Pizza Friday!

I decided to venture out of the office today for pizza, it being Pizza Friday and all. But I didn't want to drive. I've decided I hate driving and want to do it as little as possible. It's 1.3 miles to the place I wanted to check out. Too far to walk. "What's this? Do I have a pair of rollerblades in the trunk of my car? Perhaps I'll skate to lunch... through downtown."

And that's what I did. Only to arrive at Pitfire Pizza Company ten minutes later. There's a Pitfire in North Hollywood, or rather the NoHo Arts District, near one of the many places I've lived in L.A. (I've lived in 6 apartments in 8 years, all in different neighborhoods.) But when I went to Pit Fire in the past, they didn't have cupcakes.

Mmmm. Cupcakes.

Of all that is trendy, I love cupcakes the most. Ugg Boots? Booo! Vacationing in Palau? Booo! Cupcakes? YAY!



This little devil, Red Velvet to be exact, is from Auntie Em's Kitchen in Eagle Rock. I'd never heard of them before Wednesday. Somehow, this was the 2nd cupcake from there I've consumed since Wednesday.

Lunch was wonderful and horrible for me. Thank God I was getting some excercise. With my camera in hand, rather than take the faster route past the freezer warehouses on Central Avenue, I chose to venture through Central City East (that's what the Chamber of Commerce would want you to call it) or as most of us know it, Skid Row.

If I were heading to the north, I'd be passing "Gallery Row." I don't know of any galleries around here, but the city loves to name blocks in totally unrecognizable fashion. Crossing second street to the north takes you into a jungle of civic buildings. The monster on the right is the new CalTrans building. It's ugly and huge. No doubt it was expensive, too. And my freeway on-ramp has been closed for two months while what looks like 3 people rebuild it with a garden spade, some duct tape, and a spray bottle. This building only gets more absurd throughout my trip back to the office. Remember it. It'll fuel some outrage to get you through the weekend.

Alas, I'm heading south, away from the towers of democracy and bureaucracy to the north. Not 30 feet down Main Street, before I reach 3rd, I am distracted by a pock-marked ass staring back at me. As my eyes scan down, I see what looks like a diaper at the knees. Then a pair of tattered socks standing in a small puddle that no doubt was recently made bigger. I never looked up. When I finally did, I found that this bottom and legs belonged to a fully naked woman. She looked around 70 but the streets can age a person. She didn't seem to notice that she was not alone. Or at home. In the shower. It was 3:00 in the afternoon, not more than 100 yards to the door of the Governor's Los Angeles office, and there was a woman so ill -- either physically, mentally, or both -- that she was naked on a public street. And I seemed to be the only person who noticed. I was so distracted, I almost missed Jalisco, a bar or restraurant, or drug den whose door was just feet from my Venus. She has so caught my attention, I almost missed the flag flying over this Spanish-language venue.

In this grungy part of downtown, not far from the glimmering office towers controlling much of the city's commerce, was a little gay oasis. Or was it? Flying the U.S. flag upside down is a sign of distress, made popular by those protesting the government. Does a Rainbow flag flying upside have some mysterious meaning? Was it a warning to gays to stay out? Was there some drag queens being held against their will in the basement making fabulously bedazzled t-shirts for mid-west housewives? I may never know. Because I had more of an adventure ahead.

Immediately across the street from all this excitement was St. Vibiana's, the former Cathedral of the largest Catholic community in the United States. Damaged in the 1994 Northridge earthquake, the Cathedral -- which looks like an unassuming parish from the outside -- was abandoned by the Archbishop when his goal of razing it was scuttled by the efforts of conservationists. Today, St. Vibiana's is the heart of a revitalization that includes turning the sanctuary into a preforming arts space. Meanwhile, the church has moved up the street a few miles into the massive Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels. The new Cathedral, which is one of the largest Catholic Churches in North America, cost more than $300 million. $300,000,000 that could have gone to schools, hospitals, and social programs. Or to pay off the victims of sexual abuse. But that's another story.

