Short and sweet update since my last post:
I finished grad school at UCSD (woot!).
I moved to LA (woot?).
And now, on to the city.
This is the second time in my life that I have lived in Los Angeles. The first time was as an undergraduate at USC: I went in as a film major, and I came out as a paraplegic. I therefore know full well - just like Jack Nicholson in Chinatown - that shit happens in this city. As a sophomore at USC, before the car accident on the 10 freeway in which I was injured, I had reached a point where I was DONE with LA. While I enjoyed certain aspects of the city (the diversity, the food, the arts, the eccentricity of humanity), it challenged my psychosocialspiritual self on other fronts (the traffic, the plasticity of self-involved individuals, the intense focus on personal appearance, the acceptance of poverty and marginalization of certain populations, the sprawl, and more).
I therefore began my second sojourn to LA with a combination of trepidation and excitement. It commenced with my final MFA Acting showcase with UCSD, where seven of my classmates and I put ourselves in front of hundreds of agents, managers, and casting directors to say, "Here we are! Do you want us?" (Not literally...but such a message was subtext in the scenes we performed for them in a 30-minute presentation.) Luckily, a few splendid folks indicated that they were interested, and despite the fact that I was intrigued by the enigmatic badass that is New York City, poor wheelchair accessibility and threats of cold weather deterred me from moving east. A few weeks later, I was heading to LA.
So. The thing about Los Angeles. There are actually many things. But I shall start off with a couple of stories to set the stage (which will undoubtedly turn into a Ulysses-esque epic that shall continue in future blog posts.)
Story one: On my way to meet one of my UCSD classmates in Hollywood for a check-in coffee, I had a few random minutes to kill (which is the side product of trying to be on time in LA - the only way to surely be prompt is to pad your travel with about an hour of extra time...which, inevitably, gets you to places early, with only random and unnecessary tasks to accomplish). Hence, I stopped for gas at a Hollywood station. And of course, you cannot visit a gas station in Hollywood without one of the city's less stable loveables approaching you for some money. This particular day, the gentleman was wearing jean shorts, a spotted white t-shirt, a long-hanging necklace with a Christian(?) cross, and a mop of bowl-cut hair that was indistinguishably between life and death. In the few minutes he had to make his case before the Vietnamese gas station owner yelled him away, here was his monologue:
"Oh, miss, do you think you could...give me just...you see, I just need a little bit [hold up empty gas can here] to...you see, I just got out of UCLA. They put me in the psychiatric ward - did you know that they can hold you for 24 days? 24 days!!! Without any reason!! They can keep you there. They kept me there, and...what happened to you?"
"Oh, I was in a car accident about 11 years ago."
"Seeeeeeee, that's what I'm sayin'! This city is just a roller coaster. Up and down...but 24 days! And I'm not crazy, but they make me stay there, so if you just...[Regan hands him a dollar]...oh wait! Let me pray first." [He gets on one knee, rests his head on his hands on the side of the gas pump, and mutters some unintelligible things. Then head up.] "Aw, thank you, thank you, you see?! The lord is good. He said, he's good. You just gotta keep goin', I keep goin'. You're just a...see this here, man! This lady over here is just an incredible...! [Vietnamese station owner starts yelling at him] You take care of yourself, and watch out...24 days! It's a roller coaster ride here, up and down - yah, whatever man! - up and down. Bless you, bless you..." [trails off as he runs and hops in a car with a lady waiting, and they screech out of the parking lot...no doubt to go purchase some substances a la Breaking Bad.]
Story two: Fast forward a few days...I was sitting on a corner in Culver City a couple of days ago, waiting to cross the street, and another anticipatory ambulator started remarking on the ridiculousness of the signal timing. As we traded exasperations for a minute, he said he was originally from New York. Somehow, we made our way to a conclusion that Los Angeles and New York are both cities that will assault you.
"But," he said, "at least New York is direct about it...you know how it feels about you. Los Angeles is passive aggressive - it'll smile at you, and then slap you in the face."
And there you have it. The thing about LA, after the first month back? It is a passive aggressive roller coaster ride. One day it praises you and loves you, gives you an audition, bathes you in sunlight, and says, "Yes, you're worth it." And the next day? It tells you you're not pretty enough, it gives you a parking ticket for no reason except the parking enforcement officer thinks AM is synonymous with PM, it strands you in hours of traffic at midnight on the 405, it denies you a job, it sponges up your money, and it makes you feel a bit lost and lonely.
But then, as you're bitching to yourself driving home, you pass the same spot three nights in a row where some barely-living figure is huddled against the concrete wall under an overpass, feet poking out of a too-short blanket, just trying to survive one more night. And in that moment, your faith is simultaneously crushed and revived.
You renew your self-vow to get up one more day and achieve that dream that millions of others are seeking, because why not? What else do you have to do? And how great that you're HERE and DOING this! And hell, a meteor might collide with the planet in a few years anyhow, so you might as well go for it. And you say, "Fuck 'em...I'm gonna be who I am and if Mr. And Mrs. Angeles don't like me, then I'll leave!"
