Tag: Silverlake

I hate the place but I agreed to meet a friend who lives in Silver Lake down at the expensive, pretentious coffee house where there are many nice dogs and many mean people.

It was a random Tuesday in Los Angeles. The 101 was packed with cars and trucks. But when I drove down Hollywood to Sunset, I passed less than five people walking on the streets.

They were repairing the electrical wires on Sunset, on the year 1888 wooden poles, so I turned up Hyperion and found parking across the street from a man sleeping on the sidewalk in front of the two-million-dollar wooden bungalow.

A discarded, half rolled out movie poster from the Matt Dillion/Kelly Lynch picture, “Drugstore Cowboy” (1989) was thrown on the street. An unemployed, 60-year-old gaffer on that film probably threw it out before moving back to Naperville.

I had to pee badly so I made a mad dash to Intelligentsia and found that the bathrooms were allegedly out of service. Quick thinking and I ran down to the other coffee place, La Colombe, which has better coffee, nicer servers and a clean, open restroom. I bought a croissant which was pretty good and walked back down to Intelligentsia to meet my friend.

There were angry political posters taped to every pole I passed:  

We need and demand a whole new way to live, a fundamentally different system.

LA’s Best Restaurants Are Feeding You a Lie.

And there was even a quotation from Black Conservative Thomas Sowell:

“The fact that so many politicians are such shameless liars is not only a reflection on them, it is also a reflection on us.”

      Perhaps the progressive person who posted Sowell’s quote didn’t know that Sowell is an ardent opponent of racial quotas.

      Two artfully outfitted Japanese guys were taking photos of the coffee shop exterior to document their visit to this legendary place. I felt excited for them being so excited.

      I found a seat outside across from a large black French Poodle and his bearded owner in a baseball cap imprinted with the flag of a foreign country.

      A small, middle-aged man emerged carrying an espresso cup balanced on a saucer, carrying a pastry, holding a dog leash attached to a large, gray Weimaraner.

      “Do you mind dogs?” he asked as he sat down and attempted to fit his large animal between the petite table and the flat wood bench.

      I was still waiting for my friend as more dogs arrived. It was an excellent seat for dog watching, looking at their fur colors, admiring their leashes, listening to their barking. The whole patio was dogs, tied up to the table legs, emptied of their owners who were inside ordering drinks.

      Finally, my friend arrived. He is about 50, a short Filipino graphic designer who carried Age of Revolutions: Progress and Backlash from 1600 to the Present by Fareed Zakaria. 

      He told me he had a crazy dream about losing expensive camera equipment. It inspired me to tell him about a camera store in St. Moritz I had recently seen that kept hundreds of thousands of dollars of electronics in their store window overnight without fear of theft.

      We got our coffees and new seats and sat on the outdoor patio where no loud humans could be heard, only the occasional bark from one of 12 dogs.

      Suddenly, a foul faced young woman holding a saucer of water for her rust bulldog threw the water bowl liquid on the patio inches from where we were sitting. She might have walked to the numerous plant containers and politely dumped her dog water there, but since this was Los Angeles, not Switzerland, consideration for others was highly unlikely. 

      We talked more about travel, politics, international affairs, apartments, real estate, and everything that might have involved Donald Trump, but his name was never mentioned. My friend asked if I wanted to walk down Sunset, perhaps to a park, to sit and talk, so we left Intelligentsia, the dog motel with coffee drinks.

      “Are you still hungry?” he asked. I assumed he was going to buy me a sandwich.

      We walked into Bravo Toast, a place with gourmet toasts. He ordered one with thin slices of bananas and a power drink. He paid for his sandwich and drink and got a number.

      “Hey, should I order something Ross?” I asked.

      “Oh, I’m sorry Andrew. Go ahead,” he said.

      But since this was Los Angeles, not Switzerland, consideration for others was highly unlikely.

      I got one with ricotta cheese for $12.50, plus $1.50 tip, my treat, for me.

      We were conversing, quietly, enjoying our food and ruminating about life, ideas, dreams.

      Then the noise began. 

      Two skinny, female presenting things somewhere north of 20 with many piercings and 18-inch waists sat down nearby. As they screamed and laughed not even the fire engines with sirens speeding down Sunset could be heard. I briefly considered asking them to talk softer, but since this was Los Angeles, not Switzerland, consideration for others was highly unlikely.

      We left Bravo Toast and said good-bye on Sunset.      

“Next time I’ll come up to Van Nuys and you can show me around,” Ross said.