It's hot as blazes here in Echo Park today. I took my daughter to Echo Park Lake (a crazy, unreasonable acquiescence to her request), and as soon we got to the playground area told her we had to leave it: in five minutes, of course. There was only one patch of shade, lightly veiling one bench, and that bench was occupied by Val Kilmer's "office" (as the young man identified himself on the phone) and another Columbus Day subaltern, a young woman. They filled the bench with notebooks and phones. I waited for them to notice they were hogging the shade, but they didn't seem to. So, "Can you move over?" I said. Val's office complied. My daughter scorched her feet on the sand, as the young woman warned her she would, then came back for her shoes. Behind us on the little peninsula there was a lot of equipment and a lot of people staying very still, some of them standing, most sitting. It was like the south (east), where people don't move quickly on hot days. In L.A. people seem to move quickly, even in the heat. Not today. There was no buzz of activity, no walkie-talkie crackle, almost no sound in the background. A couple of vendors stood by, with pork rinds and snow cones, doing no business. The only work seemed to be happening right here at the play area as Val's assistant made plans for the actor after he wrapped up the hot day in Echo Park. Too hot to be curious about Val's evening. After a try at the hot slide, my daughter wanted me to push her on the swing, which made it time to go. On our way to the car, which was parked at an unusual distance from the play area, we saw the eight doves and a bunch of ducks. A mama mallard came to show us her two tiny ducklings. And a family of Canada geese came over for a look, too. Five goslings the size of grown ducks (the original ugly ducklings, gray and downy-scrappy looking), accompanied by two adults. Something set them off and the ducklings started running around on top of the water. A man sat very still next to a fishing pole.

Of course, when we got home, I could hear my plants screaming -- thin cries. A few of the wild, somewhat crazy ones were begging for fire. I didn't need a degree in psychobotany to decipher them. The decadent grasses were calm enough. She wouldn't let us die, I overheard one blade say to another, with a bit too much authority.

I started to worry about our water bill. And worry about fire. (I hadn't yet heard about the blaze in Griffith Park) I was surrounded by more and more plant voices, some of them in a language I'd never heard. Which is why I was stunned when I opened my email, and found a communication from our neighborhood's own Machine Project. It was all about plant human-communication -- or all about how you could attend an event about plant-human expression. Years ago, I read The Secret Life of Plants, and all I remember about it is that if you smash one of your plants with a baseball bat the others won't like you -- that and something about how your plants can contact you long-distance. I lived in New York at the time and didn't have any plants.

When I have the leisure for obsession, I am an obsessive gardener (never mind that it's one of those working-leisure activities redefined by baby-boom and post-baby-boom drone generations, as the New York Times Magazine put it on Sunday). I do a lot of pruning, so maybe I shouldn't investigate Machine's "Psychobotany: Revolutionary Breakthroughs in Human/Plant Communication, curated by Aaron Gach" -- would I want to hear the jade plants begging? Am I that kind of sadist? In any case, chances are I won't have time, even though I am quite curious.

Here's what Machine Project sent:

Dear Friends, Join us this Saturday May 12th from 7-10pm for the opening of Psychobotany: Revolutionary Breakthroughs in Human/Plant Communication, curated by Aaron Gach.

It is rumored that attendees may witness: - documentation of collaborations between plants, dancers, and synthesizers in the 70s; - a plant alerting its owner of underwatering via telephone; - plants responsive to touch; - newsreporting by the Plant Media Network; - a potion corner.