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the skunks of los feliz
Earnestness can be deadly.

To take something seriously, to care deeply about something, can seem naive, and put in print (or on a blog) it more often than not just sounds preachy.

Didactic. Boring.


But hey, some things are important. There are things in life that are irreplaceable. A person you love, your favorite book, the view from Mt. Hollywood: things that are our anchor points as we toss and struggle in the turbulent slipstream of passing time.

A building can be one of those anchors. A physical link between generations, an intrinsic component of a city's sense of place, a place to commune with the shades of those who came before, and to leave your imprint for those who will come after. A concrete and wood handhold onto which we mortals can cling for the short time we are here, and feel a sense of permanence, feel a part of a continuum of being, if only for a moment.

Not to get all metaphysical and (shudder) earnest, but some buildings so embody who we are, where we came from, and the place that we call home that to lose them is to lose part of ourselves. They inform our lives, and shelter and inspire our activities.

The Derby is such a place. We go there to get drunk in the aftermath of a bad breakup. We go to there to dance away another crappy week at the office. We go there to pretend that it's 1942 and we're Humphrey Bogart or Lauren Bacall. We go there to be in a crowd, to laugh, and forget that one day our laughter will be stilled.

It is a cornerstone of our neighborhood, and of our city. To lose it is to weaken the foundation of Los Angeles, the place and the idea, the dream that was and is. Let's not allow that to happen.

Pic lifted from Save the Derby.
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