It was an achingly beautiful weekend here -- 80 degrees, brilliant sun and crystal clear air. Adrián and I loaded the doberman into the car and headed up to Runyon Canyon, a collection of undeveloped peaks and trails above Hollywood. It´s sort of like L.A.´s town square, where porn stars, Russian mafia, gay gym rats and Vietnamese grandmas all rub elbows. From the hilltops you could see all the way from the still-snowcapped San Gabriel mountains to the east to the Channel Islands off the coast.
My family's lived in L.A. since 1915 or so, which would make us one of the city's oldest landmarks... if anyone knew who we were. L.A. has a depressing fondness for tearing down notable landmarks, usually favorite hangouts of us locals, so they can put up more multi-level faux Mediterranean strip malls. Now, it's not the Parthenon, it's not the Eiffel Tower, but the Hollywood Sign is all we've got (well, now we have the Disney Concert Hall but it loses international icon points because it looks just like the Guggenheim in Bilbao).
So it was nice to to look across Cahuenga Pass, just east of Runyon, and see this: