Community Garden Redux

That community garden which vanished barely in the space of barely three days? It is going to be a park after all, and not a parking lot! There's a very pleased vibe around the office with this news. It's going to be called Beverly Pocket Park, 13,900 square-feet with a playground, picnic tables, drinking fountain and some sort of modified local garden component, coming in at just under $600,000.

The purple succulent I snagged when they were trashing everything is doing amazing things in its new home near the porch and behind the sticky thing from Australia. All of the cabbage-like heads have opened up and doubled in size, and each of the branches have grown about half a foot taller. I was shocked, but the Gardener of Eden told me I shouldn't be because that's what these things do when they're happy. It was not in good shape when I put it in; thought I was in for two seasons of pampering just to convince it not to up and die. I'd been giving it extra spritz from the mister, wiping the leaves down to keep it shiny and talking to it at least three times weekly. (Shut up. Talking to the plants is what the Official Mother of BGF Central does.) Perhaps all that, combined with the killer mulch, is working! Gonna adjust my original plan and hold off putting some of the wildflower seeds over there for now so I can see what this thing plans to do.

Oh, the stick things from Australia? All three of them are turning scarlet at the tops. Dude! I thought they were going to get a little darker green, but that's it.  This scarlet is pretty cool, especially since I did something wrong with the blood grass and it's dying. The blood grass was supposed to be the pretty red accent for fall and winter. Instead, it's a droopy brown thing. I think I over-watered it. I feel so guilty.

 

Meanwhile, a bit in the LA Weekly from Art Nixon:

It’s this: In today’s P.C. world, even the most intractable haters wouldn’t dream of calling me a nigger aloud (except, maybe, the indomitable Mr. Richards, who apparently does dream, and in color to boot). These days, the more sophisticated way to get the N word across loud and clear is to simply act it out. That’s what this woman’s intense stare was about while she gathered her bags close to her. It wasn’t fear at all. It was more like, “There, I still get to let you know what I think of you.” Now, another question presented itself. If the folks in this neighborhood weren’t frightened that I was going to rob them, molest them, say something weird or even make eye contact with them, then what was really taking place?

The answer was obvious, but shrouded by the hip accouterments of the supposedly liberal, urban sophisticate of the independent bookstores, book signings, cineastes’ queues, Mini Coopers, coffeehouses, biscottis, delicate tattoos, pierced bellies, yoga, Pilates and, of course, political correctness across the board. In spite of all this, when these folks cross the street to avoid me on the residential byways of Los Feliz, it registers as a silent scream of “Oh my God... nigger.” For some it may be almost instinctual, even mean. For most, crossing the street is probably nothing personal, just a wistful nod toward a collective memory when life was so much safer and simpler.

I'll only note that one doesn't have to be a man to have this and similar happen constantly over in the hipster part of town. We all have our stories. A lot of mine involve sushi. One of the reasons I prefer to indulge in Little Tokyo rather than Hipster Land is due to issues of treatment. But Little Tokyo shuts down earlier than Hipster Land, and being the night owl sort, often I just have to grit my teeth and head over there knowing I might have to engage in a bit of Cultural Combat.

<Here I have redacted recounting a tale of two black writers going to an "event" party over in Hipster Land they were specifically invited to. I cut it because I heard this story several months ago at a book thing the writers held but it's been so long I can't remember all of the facts. I should have written it up then. Can't remember why I didn't...probably I was too pissed off to type coherently. I remember the general outline, the way they told it was an absolute hoot, and I was astounded at their patience and smarts dealing with the situation. Maybe I'll hunt around the internet(s) to see if anyone else wrote it up. If I do, and if I find it, I'll update this entry down the road with a link.>

You know, they can get rid of The Dread N-Word all they want, but it's not going to stop those inclined to do so to refrain from treating you as one when they feel like it. I wonder if somewhere Bruce and Pryor are sitting around going we should try to be reincarnated. We thought they got what we were getting at the first time around, but apparently not.