mission Bay. 


I knew it would be a tropical paradise, with outdoor dining and no less than five pools. And I knew that Tiki Oasis had recently held the pandemic version of its convention there—so it might provide some approximation of a tiki-cation


But upon turning down Vacation Road, circling around the entryway fountain and parking within spitting distance of the shake shingle kiosks that line the main lagoon, I had no idea how much history I was about to encounter. 


Oh, I'd been to Mission Bay before—to ride The Giant Dipper at the nearby Belmont Park. But I hadn't realized what an influence that wooden rollercoaster (once known as the Earthquake) would have on the local architecture—inspiring the undulating roofline and interior ironwork of the main lobby building of Paradise Point. And that's just for starters. 


The 1920s rollercoaster and the amusement park that contains it actually pre-dated what we know today as the Mission Bay Aquatic Park by decades. It wasn't until 1958 that the San Diego city council approved a master plan to dredge the tidal marsh and create 30 miles of shoreline beaches, grassy knolls, water recreation areas, Sea World, and resorts like Paradise Point—making it the largest man-made aquatic park in the country. 


While that was happening, Hollywood producer Jack Skirball—a Pennsylvania-born former rabbi who left the rabbinate in 1933—had gotten into family entertainment and recreation by delving into bowling alleys. But the bigger fish for him turned out to be transforming a treeless, manmade island called Tierra del Fuego into "Vacation Isle"—home of his South Seas-inspired Vacation Village resort, which opened in 1962.


Of course, Skirball made sure Vacation Village had a dash of Hollywood magic here and there—including California's largest collection of original mission bells and screen-used artifacts like the porpoise fountain from the Elizabeth Taylor version of Cleopatra (1963).


But much of the fantasy comes from the landscape design—whose palm trees, macadamia nut trees, bromeliads, and hundreds of birds-of-paradise transport you to the Canary Islands, or perhaps the South Pacific, or even Madagascar. 


The symbol for the hotel—and still its beacon—is a 70-foot-tall observation tower, designed by the resort's architect, Eldridge "Ted" Spencer of the Palo Alto-based firm Spencer and Lee (perhaps known best for the Ahwahnee Hotel in Yosemite National Park). 


It was built by Robert "Bob" Golden—the son of construction magnate Morley H. Golden and, as of 1956, president of M.H. Golden Construction Company It must've been an engineering feat to make it as sturdy as it still feels. 


After climbing up an undetermined number of stairs, the view of the main lagoon from up there is breathtaking, fantastical, and transportive. 


And at the very top, you can be delighted by the whimsical rebar sculpture by Val Agnoli...


...whose uppermost portion is meant to evoke the red-eared slider turtles that populate the waters below. 


After all, this bayside resort offers more watery wonders than just its swimming pools. 


And all that wet stuff is great for attracting shorebirds, like snowy egrets and yellow-crowned night herons, with their yellow feet and eyes...

 
...great blue herons, who sun their wings in a "flasher" pose...

 
...black-crowned night herons, with their red eyes...
    

...and of course great egrets. 


The ducks are particularly friendly—but maybe that's because they know the resort gift shop sells small bags of duck food for just $2. 


They'll either follow you, while nipping at your shoes and toes, or they'll lead you to Amelio's Dock, where all their friends will be waiting for a snack. 

                        
They compete with the koi for the little tasty pellets—and even though the shop also sells $2 bags of fish food, the koi don't seem to discriminate. 

    
I could easily spend days just wandering the grounds, feeding the birds, and photographing the scenery. 


But I'd only booked one night—fortunately getting upgraded from a standard room to a bungalow with a Giant Dipper-inspired entryway. 

 
Staying in any of the 400+ rooms at Paradise Point was a major treat for me—but when Vacation Village first opened in 1962, its original 150 rooms went for just $8 per night.


That gave guests access to one restaurant, a golf course, and two tennis courts.
            
 
The resort's Barefoot Bar—initially called "The Grotto"—went down in infamy as a kind of Cold War-era beach bunker where you could get "bombed" at the bar but would survive a "bombing" under all that sand. Although the Barefoot Bar operated for a time as a location of Don the Beachcomber (1980-1983), its current iteration has returned to the original theme. 


