We're finally resting after having made it safely to our sublet on the edge of Koreatown, parked our car in the garage, unpacked our surprisingly minimal amount of belongings, and locked our doors. It's really cozy. And I don't mean that in the "I'm saying cozy but what I really mean is it's uncomfortably small" way. I really mean cozy. It's like home already. It feels less like we've moved into a new home, and more like a new city has moved in around us. Albeit, a mildly scary, intimidating, well populated, infamous, and quite possibly dangerous city.
At least that's the image us outsiders get from the news and movies and stories our friends from college tell us. I'm hoping after a month of more or less immersing myself (and my girlfriend) in the city we'll be able to give our own biased opinion rather than just regurgitating the stories we've heard through those who have lived here and survived to tell its tales.
In all fairness, so far it's been quite pleasant, at least down the one street we've seen, midday, on our quick trip to get groceries and locate the nearest all night cleaners (which is much farther than we had hoped. I might return to the good days of old and wash my clothes in the tub despite my "roommate's" wishes to the contrary.) It's been pretty quiet here (and of course as I type the word silent I begin to hear some yelling from down the street. Could people be roaming the streets drunk already?)
Our responsibilities while watching this house are few. 1. Lock the doors (for our own safety, yes, but also to protect the owner's property.) 2. Don't make long distance calls (not a problem. I don't think people actually talk on the phone these days anyhow.) And 3. Feed the cat. Yep, our sublet came with its own furry friend, who we hope will warm up to us and not poop in our shoes.
My mission this month is pretty simple. Spend 90 percent of my time reading, relaxing, writing, and working from within the cozy (in this sense I mean safe) walls of my subleased fort. And for the other ten percent, I hope to fulfill my large ambitions to become an extra in a movie or TV show. If I can land a "role" in one film or one show I will be content and call this little adventure a success.
Driving to the city, with all my preconceived notions (when you think about it, aren't all notions preconceived? How often do you have a notion that wasn't preconceived, but rather thought up, right then and there, on the spot. I suppose the only type of notion that wouldn't be preconceived is an epiphany. But how often do we have those?) Anyways, driving to the city I thought about the many people telling me "not to go," "why would anyone want to live there," "it's a terrible and shallow place that city," and many other negative words illustrating L.A., many of which involved "hate" and "smog". For most of my life I've considered that city that lives two hours north of my home synonymous with hate and smog. And when driving into this city, along the congested I-5, barely breaking through the porous bubble that engulfs it, I begin to experience the hate and the smog, first hand.
The hate came in quickly, as my patience took a vacation. Simultaneously, or perhaps coincidentally, we we're cut off by terrible drivers, stuck behind slow drivers in the fast lane, and suffocated by a million drivers attempting to merge onto the overcrowded freeway. The hate was in the air.
Also in the air was the smog. It's hard to explain smog to those who have never seen it. It's not fog. And it's not smoke. And it's certainly not air or breathable or healthy or pleasant to look at, but it's there and it's ominous. And it blankets the entirety of LA, like a thick quilt made by your ailing grandmother. The time put into creating the quilt (smog) was painstaking and lengthy, and made with a lot of love.
The funny thing is I just so happened to be listening to Ellen Degeneres' 2006 Audiobook, The Funny Thing Is... while driving into the city. She was talking about (in a more lyrical and comedic way) "judging a book by its cover," and then something about the "books judging you by your cover." Anyways, when I arrived in LA I was more afraid of the latter. If there was any city which could judge you upon entering its limits, it may just be this one.
Despite all of what I've heard, the hate, the smog, and the 6 hours that I've been in its presence, I'm hoping that by the end of this month I'll have fallen in love with this city and had my 15 minutes of fame as an extra. Or at least, by chance, possibly, if I'm lucky enough, this city may just fall in love with me.
-J
