Results tagged “thegettycenter”

As part of the Actors’ Gang WTF!? Festival, PEN Center USA hosts a conversation with author TC Boyle. He’s written 20 books of fiction and more than 60 short stories and won the PEN/Faulkner award in 1988 for his third novel, World's End, which recounts 300 years in upstate New York. Bar opens at 7PM. Show at 8 pm. Tickets: $20.

FILM: The Aero in Santa Monica screens the L.A. premiere of the rock doc Patti Smith: Dream of Life at 7:30 tonight. “Twelve years in the making, the first film directed by fashion photographer Steven Sebring stitches together layer upon layer of human experience to paint a portrait of Patti Smith, the artist as a tireless and dynamic worker for music, poetry, peace, family and friends.”

Last Friday I trundled up in the tram at The Getty Center to see a 'sold out', intimate performance. For the mere cost of parking and a little bumper-to-bumper on the 405, I and my brother from another mother, MX, got to sit in a comfy auditorium and listen to the laconic stylings of ex-punk (no pun intended) troubadour, John Doe. Now, ain't yah jealous?

If you're looking for something free and chill, then catch old school acoustic jazz at Crane's Hollywood Tavern or ride the tram uphill for reggae at The Getty. For jazz of a crazier brand (yet still classic), try the Art Ensemble of Chicago at REDCAT. Speaking of Chitown, three hip-hop artist from there will be at Echoplex. Hip-hop of a different brand can be found at the weirdest space in LA, pehrspace. And for some rock that's just good, check Spaceland and Safari Sam's.

Edward Weston. One of the most brilliant photographers of the 20th Century. Viewing the LACMA exhibit many years ago, I was enamored instantly. The buildings, the nudes, the everyday objects, and his link to Los Angeles stirred up emotions in me that I’ve never forgot.

Sometimes LA is like a bad romantic comedy. You know the one, where the fiance comes to meet the weird-ass parents and the protagonist tries, unsuccessfully, to hide just how crazy they are. (see “The Birdcage”, “Meet The Fockers”, et al). I live a quiet, unassuming writer’s life here. Yet whenever friends from out of town travel through, despite my assurances that I live a perfectly normal life in our sunny, smoggy city, LA seems to go out of its way to roll out an assembly line of “only in LA” clichés the moment they step off the plane. Only when out of town guests are here does that 80s hair rocker with the Skid Row t-shirt come stumbling, stoned, into In-N-Out at 11pm. Every Angelyne sighting I’ve ever had has been while in the company of an out-of-town guest.