The Wit of the Staircase

Oh, Eeyore: An L.A. Earthquake

“It's snowing still," said Eeyore gloomily. "So it is." "And freezing." "Is it?" "Yes," said Eeyore. "However," he said, brightening up a little, "we haven't had an earthquake lately.” --A. A. Milne

DEVORE, California: A light earthquake followed by a slightly stronger aftershock rattled part of Southern California, according to a preliminary report from the U.S. Geological Survey.

The initial magnitude 3.8 temblor struck at 11:11 p.m. Wednesday (0611 GMT Thursday) and was centered two miles (three kilometers) southeast of Devore, about 50 miles (80 kilometers) northeast of downtown Los Angeles.

The magnitude 3.9 aftershock hit at 11:15 p.m. in the same area, the U.S.G.S. reported.

Link: Small earthquake, slightly stronger aftershock rattle Southern California county - International Herald Tribune.

A Crack Pipe Burns In Spago

Rather an exploitive tale, this one, but we like the Rodney Dangerfield at the Country Club vibe of the interruption of street life into Spago.

"Last year, I was taken to the Los Angeles restaurant Spago for a movie industry lunch. The conversation turned to the question of Sly Stone's whereabouts. Someone mentioned that Sly had wandered into this very eating establishment a few months previous, smoking what appeared to be a crack pipe.

Someone else happened to mention they knew someone who knew someone who was in the process of selling their entire collection of music memorabilia, including a hat worn on stage by Sly in 1970: a very fetching Davy Crockett-style number with a giant brooch attached. Without delay, a call was made to the seller and I was informed that only sealed bids would be considered. I duly scraped together all the cash I could muster (a princely 6400 pounds) and pitched my bid with what can only be described as a sense of burning hope...."

Link: Guardian Unlimited: Arts blog - music: My quest to buy Sly Stone's hat.

Oh, Good Morning

The members of the Los Angeles Lunar Society are resting this a.m. after several enthusiastic evenings of New York nightlife. I'll be posting again around midday. [Fluffs pillow] Now if you'll excuse us....

The Art Of Defense

Wit is participating in a fencing match today and so we won't be posting until after our victory....

"In the broadest possible sense, fencing is the art of armed combat involving cutting, stabbing, or bludgeoning weapons directly manipulated by hand, rather than shot or thrown. Example weapons include swords, knives, pikes, bayonets, batons, clubs, and similar. In contemporary common usage, fencing tends to refer specifically to European schools of swordsmanship and to the modern Olympic sport that has evolved out of them.

Fencing is one of the four sports that has been featured at every modern Olympic Games. The modern weapons for sport fencing are the foil, epee, and sabre. Foils and epees are very similar. They both involve the use of the point, stabbing the opponent, while in sabre, one can use the sides of the weapon, and cut or stab. The term 'Fencing' derives from the expression, 'The Art of Defense', meaning the art of defending oneself in combat."

Link: Fencing - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

A Rum Punch Below The Belt For A Los Angeles Legend

Trader Vic's, a Wit favorite, closes its doors. We just went there with Mr. Wit's parents, spent one lovely Christmas Eve with Mr. Wit there too.

Luckily I still have all my souvenir ceramic coconuts. I have a menu and a little Menehune creature that came with one drink too.....Mr. Wit liked the Fogcutter and I loved the Scorpion, naturally, with its beautiful magnolia flower floating in the bowl.

"The iconic high-peaked Polynesian entrance and towering islander totem pole still stand near the corner of Wilshire and Santa Monica boulevards outside the Beverly Hilton Hotel. But Trader Vic's, the legendary Rat Pack watering hole that helped launch a national tiki-bar craze, has officially been downsized.

Quietly (tiki enthusiasts allege secretively) the restaurant that introduced mai tais to the mainstream closed its doors April 29, prompting howls of protest from L.A.'s community of tikiphiles.

