The city of "things"
I've discovered that I live roughly an hour and a half from Rome. Or maybe it's Babylon. Regardless, I have to say Los Angeles is a pretty interesting city to visit and somewhere I'd never want to live.
The amount of excess in that city is just stunning. I wandered around Santa Monica's promenade and was more than a little depressed. I've come to the conclusion that there's a contest among clothing designers to see who can sell the most expensive t-shirt with the most ridiculous design and get people to buy it. Thus far I have to say the "Only losers buy expensive t-shirts" shirt that was $70 seems to be leading the race.
And on and on it goes. They have bars where you can race turtles, indoor skydiving facilities, a movie theater with a touch-sensitive video floor panel, and more clubs than you'd know what to do with. There are yoga studios and designer baby furniture stores and so many thin blond women wearing weird clothes you'd think you'd stepped off the spaceship into some parallel universe where ugly people were summarily executed. I have no doubt you could find anything your dark heart desired within about an hour of downtown - Polynesian dwarf stripper? Check. Hand-knitted Nepalese peace shawl? Check.
The seedy underbelly, like most cities, is far from the glossy chic of the nicer areas. We drove through skid row in downtown LA, where hundreds of homeless people were wandering up and down several blocks - trash in the streets, graffiti on the walls. And then fifteen minutes later we stepped into a relatively swanky club with beautiful and flashy dancers. I can't quite figure out how so many different worlds can be so close. It's not the first time I've seen poverty, but it's the first time I've seen it so very close to the rich hedonism of somewhere like Hollywood.
What the weekend made me want quite desperately was to return to the South and to my family. I wanted to call my brother on the phone and tell him about the craziness of the West coast, I wanted to sit with my mother in the den as she folded the same clothes she's worn for years, and I wanted to hear the gruff opinionated declarations of my uncle on what's causing the Braves to struggle this season. In wanting these things, I realized how little I want a big life. As it is, my life is just-right sized. To delve into the world of "things" and appearances, even for a whirlwind LA trip, was unpleasant. I'm glad to be back here in my tiny studio and the comfortable path of my running trail and the sense that there is nothing I lack.
So I'm adjusting my previous picture of LA. It took me precisely four straight days there to determine that, however entertaining the sights and sounds, I'm not cut out for fame and fast living. Shoot, I can't even do without 8 or 9 hours of sleep a night, and I get cranky when I don't get enough quiet time.
It seems almost as nice to figure out who you're not as who you are.
The amount of excess in that city is just stunning. I wandered around Santa Monica's promenade and was more than a little depressed. I've come to the conclusion that there's a contest among clothing designers to see who can sell the most expensive t-shirt with the most ridiculous design and get people to buy it. Thus far I have to say the "Only losers buy expensive t-shirts" shirt that was $70 seems to be leading the race.
And on and on it goes. They have bars where you can race turtles, indoor skydiving facilities, a movie theater with a touch-sensitive video floor panel, and more clubs than you'd know what to do with. There are yoga studios and designer baby furniture stores and so many thin blond women wearing weird clothes you'd think you'd stepped off the spaceship into some parallel universe where ugly people were summarily executed. I have no doubt you could find anything your dark heart desired within about an hour of downtown - Polynesian dwarf stripper? Check. Hand-knitted Nepalese peace shawl? Check.
The seedy underbelly, like most cities, is far from the glossy chic of the nicer areas. We drove through skid row in downtown LA, where hundreds of homeless people were wandering up and down several blocks - trash in the streets, graffiti on the walls. And then fifteen minutes later we stepped into a relatively swanky club with beautiful and flashy dancers. I can't quite figure out how so many different worlds can be so close. It's not the first time I've seen poverty, but it's the first time I've seen it so very close to the rich hedonism of somewhere like Hollywood.
What the weekend made me want quite desperately was to return to the South and to my family. I wanted to call my brother on the phone and tell him about the craziness of the West coast, I wanted to sit with my mother in the den as she folded the same clothes she's worn for years, and I wanted to hear the gruff opinionated declarations of my uncle on what's causing the Braves to struggle this season. In wanting these things, I realized how little I want a big life. As it is, my life is just-right sized. To delve into the world of "things" and appearances, even for a whirlwind LA trip, was unpleasant. I'm glad to be back here in my tiny studio and the comfortable path of my running trail and the sense that there is nothing I lack.
So I'm adjusting my previous picture of LA. It took me precisely four straight days there to determine that, however entertaining the sights and sounds, I'm not cut out for fame and fast living. Shoot, I can't even do without 8 or 9 hours of sleep a night, and I get cranky when I don't get enough quiet time.
It seems almost as nice to figure out who you're not as who you are.