"This was a real studio neighborhood."

My next door neighbor stepped outside to find two older gentlemen surveying her house closely. "May I help you?" she asked. The men jovially introduced themselves and said that they used to live in her home in the 1950's. My neighbor was on her way out the door and couldn't chat, but urged them to send a letter to share some history on the place. Surprisingly, they did. You gotta love the old timers.

Here in Studio City, you're considered a good neighbor if you keep to yourself. No one knows anyone else and the only thing everyone knows is which house Cybill Shephard lives in. Not only did the former tenants  give her a history of her own home, but of the whole neighborhood. They summed it up with one sentence, "This was a real studio neighborhood."

In this aptly-named Studio City, CBS Radford is but a few blocks away. I often pass the lot when walking the dogs. These days, with paint-by-number suburbs in faraway "drive 'till you qualify" neighborhoods, everyone chokes the freeways on their studio commute from God Knows Where. But back in the 50's, ordinary people could afford to buy houses in Los Angeles proper. They could hold onto entertainment industry jobs, so they bought family homes in the shadow of the studio lot and bicycled to work. 

Our neighborhood may be a mix of McMansions and Cape Cods, but according to the letter my neighbor received, these streets were rows of quickly-built clapboard shacks, and they all worked for the studios. My next door neighbors were dog trainers, and their pet was their bread and butter. The dog's name? Lassie. Yep, THE Lassie.

I knew that the old lady who built our cabin died in the living room, but now she has a name. Anita Carney. She was apparently a wannabe society lady. An eccentric who was single, but had enough money to buy this plot and build a rustic cabin, defying the architecture of her neighbors. She was fanatical about her garden and ignored her neighbors, who found her pretentious.

The pages of the letter written to my neighbor were riveting. Between Lassie's dog trainers, movie music composer John Williams (he did the score for Star Wars, Jaws, Indiana Jones, etc.) and all the Mad Men-type "hanky panky" happening between the young polyester-clad couples in the 50's and 60's - it was a studio neighborhood indeed.

On the corner of Sleazy and Tacky

Classic Studio City

I never thought I would act like an old lady who laments the deterioration of a good neighborhood. Perhaps that's because I was the one doing the deteriorating. But times have changed. I have dogs now. I garden, compost and recycle. My husband is always equipped with a bottle of spray paint remover should he see some idiot tagging something. 

the offending corner

the sign graveyard out back

Studio City is a wonderful place. It's the greenest place in the valley with Ventura Boulevard (made famous by Tom Petty's song Free Fallin') lined with cafes and boutiques between Laurel Canyon in West Hollywood and Coldwater Canyon in Beverly Hills. Wikipedia describes it as affluent , picturesque and trendy. CBS Studios is here, along with a Sunday Farmer's Market, loitering paparazzi and mansions in the hills. Do I sound like an old lady yet? If not, then here is is: we are pissed about the corner of Laurel Canyon and Moorpark. 

ahhh, punching bags & massage signs

It started as a nail salon. Then a nail salon and a massage parlor. Then a nail salon, massage parlor and teeth whitening place. Then a nail salon, massage parlor, teeth whitening and tanning salon. I could go on, but you get the idea. But what bothers us are the signs. Yellow signs, white signs, lit signs, sandwich boards, lettered vans and billboards latched to the back of trucks. At first the signs just plastered the corner, sharing the  blight with the Pro Boxing Supplies store also known for their rudimentary display. Now they're across the street, in front of schools and in adjacent neighborhoods. The massages started at $59/hr, then $49/hr, then $40/hr, etc. For all I know, massages are $3.50 at this point. Spas and salons are supposed to be designed for relaxation All the flashing ads make it look like an industrial town strip club.

drive-by skanking

yes, you massage. we get it.

across from elementary school

The cheap, primary colored massage signs seem to scream,"We like fuck!" I'm embarrassed to say I was once in a bind before a friend's wedding and ducked in for a quick manicure. It was a Thai establishment, and they seemed desperate to stay in business during this recession, which makes sense. But they spent so much on signs, I think it may have exceeded their rent. I don't want them to go out of business. I want them to know that all the massage ads are freaking people out and having the opposite effect. They need to class up the joint. As much as it can be classed up next to a liquor store and pro boxing supplies store.

 After I left, I felt dirty. I kept my head down so my annoyed neighbors wouldn't notice. I had gone over to the enemy. In my vanity, I forgot my principles. Never again. 

by the high school

in case you didn't see the first 10