Haunting for One

"How many?"

"Um, well, we've got three," the man in front of me in line said, pointing down at his seven year old son and four year old daughter, "But..."

And then he looked back at me and pointed.

"No, no, no thank you," I said.

We were at the Backwoods Maze in Burbank, and although I was scared to go into a frightful Halloween attraction (in the dark, no less) by myself, I said, "I came alone, and I'm going in alone."

The father in front of me started to go in, and then turned back as if to check and see if I'd changed my mind. I put my hand up in a "I'm fine" gesture, and as they went in, I advanced to the man at the entrance.

"Just one?"

"I came stag." Somehow I thought it was less mortifying to go into a haunted maze alone than to tag along with a young family I'd just met.

"Oh, so you're a brave one..."

"Not really."

And then it was my turn.

The first masked ghoul I encountered also remarked, "We have a braaaaave one..." but when I screamed about five seconds later, he said, "Oh, so maybe not so brave after allllll...."

No, not so brave after all.

But maybe braver than most. Everyone else had someone to clutch onto. All I could do was wave my hands in front of me as though fanning myself on a hot day, or trying to airdry wet nails. And giggle. And scream. And try to make idle conversation with those who haunted me.

Now if only I could find a way to cope with the hauntings that wake me up in the middle of the night, when I'm also alone...

Related Post:
A Tale of Two Tickets

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Photo Essay: Trippet Ranch to Eagle Rock

I'd planned to hike to Eagle Rock with a group a few weeks or months ago. I don't remember what forced me to bail. But after having successfully hiked Sandstone Peak a few weeks ago, I was finally ready to tackle its junior version, Eagle Rock.

I just wasn't sure if I could do it alone.

I'd been so grateful for the help I'd have getting up into and through the Cave of Munits that I started to doubt my ability to do these hikes without help, even though I've done so many of them alone.

But, as with anything else, I figured I would at least try, and see what happens.



The trail started out gently enough, passing through Trippet Ranch's population of mule deer, who peered out at me curiously from the shadows under some trees.



Although the hike starts out shady, it gains elevation quickly and opens up into the dry, dusty landscape characteristic of Topanga State Park and the nearby Backbone Trail.



Honestly, I can't explain my trepidation about a hike that only clocks in at about 4.5 miles in and out, but I was getting sick, and I just haven't been hiking that much since coming back from Joshua Tree in late August. It's been too hot. I've been too tired. I haven't had a car. Blah blah blah.



So on a hot afternoon last week, feeling under the weather, I took my trekking pole and set off on my own.



I passed one couple along the wide, dirt fire road, and asked if they'd made it to the top yet. "No," the man wheezed, "And I'm not sure we're going to make it."



Well, neither was I, but I was going to try.







Soon, some sandstone formations came into view, piled up off the side of the trail, leering like Jabba the Hut.





After a couple of steep stretches...



...bordered by fences to make sure hikers didn't fall off the cliff...



...eroded from foot traffic, wind, weather and water...



...with nothing much to plunge my trekking pole into...



I reached the mighty Eagle Rock.



This boulder outcropping in Topanga State Park is not to be confused with the rock of the same name, in the neighborhood of the same name on the east side of Los Angeles.



This one doesn't look much like an eagle to me. Nevertheless, I revered its size and its slippery slopes, and only hiked to the base of it, looking down at the trails below and at the property that was once a "gentleman's ranch" for a getaway in the mountains.



To make a loop out of it, I headed back down the Musch Trail...



...which is more easily graded...



...and much more shaded than the fire road was on the way up.



Without the ocean views, it was ultimately less scenic, but a change of scenery was appreciated at least.



Past the Musch Camp...



...through an oak grove...



...over a footbridge...



...and across a meadow...





...I quickly returned back to where I started.

And I wondered what I'd been so worried about.

Nearby / Related Hikes:
Sandstone Peak
Los Liones to Parker Mesa (Day)
Los Liones to Parker Mesa (Night)
Will Rogers State Historic Park

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The Ghost Train of Griffith Park

It took me almost two years to ride the tiny train in Travel Town, and I refused to do it alone.

But once I'd done it (with a partner in crime), why stop at just one tiny train?