Continuing south, I'll look upon one of the last modern, expensive buildings until I reach my office. This photo was taken while looking west down Third Street. You can see high-rises from the Bunker Hill area of Downtown, as well as some of the new lofts which sell for close to a million dollars these days. (At least well over $500k.) The large building filling the front of the picture is the Ronald Reagan State Government Building. It houses the Los Angeles offices of the governor, many elected officials, and state programs. How fitting that the largest building on the edge of Skid Row should be named for the man most responsible for the area's current condition. When governor of California, Ronald Reagan closed many of the state's mental health facilities, leaving the state with a dearth of resources for the mentally ill. Sherriff Lee Baca has referred to the Men's Central Jail, located near downtown, as the largest mental hospital in the country. Under the current California system, it is. The few options for the mentally ill include jail or the street. Another fun anectdote involves another Republican governor of California. Former Governor Pete Wilson had his regional office moved in the Reagan building. At the time, the governor's L.A. staff occupied the largest suite of offices on the top floor, but these offices were along the south and southeast edges of the building, looking right down on to Skid Row. Rather than solve the problem, Gov. Wilson improved the view, moving the Governor's suite to the other side of the top floor into a smaller suite of offices, looking on to the clean, marble facades of the civic center.

Passing the Reagan building is the unofficial gateway into Skid Row. The area is littered with bodies, sleeping, passed out, maybe dead. You'll see lines of people wrapped around buildings, signalling that something is free at that spot: a place to sleep, a shower, or a meal. Many of the services made available in the area are provided by the "missions." The Los Angeles Mission and the Midnight Mission are by far the largest, serving thousands and thousands of men, women, and children every year. The smaller missions, including the Fred Jordan Mission in the photo, might see fewer homeless, but they stick to the religious fervor that brought them to this area in the first place. Word on the street is that many of these missions -- in true Christian spirit -- demand obedience and piety to access services. Meals follow prayers. Beds are made available to those who come to church services. This depressing reach of programs either forces non-believers into a "cult" mentality, or tricks the providers into thinking they are enriching the souls of the homeless, not just their bodies.

"Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable." In the early 20th Century, Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin founded the Catholic Worker Movement. Every day, in my office, Dorothy Day looks down upon me. A photo of her, along with her words, "Our problems stem from our acceptance of this filthy, rotten system," hangs upon my wall. The ideas they started manifested in the Catholic Worker Communities, or "houses", that dot the nation providing service to others. These final vestiges of true communism are not as famous as programs like the Salvation Army, but they exist and grow and strive for a better place. This photo is of the unassuming Catholic Worker house in Los Angeles. A group of homeless gather outside, likely waiting for dinner, or some other program. The agency I work for started in the dining room of this Catholic Worker House. The orange shopping carts outside, which are seen all over Skid Row, are provided by the Catholic Workers. As my journey is coming to a close -- only a few more blocks to go -- I am reminded of the influence that one humble servant can have on others. Dorothy Day has inspired thousands to give up everything they own to serve those who own nothing. Maybe it's not a call I can or will ever answer, but it shows me that there is another way available besides flocking to the crystal towers of commerce and power found at the beginning of my trek.

This short skate back to the office really was a journey. It started because I wanted something -- pizza. I am a consumer. I want for very little. I sat in a restaurant with others like me. People of means, many of influence. People that could have made a change. I sat among buildings that cost hundred of millions to build. St. Vibiana's was abandoned for a $300 million alternative. The high-tech CalTrans facility, with its solar panels and exterior stair cases, cost hundreds of millions. In the lot across from Pitfire, the Los Angeles Police Department is building a new office complex that is estimated to cost over $450 million. All these buildings, all this wealth, provide little more than shade to the thousands -- it's estimated that about 10,000 homeless people live on Skid Row -- sleeping in tents erected on asphalt streets.

We build these temples of wealth. Buildings built soley for the purpose of making and spending money. We occupy them. And then we spend even more to take us away from them. Billions on freeways and luxury cars. I am reminded of what we'll spend money on as I skate down the last block before my office. Amidst the poverty and despair is a temple built for pleasure. A building, an industry, dedicated solely to release. The Midtowne Spa, a bathhouse providing sexual activity for a fee.



Thank you for taking this journey with me. I hope you enjoyed it and learned from it, like I did.

You might be asking or wondering, but I chose not to photograph my Venus, or most of the people I encountered, because I wanted to respect their dignity. And I didn't want to get beat up. These people have very little. Their dignity, for the time being, they cling to. It's only a matter of time before that, too, is taken from them. For some, it's too late.