'I say to descend on [Trader Vic's] en masse and strip it of everything and then burn it down,' wrote one contributor on the Tikicentral Internet message board. 'THEN folks would think twice before closing their tiki bars.' "

Link: Tiki-philes carrying a torch for Trader Vic's - Los Angeles Times.

Still Recovering From Full Moon

Be patient with Wit today as we recover from a long night's work Wednesday. We will have a new post up pronto.

Above, Edgar Allan Poe by Edmund Dulac.

Was It Good For You? L. A. Lunar Society May Meeting Minutes

Thanks to all who made it to the Los Angeles Lunar Society's full moon meeting in Malibu last night, and bigger thanks to all those who didn't make it, due to our exclusive admission of film directors and fine artists (and precious few of even those.)

This fine evening saw a huge spring moon hovering overhead like that mile-wide flying saucer those British pilots saw last week, a celestial satellite that peered down as Los Angeles' biggest little secret society celebrated the wigged out holiday of Beltane. Some of the more histrionic female Lunarians enacted the ritual of eating three seeds of the pomegranate for the goddess Persephone, who brings spring back to our shores. As fun as this might seem to certain Wicca-damaged Bennington undergrads overly influenced by the later career of Stevie Nicks, yours truly was indeed present, but unable to attend said communion.

Fresh from LAX, I instead hid in my Lunar Library office and listened to early Kinks albums, smoked a couple bowls of California chronic, cataloged a crate of first edition Walter Cranes in fine gilt bindings, caught up on my copious handwritten correspondence (stationery Mrs. John L. Strong) and polished off half a bottle of XO cognac. Or so.

I then spent the rest of the night sending spectres out into Los Angeles, ruling the clubhouse's ghosts, and carrying into effect the curses of Lunar members. Or something. When I awoke suddenly near dawn this morning and found myself staring into the dying embers of the library's fireplace I had only a couple finger-smudged crystal brandy snifters, a lone solid gold cufflink and my own nudity to serve as clues to the manner in which the rest of the evening transpired. And I guess I don't need a Ouija board to spell it out for you, dear reader.

And what about you? Did you sleep well last night, Los Angeles? If not, next time please remember the Lunar Society out on the wilder shores of Malibu in your nightly prayers. Or drop me a line on your best stationery and I'll see what we can do to bestow our blessings as the moon, enormous and silent, sails overhead.

Theresa L. Duncan
c/o Main Library
The Los Angeles Lunar Society
Post Office Box 1558
Venice, CA 90293

L.A. City Council Bestows Pioneer Woman Award On Rock Chick

"For blazing a trail across indie America's heart, Rilo Kiley frontlady/solo singer Jenny Lewis has been named a 'Pioneer Woman' by the Los Angeles City Council.

Okay, so maybe it was actually for "contributions to popular music [that] have left their mark on her neighborhood, her genre, and her time" and helping "place the Silver Lake and Echo Park musical scenes on the leading edge of 21st-century song," as board president Eric Garcetti put it. The leading edge of 21st-century song, eh?

Lewis received the Pioneer Woman award-- given out annually in conjunction with National Women's History Month, and meant to honor 'outstanding community service and accomplishments...that continue to expand opportunities for generations to come'-- from Garcetti during a ceremony last Friday, March 30."

Link: Pitchfork: Jenny Lewis Wins L.A. "Pioneer Woman" Honor.

"I Learned To Drive In Order To Read Los Angeles In The Original." --Reyner Banham

Reyner Banham Loves Los Angeles, a film from 1972, below.

Link: Reyner Banham Loves Los Angeles | 1972 - Front page - Art & Design Feed.

Via: Design Observer: writings about design & culture.

One Nite Only!! NYC Lunar Convocation

Hard by the cobblestones of Greenwich Village, inside the Beatrice Inn on the stroke of midnight.

Cry, Illuminati babies, cry, we will sing you an old man's lullaby:

"Where it was, I shall be!"

With the best recorded music, mixed by DJs Mike Fellows and Andrew WK.

Link: Beatrice Inn - New York, NY, 10014 - Citysearch.