Why not ride every tiny train in Griffith Park?



The next one on my list is operated by the Los Angeles Live Steamers Railroad Museum, and runs the same course at the same scale as it was originally built by Walt Disney, who reportedly was a railroad fanatic.

Partying Like It's 1922 at The Egyptian Theatre

"I mean, is there anything like this in New York?"

I looked around at the flapper-clad crowd in the courtyard of the Egyptian Theatre, feeling transported back 90 years to 1922 and the day that the theater held its first-ever Hollywood movie premiere. The palm trees swayed gently against a cool night sky. A pharaoh scuffled past me. And Douglas Fairbanks was asking me the question.

"No, no there's not."



Perhaps this level of glitz and glamour did exist once in New York, but in the modern age, people tend to revel more in the grit of New York - flocking to gentrify its industrial waterfronts and warehouse-laden, cobblestone streets - rather than in the glory days of Broadway or the Gold Coast of Gatsby.

In LA, it's amazing how many people - at every level of the age spectrum - relish the opportunity to don a top hat and kick up their heels like there's nothing vintage about it. They're not being ironic. Some of them dress this way every day anyway.



But for me, the 90th Anniversary of the Egyptian Theatre Masquerade Ball was a special occasion. I agonized over my costume for weeks, convinced that I would be comparatively underdressed.

Despite my anxiety, I put on my best Cleopatra costume - foregoing other options of the Egyptian or flapper sort - and mingled among dozens of other Cleopatras, beads dangling from bangs, asps rising from foreheads, fabrics wrapped around waists and wrists cuffed and bejeweled.

I fit in just fine.



In fact, I didn't stand out very much at all, even lacking historically accurate choreography, not to mention a dance partner.

A few times that night, I stepped away from the crowd and advanced closer to the street, still within the confines of the courtyard, behind the neon "Egyptian" sign, and peered out at the tourists, nightclubbers and vagrants that frequent that very same strip of Hollywood Boulevard that the Egyptian Theatre occupies. We looked at each other as though from each side of a looking glass. Both existences were easily plausible for both of us that night. They chose theirs; I chose mine. And after a few moments, we broke the gaze. What the rest of the evening held for them was just as mysterious to me as my party was to them.

In such a huge, sprawling city, a night like this was reserved only for a very select few of us - those of us who chose to live our LA lives this way, to live out our fantasies and live in whatever era we darn well please.

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: Upon the 90th Anniversary of the Egyptian Theatre
A Tale of Two Tickets

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A Tale of Two Tickets

One of the biggest issues that's plagued me since moving to LA almost two years ago is constantly being presented with the decision to buy one ticket or two.

It doesn't matter what it's for - a concert, an architectural tour, a Halloween party, a play - I am inclined, as I always am, to buy one ticket, but I'm haunted by the voices of people who are aghast at my solitude and say things like, "Why didn't you tell me? I would have gone."

Foolishly believing them, sometimes, when planning ahead, I buy two tickets.

And I almost always regret it.

Unfortunately, I don't have enough disposable income to just chalk up the extra, unused ticket if I can't find a date. And I can rarely find a date - male or female, romantic or platonic.

I sold my extra ticket for the Playboy Jazz Festival at the Hollywood Bowl to a scalper, thumbing my nose at my own industry.

So why don't I just resign myself to the fact that my concert-going and theater-going is as characterized by "Ticket for One" as my dining out is characterized by "Table for One"?

Because I still hold out some hope of finding a mate in this city of men who just aren't that into me, and I have hypothesized that I need to dangle an extra ticket for something at a specific place and time like a carrot, just to encourage a rabbit to give me a sniff. Thus far, my hypothesis is unproven.

When I bought tickets to see Al Green in concert at The Greek over the summer, I bought two of them, thinking surely someone would want to see Al Green: The Reverend, the legend, the purveyor of Love and Happiness. I then embarked on the humiliating task of asking every single guy I knew - including those with whom I'm just friends - to go, even offering to reduce or absorb the ticket price, and then accepting each rejection and regret as they came in, one by one. (I ended up going with a married friend of mine who's a big fan and having a great time. I probably should have asked him first.)

To be honest, it's more mortifying to be turned down than it is to not ask anyone at all, and just go by myself.