 
A friend and I enjoyed my birthday dinner at Paradise Point's onsite sit-down restaurant Tidal (formerly Baleen), where we sat by the marina enjoying Paradise Mai Tais in tiki glassware with a dry ice-induced "fog" effect. 
 

As the sun went down behind us, I thought, "This was a really good idea." I felt no birthday despair. No existential dread. No desperation for something epic to happen on the night I turned yet another year older. 

And as it turns out, that might've been my last chance to experience Paradise Point as it is right now—and as it has been since LaSalle Hotel Properties bought it and rebranded it as such in 1998. 

Its owner since late 2018, Pebblebrook Hotel Trust, has entered into a license agreement to turn Paradise Point into one of the first West Coast outposts of Margaritaville hotels and resorts. (Palm Springs hasn't opened yet, but it's already taking reservations.) 

I can only assume that means it will soon be taken over by the Parrotheads who support the "Margaritaville" singer and songwriter Jimmy Buffett. 

And although that may be "tropical"—and some might consider that "paradise"—it is not the same tiki-adjacent experience as Vacation Village or Paradise Point. 

Unfortunately, something like this was probably bound to happen after Skirball cashed out and sold the property in 1983, two years before his death. 

I hope they keep the tower and the rollercoaster architectural references and the birds and the turtles. 

For lots of vintage photos and information, visit ClassicSanDiego.com

Related Posts: 

March 17, 2020

Photo Essay: The Jewel Box of the Cosmetic World and Its Pink Powder Puff (Updated for 2025)

[Last updated 2/8/25 9:43 PM PT—Added Mel's section to the bottom of this post.]

♫"...If you think that you can be an actor, see Mr. Factor, 
he'd make a monkey look good..."♫
- "Hooray for Hollywood"

Growing up in the age of drug- and department-store cosmetics like Revlon, Cover Girl, and Maybelline, it's easy to think that "Max Factor" was just another brand name.

In fact, some people have theorized that Max Factor is a kind of portmanteau of the medical practice of "maxillofacial" surgery, or "Max Facs."

But there was, indeed, a Max Factor—or, rather, a Maks Faktor.

Born in Poland, Maksymilian Faktorowicz is the man we should credit for inventing lip gloss—and many other staples of our everyday makeup cases.

He's the one who created the heart-shaped lips—like those of a Pierrot clown—for silent movie star and "It Girl" Clara Bow.

On the flipside, he also exaggerated Joan Crawford naturally thin lips, creating an overdrawn look nicknamed the "Hunter's Bow."

His pedigree was unmatched, having worked for the Imperial Russian Grand Opera's cosmetician at only age 14. Later, he became the on-call beautician to the family of Russia’s Czar Nicholas II.

After immigrating to the United States, and moving to LA with his family in 1908, he founded Max Factor & Company in 1909. Without a permanent headquarters, he set up shop in various different neighborhoods and in buildings that weren't his own (including, for a while, the Pantages building).

In 1913, he caught a break when he persuaded Hollywood director Cecil B. DeMille to rent the wigs he'd custom-made.

But in the land of make-believe, it was "make-up" that brought Max Factor the most attention.

Until he started "making up" both starlets and average women, the term "make-up" was only associated with theater actors and vulgar women with bad reputations.

That all changed after he settled into his own home—and threw the doors open to the public, welcoming them into an opulent setting that was perfect for lured high-society and professional women (and way too nice for hussies).


circa 1939 (Photo: Works Progress Administration Collection, via LAPL)

He chose the Hollywood Fire and Safe Building, built in 1913, as his future home in 1928—disastrously close to the stock market crash that would delay its opening until 1935. 

February 03, 2020

Photo Essay: Getting Romantic At the Blufftop Casa By the Sea

Located midway between Los Angeles and San Diego, San Clemente is located on the former Rancho Los Desechos, once property of Mission San Juan Capistrano.

In the early 20th century, long after the heyday of the Spanish missions, the area was considered the middle of nowhere. But former Seattle mayor Ole Hanson, himself having been born in a Wisconsin log cabin, had a dream to convert this coastal parcel into a "Spanish Village By the Sea."

