Robson Chambers house, 1947

Dear ——–,

Bryan signed us up for the Palm Spring Modern Heritage Fund‘s Modern Homes Tour on Saturday, with the caveat that we could take a time-out at any time if the baby was fussing/crying/peeing/pooping. With the baby tucked into a Baby Bjorn, we managed to see all the houses except for the first and the last on the tour, including this house designed by Robson Chambers as his own home. (For those of you who want to own a piece of architecture history, it is for sale — $575,000.) Most of the homes on the tour were vintage, including a house Arthur Elrod designed for himself that seemed frozen in the early 1960s, with a quaint orange-green color scheme in the living room, an enormous King-Arthur-esque round dining table, and a Steinway designed by the architect. The houses we liked best — a Dean Davidson house from 1965 and a Stan Sackley house from 1971 — mixed the indoor-outdoor space, with floor-to-ceiling windows, access to the pool from most rooms and terrazzo floors that allowed for wet feet from the pool. As the setting sun glowed golden-pink on the San Jacinto Mountains, we mused at how fun it was to see private houses in neighborhoods we never would’ve explored as tourists. You could almost hear the clink of cocktail glasses behind us.

Vintage Porsche 356

Dear ——–,

The Cook family took its first vacation together this past weekend, packing the baby, the dog, our luggage, plus the baby’s swing and Pack n Play into the Mini Cooper. (We definitely needed the roof box.) We got a great deal on a room at the Riviera in Palm Springs thanks to Jetsetter. As we pulled in on Friday, we saw Porsche flags waving. What was that about? Turns out, there was some kind of rally for Porsche 356s — the first of the mass-produced Porsches — and we found them in all candy colors on the lawns the next morning.  To me, these cars pop right out of sun-drenched scenes in a Fellini film, driven by some Casanova scamp. The Riviera was an old Rat Pack hangout, so why not conjure up the Italian version? We ordered a little take-out from Trio and it was a good start to the weekend.

Wish tree in Little Tokyo

Dover sole at Puran's

Dear ——–,

Bryan and I were on the fence about going out to dinner last night. On the one hand, I’d had my first real, painful contractions yesterday morning, waking me out of sleep at 4:20 a.m. But they’d turned mostly mild by midday and we thought this might be a last opportunity to have a quiet night out together with no babysitter. We headed out to Puran’s on Hillhurst. There was unlikely to be a wait and it was close enough that we could make it home in less than 20 minutes. I also love their herb-grilled Dover sole — I’m picky about fish even though I know I should eat more of it! As we settled into our seats at dusk, I noticed for the first time that you could see Griffith Observatory from our table. I wondered why I’d never noticed it before, but was glad I still had time to savor stillness and quiet. We headed home last night a little giddy in anticipation, knowing that it would probably only be a matter of hours before we would head to the hospital.

Two kinds of pizza at Mother Dough

Dear ——–,

We came to Hollywood tonight to join Erika and crew at the Moth, but bailed when we found out it was so full it was standing-room-only. (The guy at the door said that if we wanted a seat, we should get there next time at 6 p.m. for the 7:30 p.m. start time.) There was no way I could stand for more than 15 minutes, so we decided to use our trip to Hollywood to go to Mother Dough. So what if we’d been here exactly a week before for the first time? Their blistered, neapolitan-style pizzas had left us drooling for more. (The chocolate mousse and poached pear desserts were also heavenly.) This time we tried to arugula-prosciutto and margherita pizzas. I could do with a little more San Marzano tomato sauce and a few more slices of buffalo mozzarella slices, but the crust had a perfect toothiness. (The name comes from the old world practice of using a little bit of yesterday’s dough  — the mother dough — to help get the leavening process started on the next batch.) I was also impressed by the Bundaberg ginger beer, which might challenge Thomas Kemper’s ginger ale as my favorite ginger carbonated beverage.

