Those are the opening words to “The House I Live In,” a song made popular by Frank Sinatra and Paul Robeson. I started thinking about this song (and more specifically, how it was used in Charles Burnett’s Killer of Sheep) after one of the most memorable, diverse 4th of July’s that I can recall. But before I go on a rant about how racist L.A. is, I’ll just tell you what I did yesterday.
It started off with a 5 hour, 12 mile hike with my dad through the Big Santa Anita Canyon. Unfortunately, the road to the trailhead at Chantry Flats was closed for the holiday. That 3 1/2 mile stretch uphill was pretty brutal, but luckily it was early in the morning and the weather was somewhat tolerable. Once we reached the trail, it was cool and shady with lots of beautiful trees. Our final destination was Sturtevant Falls, about 50 ft. high cascading into a small pool that looked really inviting after such a long hike.
The next destination was Din Tai Fung in Arcadia for lunch. This place is always packed, but that’s the price you pay for the best dumplings in town. I will have to try the Hot and Sour soup the next time I’m back. In the adjacent plaza is a small shop (I forget the name) that serves Mango Shaved Ice with Konjac (aka “Mango Bin” in Chinese). Konjac is something similar to Jello. The mango was kind of sour and the shaved ice wasn’t shaved thin enough for my taste, but I didn’t care too much. It was effing hot outside.
Later in the evening, I called up Justin C. and we made the trek to Leimert Park. It’s a small neighborhood where Vernon and Crenshaw intersect. Yes, I guess it would be considered South Central, but it felt more like Harlem to me, not the South Central that’s depicted in the movies. I had a hunch that there would be some jazz out there on the 4th of July, and wouldn’t you know it, we were treated to an outdoor concert on Degnan. The smoking session was lead by Billy Mitchell on the piano. They played some blues, Brazilian, and old standards like My Funny Valentine. Dave Winfield came up to the mic and did a rousing rendition of an old B.B. King tune. Although I kind of wished the soul food restaurants were open that night. I was eyeing out the fried catfish and fries at the Shabbazz stand across from the stage, but passed when it looked like the food had been sitting out there too long.
Finally, dinner at Fred 62 in Los Feliz (where I can never pass up the Fred MacMurray), beers at the Shortstop, and a late night showing of Transformers at the Vista. The Vista is probably my favorite theater in town. Tickets are cheap, leg room is ample, and it has an old school Egyptian vibe to it. Oh yeah, I actually enjoyed Transformers. Hooray for America!
