The Paramount Theater opened its doors in 1931 as the largest multi-purpose theater in the West Coast. Its iconic facade has experienced openings, closures, renovation and revival.

I haven’t had the opportunity to enter the building, but people tell me its grand lobby is something worthy of marvel and praise. My casual afternoon walks for midday coffee take me to the Paramount on a daily basis. It’s deliberate. I could easily meander through the side streets to find a macchiato, but why would I deprive myself of a daily, lovely sight? My fascination is with that towering mosaic and the way it glistens in the showering East Bay sun.

On my way back from a caffeine run, I ran into these downtown dwellers smiling and pointing at my new best friend. Their appreciation was completely sincere, and I appreciated that. They stood their ground, gawking at the golden sparkle, studying the exteriors details. I was envious because I don’t think I’ve had time between my coffee runs to do what they were doing. Maybe I’ll stop for a few minutes tomorrow.

We’re approaching an era of stability in our lives. There is one roof and only one city. We’re taking the same trips and creating memories together. I found my tripod last week in a garage housing decades-worth of belongings I’ve left behind and mostly forgotten. This was the first time I’d used it since…some time ago.

Rochelle (far right) is back home in the Bay after living in South Africa for six months, and then briefly hanging in Los Angeles. Revaz and Laura (middle) are both in the Bay on their way to Portland. Laura will then leave to Kenya for a year where she’ll be based with human rights project Enough Project. Revaz heads back to Brooklyn and he’ll start his second year at The New School. Anna and I are headed back to Los Angeles. We were granted one day together and it involved futbol in Dolores Park, burritos, happy hour, portraits, and promises to see each other soon. I’m hoping it’s sometime in February. Maybe in Mexico.

It’s hard to have NorCal love coming from SoCal living. But the city’s colorful secrets make me wonder if there’s a possibility of living here in the near future.

I started my day off here and didn’t do much else.

Arts District Los Angeles, formerly known as the Warehouse District, reminds me of an underdeveloped DUMBO. Unused rail lines lead to fences. Buildings are covered in well-known stencil art. The sidewalks are mangled by the remnants of construction work either left unfinished or postponed. There’s even a nice view of Downtown from the area. Anna and I walked over to The Novel Cafe to scout the neighborhood’s vibe because we’re hunting for a new, semi-permanent home (Everything in your late-20′s to early-30′s is semi-permanent). She’s also not native to Los Angeles and we’re trying to visit as much of LA before jobs take over our time. I could photograph the streets of LA all day every day. In fact, I could photograph anything, anytime all day every day. This neighborhood makes me think, “Why not?”

I’m not inspired by fruit, flowers or vegetables. In fact, I get really frustrated at farmers markets because I can’t try most of the produce. I’m allergic to birch pollen, so nectarines, pears, peaches, apples, and kiwi – items always left out in volumes for sampling – are never for me. I’m left to do those other market things – people watching, voyeurism, spying. I stalked the homeboy above because he had the best product transport at the Hollywood Farmers Market. Makes me think you can be fashionable even when you’re only task is searching for the best figs in town.

I don’t know much about Culver City, Ca. My time in the area revolved around the Samy’s Camera just west of this shot. I hear galleries have opened (and closed) over the last few years, the rents are alright and there’s a “scene.” I’ve only ever visited the city three times and I’m a native Angeleno. The other day I met up with Oscar for lunch and he helped shed a little light around the area I was in.

OG: “I hear there is a movie lot around here and The Wizard of Oz was filmed there.”
ME: “Oh yeah?”
OG: “Yeah. See that hotel over there? Apparently the entire munchkin cast stayed there.”
ME: “No kidding.”

The interior needs lots of work, but you couldn’t tell from the polished exterior. The Chevrolet DeLuxe is Pancho‘s new ride.

Notorious for being the old stomping grounds of Charles Bukowski (a rumor no one I know has ever been able to verify) the Smog Cutter sits between gangland Los Angeles and the Western fringe of Los Feliz/Silverlake. The bar is small in square footage but large in personality. If you’re not ready for pushy/playful bartenders demanded you buy another drink, a cramped setting and lukewarm Budweiser, then go elsewhere. This is the place where “dive” really means something. And where karaoke shines.