Watching the last shuttle launch

Dear ——–,

I was don’t remember the first shuttle launch, but I remember the principal coming over the loudspeaker in 3rd grade to announce that the Challenger had been lost. We observed a moment of silence. It was a sober note in the booming, self-confident America of the 1980s, of which NASA’s space shuttle program was part and parcel. I remember being mesmerized by Kennedy Space Center as a kid, coming home with a t-shirt showing a shuttle framed by pink puffy paint. All of this contributed to where I am now — at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory, writing about robotic explorers to the outer solar system. So at the final shuttle launch, I joined hundreds of others at JPL, one of the key places where our space program began to take shape, to commemorate the end of an era. The whole room clapped and cheered as the engines burned and the shuttle lifted off cleanly. I won’t mourn the shuttle per se so long as America keeps yearning to explore. But I do worry that the harsh economic reality will keep us from pushing boundaries, testing our limits, asking questions about the places we’ve never been. To me, these are the things that make us human.

Walking along Venice Beach

Dear ——–,

It was boiling in Eagle Rock so Bryan, I and apparently the rest of Los Angeles headed to the beach today to celebrate Independence Day. It was a good 15 degrees cooler in Venice, with a deliciously cool breeze, so we took a long walk up to Santa Monica and back. Some people were decked out in red, white and blue sequins, while others thought that the most American thing they could do was walk around with their chests bared. I guess the best thing about this country is that life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness can mean so many things — family reunions, serious barbecue spreads with food-service-grade Saran wrap and women in aprons wielding tongs, rollerblading in bikinis, biking in hijabs, drinking beer with your toes in the sand. With all the chaos in other parts of the world, it made me thankful that we are bringing our daughter into the world here. Los Angeles can be nutty and a little sloppy, but people aren’t afraid of those things.

Trading CDs for cash at Amoeba Records

Dear ——–,

What we learned the past two weekends: used CD shops are interested in Swervedriver, “experimental noise” albums and the indiest of indie rock. They’re not interested in mandopop, French hip-hop or Ani Defranco. Bryan and I have been trying to clear out our basement, starting with our CD collection. We’ve basically gone digital, so there’s no reason for us to keep artifacts lying around. We started last weekend with Permanent Records, which just opened in Eagle Rock. They paid us $200 for about 100 CDs. I spent a dusty Saturday trying to match empty cases with their discs and came up with about 400 to take to Amoeba Records in Hollywood this past Sunday. We sold them about 200 CDs for $140 cash. (We declined the $180 in store credit.) Not a bad haul for stuff that’s just gathering dust in our closets, but I wish they had taken more. We still have about 200 discs we don’t know what to do with. (Why didn’t anyone want the Weezer blue album? Isn’t that a classic?) Is it time for a garage sale?

Inside Church & State

Dear ——–,

Leah and Neal know their way around restaurants, so when they suggested Church and State, we happily said yes. The bistro was in the National Biscuit Company building — whose title finally explained to us how the cookie company Nabisco got its name — in a warehouse-to-loft part of downtown. It was pretty noisy so we had a little trouble hearing each other, but maybe that was intentional on the part of the restauranteurs. The better to get guests to lean into each other and feel “intimate.” The gem lettuce salad was boring, but the mac and cheese and salmon main course were fantastic. The salmon was wrapped in ramp — which Leah informed us is a wild leek that is rare because it can’t be cultivated. It was sitting in a basil veloute that made me want to tip the bowl and drink the stuff like soup. I restrained myself just to sopping it up with bread. Bryan and I considered for a moment ordering the a.o.c. butter from Normandy because it’s the first time we’d ever seen butter on the menu. But while it was the cheapest item ($3), special ordering butter just seemed so excessive.

Photos of NYC subway cars

Dear ——–,

I’m wondering why it took so long for an exhibit like Art in the Streets to happen. I guess the people who finance shows at marquee museums for a long time didn’t think of something done for free — and illegally — on walls and tunnels as art. It’s hard to collect. Maybe the tide started turning in the 1980s with Haring and Basquiat. The thing I love about street art is that it makes you laugh (though usually ironically); art has for so long been serious. Banksy, in particular, made some pretty pointed commentaries that were painfully funny — including a recreated frame of the Rodney King beating video with a colorful pinata instead of King. Neck Face‘s piece featured an alleyway full of trash and a fake homeless man. Erika pointed out that this was probably the first time MOCA had trash in the galleries. Some online forums have criticized the museum and the artists featured in it as sell-outs. But I’m guessing these artists are laughing all the way to the bank — they’re getting paid to thumb their nose at authority. The exhibit — definitely worth seeing — runs through Aug. 8.