The Corner Restaurant--Everchanging

It is a condition of life in LA that your reference to places is within the context of what its previous incarnation had been. On the corner of Beverly, near Gardner is a corner restaurant, now known as BLD. Many years ago, three or four incarnations ago, was a restaurant called Red, much like the color for which it was named, its walls crimson inside and out. It was a place frequented by people who brunched. And during those years, my husband and I were the latte sipping, newspaper reading, brunch eating couples, whose first half part of Sundays were spent waiting for tables where these activities were taken up as part of a weekly ritual.

But this ever-changing corner store heightens the transitoriness of life here amidst palm trees, and the ever present, sunshine. LA, unlike any other city, is almost diabolical in its erasure of its past. This young city has grown, gobbling up orchards, widening streets, and razing homes that should have, for this city, been deemed historical. It is a city that is ever looking ahead, which is fitting since it faces West, its gaze cast away from the historical legacies of this country and Europe. As a resident, when change is constant, it is hard to be sentimental about any place, corner, store since it will, surely, be replaced by something new. The something new being proposed as better, newer, and obviously, transitional. The changes are, I suppose, unremarkable since most cities experience change. What is remarkable is how little they effect us, Los Angelenos. None of us rarely expresses outrage about a certain establishment being replaced by a Starbucks, our affections and loyalties so easily replaced by that steaming cup of latte.

Life being so ungrounded affects every aspect of living here. Like our inability to become sentimental about restaurants, boutiques, or any shop that was intimate, this fickleness extends to all areas like how little we care about our sporting teams. There is no way to compare the religious fervor of the Red Sox fans--the Dodgers fans looking like dilettantes. Doesn't it make sense any eating establishment would have a shelf life that never extends beyond a few years since we, the restaurant goers, are constantly in search of something newer, and in our minds, better? What does it say about a city that points to a fabricated outdoor market, the Farmer's Market, established in the 1930's, as one of the old strong holds of this city? Doesn't this disconnection with its past have a profound impact on each of us? Doesn't it make sense that this city, more than any other, is obsessed with staying young, staying on top of trends?

Given how little affection or connection we have to our environment, it makes sense that the Grove, the strange amalgamation of shopping in a fabricated park-like setting, is the largest attraction for this city, rivaling the number of people visiting Disneyland. What's amazing is that none of us complain about why there are so little communal spaces like parks where people can gather, which we obviously crave, given the packed parking structure at the Grove on any Saturday or Sunday. Again, we can't care enough to ask the difficult questions about why an outdoor mall assuages all of these other needs we have. Instead, we simply go to the Grove, walking behind those walls, feeling protected from the rest of the city. And in a few years, when the Grove starts to show its age, people will, invariably, look for something newer, something better.

Perhaps the next mall Caruso develops, will not only have a fountain that sprays in sync to "Celebration," but will also have rides for those looking for a wee bit of excitement beyond purchasing that perfect pair of pumps. Can't you see it? Shopping, food, movie theater, grassy area for the kids to pretend is a park, and of course, that super roller coaster for those of us looking for a thrill along with running up our credit cards. It will become the one stop entertainment, shopping, dining, complex for the citizens, who are anesthetized to blindly accept the simulacrum of everything in their lives.