Even when the tickets are free, I'm reticent to ask for two. And yet, occasionally, I still torture myself by doing so. I have two tickets to see Prince perform a live mini-concert for a TV show next week. I've asked and been turned down by one single, possibly dateable guy who I think is just not that into me, and I'm too exhausted to ask anyone else.

And so I've booked myself at three costume parties over the next week and a half leading up to Halloween, and I'm going stag to all of them. Maybe I'll meet someone there. Maybe I'll feel like an underdressed social outcast.

But either way, at least I don't have to worry who's going with me.

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Photo Essay: Upon the 90th Anniversary of the Egyptian Theatre (Updated for 2020—Sold to Netflix)

[Last updated 12/24/20 11:01 PM PT—information on sale of theatre and new ownership added]

Ninety years ago, Los Angeles' center city was still Downtown, filled with glittering marquees and glitterati. Hollywood consisted mostly of lemon groves and farmland—and what did a hicktown like that know about the movies, or live entertainment?



Sid Grauman set out to change that.



In 1922, the Egyptian Theatre was built relatively quickly by Hollywood setbuilders and other artisans, primarily out of the same materials (chickenwire, plaster, etc.). And lucky for Sid Grauman, it opened just weeks before the discovery of King Tut's Tomb, which sparked a worldwide obsession with all things Egyptian.



The Egyptian Theatre - with its hieroglyphic embellishments and imposing "stone" architecture - was a hit...



...and hosted all of the biggest Hollywood movie premieres with all of the biggest stars in its massive courtyard...



...starting with Douglas Fairbanks' Robin Hood.



Like many historic theaters of Los Angeles, the Egyptian changed hands several times, and was modernized over and over again to try to keep up with the times, and the increased foot traffic on Hollywood Boulevard.



American Cinematheque—the theater's current owner [until May 2020]—embarked on a massive $15MM renovation of the Egyptian to return it to its original splendor, preserving or restoring many of the surfaces.



The exterior, exposed to the elements, could use a little touch-up.



The interior is gorgeous and modern, and not immediately evocative of what one might expect inside an Egyptian Revival historic monument. There are two dogs adorning the lobby which are not original to the building, but reportedly are original props from the Elizabeth Taylor Cleopatra film. [Update: These have been removed from the theatre and are currently in the possession of Hollywood Heritage.]



Original lighting fixtures with original glass still remain...



...along a ceiling whose intricate stencil pattern has been painstakingly restored and, in some cases, reproduced using original stencils.



Inside the theater itself, the ceiling "starburst" pattern was merely cleaned...



...decades of nicotine and tar (from years of cigarette smoking) having preserved the colorful paint underneath.



In the wings, you can see where present day technology and amenities meet the original walls...



...with sound panels merely obscuring the walls (rather than requiring them to be torn down, since these panels are usually inside the wall).



If you look up from one of the side aisles, you can see the original singer's boxes...



...and if you're lucky enough, your tour guide will take you up to stand in one.



Sid Grauman was infamous for his over-the-top stage shows that preceded the movie screenings, full of singers, dancers, and elaborate pageantry - a tradition he brought over to the Chinese Theater, which opened five years later.



Upstairs, you can still see some unrestored areas, like the old bathroom and dressing rooms, which currently store some original old furniture that will hopefully one day make its way back out in public view.



The building - primarily constructed of hollow blocks - was also not up to earthquake code, so during the renovation some of those walls were covered in a plastic to try to prevent anything crumbling under significant seismic activity.



A new marquee was added as well - not exactly like the original, but certainly evocative of it.



This week the Egyptian celebrates its 90th anniversary with a number of events, film screenings, and a gala event on Saturday night.

Of course I have to go.

But of course I had to get a good look at the theater first.

Update: In May 2020, a deal was finalized to transfer ownership of the Egyptian from American Cinematheque to Netflix. 

Netflix plans to "restore" the theatre to an earlier time period—including reversing some of the updates and renovations that have been done. 

It will still allow American Cinematheque to run repertory screenings and festivals on weekends, while it will use the theatre as a screening room for its original productions throughout the rest of the week. 

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: Behind the Scenes at Grauman's Chinese Theater