Hanson and his family maintained permanent residence in Los Angeles—but it’s San Clemente where he commissioned architect Carl Lindbom to build a vacation home.


circa 1940 (Photo: OC Public Libraries, from the Tom Pulley Postcard Collection)

The result was the 15-room "Hacienda San Clemente"... 


circa 1928 (Photo: OC Public Libraries, from the Tom Pulley Postcard Collection)

...with an "old Spain elegance" that influenced the streetscapes of the rest of San Clemente.



At least, for a time. After changing hands over and over again over the course of nearly 70 years, the mansion was reborn in 2003 as Casa Romantica—and it's one of the rare few examples of what San Clemente used to be like.



The Spanish Colonial Revival-style home was completed in 1928—built around a 5400-square-foot central courtyard, much like the layout of the missions themselves.



In addition to several bedrooms and bathrooms (enough for 10 children!), the 7200-square-foot house also had an outdoor family room with "beehive fireplace"...



...surrounded by lush landscaping and Mediterranean tile that's designed to look like area rugs.



Unfortunately, the outdoor reflecting pool, goldfish, statuary, and exotic birds (including peacocks) are gone.



But the encaustic tile floors—made from concrete—have retained their color pattens beautifully (nine different styles in all!).



Inside, the tile-floored solarium—with its Italian ceramic fountain and original fireplace—served as the home's main salon.



Although once furnished with Persian carpets, the original oak hardwood is now exposed—illuminated by the original English Empire-style chandelier (which, over time, was converted from gas-burning to electric).



Although all but one original piece of furniture has gone, many of the home's decorative elements—at least, the ones that aren't as easy to remove—remain.



The purposes of some of the rooms have changed—like the octagonal reading room, with its original redwood ceiling.



That used to be Ole Hanson's home office, where the ocean breezes would circulate through the windows and the scenery would inspire Hanson while he worked.



He'd have plenty of privacy in there, too—as it used to be only accessible through an outside entrance.



On the Ocean Terrace, as you stand beside the recently-added fountain (also in the Spanish style)...



...the blufftop location of Hanson's hacienda gives a good view of the Pacific as it merges with the horizon in the west, as well as San Clemente Pier in the distance.



The hacienda was just one example of the Spanish Colonial Revival style in San Clemente—a theme Hanson “borrowed” from Santa Barbara and required for the rest of the city's development.



Tragically, Hanson lost everything in the Great Depression—including his home, which was repossessed by the very same bank that helped fund the creation of San Clemente itself.



In 1934, Hanson left the city he'd founded for his home in LA, where he spent the rest of his life (aside from developing some property in Twentynine Palms). Two years later, a judge ruled against Hanson's rule that required Spanish-only architecture to be built.



New structures jumbled up the once-heterogeneous seaside village. Old buildings were torn down, leaving only about 200 of those white stuccoed, red tile-roofed buildings—no taller than four stories, except their towers—remaining today.



There are now 2.5 acres of coastal gardens that have been added—including a yucca planted by Hanson himself in 1927 and a prickly pear cactus that’s original to the home, as well as many newer and water-wise plantings.


The Beauty of the Butterfly by Matthew Placzek, dedicated 2017

As a historic site, it's really bounced back from multiple ownerships—including having been used as a senior citizens' home in the 1960s—and a fair amount of neglect.

The house is now, as its name indicates, not only romantic—enough for a full schedule of weddings—but also quiet enough to simply reflect atop the seaside cliffs.

I could've spent all day there—if it hadn't taken me nearly two and a half hours to get there from LA that morning, and if I hadn't had another two-and-a-half-hour drive ahead of me to get back home.

Was five hours' worth of driving worth just a few hours to bask in what's left of the Spanish village of San Clemente?

Absolutely. 

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: The Gold Coast Estate of Rancho Palos Verdes, Never Built
Photo Essay: A Tiny Tuscan Villa Above the Palos Verdes 'Riviera'
Photo Essay: The Mysteries of Brand Park in Historic Glendale
Photo Essay: The Estate and Gardens of the First Lady of Beverly Hills
What Is This Spanish Village By the Sea... Without Its Movies and Bowling?