And so the world turns on my first month in LA. I believe this city CAN assault you, and every day you can witness things that devastate you. But, for now, I am privileged and lucky: I have a roof over my head, friends with whom I can rebuild, re-tool, and rejuvenate, a strength of self I've built from my past lives and the people who have guided me through them, LA peeps who BELIEVE in me, and a dream in my heart that craves fulfillment, and insulates me from some of the assault. And my one-month-in wish is this: that I never lose the hard focus on this city, frustrating and devastating as it may be. Even if it tosses me, turns me, and loop-dee-loops me to the point of wanting to vomit in its passive aggressive face, I pray that I never become so overwhelmed that I allow myself to become dulled to its realities, and drift into a malaise of soft focus where I don't notice the huddling figure under the overpass because I'm too caught up in my own anxieties about how "successful" I've been. Then I'm not really LIVING...I'm just coasting, passing then aggressing.
As I move into month two, I shall avoid deriding this city for its complications, and rather attempt to enjoy the hills - both the trudge of the climb, and the WHEEEEEE of the release. And hey, at least it's sunny. :-)
I finished grad school at UCSD (woot!).
I moved to LA (woot?).
And now, on to the city.
This is the second time in my life that I have lived in Los Angeles. The first time was as an undergraduate at USC: I went in as a film major, and I came out as a paraplegic. I therefore know full well - just like Jack Nicholson in Chinatown - that shit happens in this city. As a sophomore at USC, before the car accident on the 10 freeway in which I was injured, I had reached a point where I was DONE with LA. While I enjoyed certain aspects of the city (the diversity, the food, the arts, the eccentricity of humanity), it challenged my psychosocialspiritual self on other fronts (the traffic, the plasticity of self-involved individuals, the intense focus on personal appearance, the acceptance of poverty and marginalization of certain populations, the sprawl, and more).
I therefore began my second sojourn to LA with a combination of trepidation and excitement. It commenced with my final MFA Acting showcase with UCSD, where seven of my classmates and I put ourselves in front of hundreds of agents, managers, and casting directors to say, "Here we are! Do you want us?" (Not literally...but such a message was subtext in the scenes we performed for them in a 30-minute presentation.) Luckily, a few splendid folks indicated that they were interested, and despite the fact that I was intrigued by the enigmatic badass that is New York City, poor wheelchair accessibility and threats of cold weather deterred me from moving east. A few weeks later, I was heading to LA.
So. The thing about Los Angeles. There are actually many things. But I shall start off with a couple of stories to set the stage (which will undoubtedly turn into a Ulysses-esque epic that shall continue in future blog posts.)
Story one: On my way to meet one of my UCSD classmates in Hollywood for a check-in coffee, I had a few random minutes to kill (which is the side product of trying to be on time in LA - the only way to surely be prompt is to pad your travel with about an hour of extra time...which, inevitably, gets you to places early, with only random and unnecessary tasks to accomplish). Hence, I stopped for gas at a Hollywood station. And of course, you cannot visit a gas station in Hollywood without one of the city's less stable loveables approaching you for some money. This particular day, the gentleman was wearing jean shorts, a spotted white t-shirt, a long-hanging necklace with a Christian(?) cross, and a mop of bowl-cut hair that was indistinguishably between life and death. In the few minutes he had to make his case before the Vietnamese gas station owner yelled him away, here was his monologue:
"Oh, miss, do you think you could...give me just...you see, I just need a little bit [hold up empty gas can here] to...you see, I just got out of UCLA. They put me in the psychiatric ward - did you know that they can hold you for 24 days? 24 days!!! Without any reason!! They can keep you there. They kept me there, and...what happened to you?"
"Oh, I was in a car accident about 11 years ago."
"Seeeeeeee, that's what I'm sayin'! This city is just a roller coaster. Up and down...but 24 days! And I'm not crazy, but they make me stay there, so if you just...[Regan hands him a dollar]...oh wait! Let me pray first." [He gets on one knee, rests his head on his hands on the side of the gas pump, and mutters some unintelligible things. Then head up.] "Aw, thank you, thank you, you see?! The lord is good. He said, he's good. You just gotta keep goin', I keep goin'. You're just a...see this here, man! This lady over here is just an incredible...! [Vietnamese station owner starts yelling at him] You take care of yourself, and watch out...24 days! It's a roller coaster ride here, up and down - yah, whatever man! - up and down. Bless you, bless you..." [trails off as he runs and hops in a car with a lady waiting, and they screech out of the parking lot...no doubt to go purchase some substances a la Breaking Bad.]
Story two: Fast forward a few days...I was sitting on a corner in Culver City a couple of days ago, waiting to cross the street, and another anticipatory ambulator started remarking on the ridiculousness of the signal timing. As we traded exasperations for a minute, he said he was originally from New York. Somehow, we made our way to a conclusion that Los Angeles and New York are both cities that will assault you.
"But," he said, "at least New York is direct about it...you know how it feels about you. Los Angeles is passive aggressive - it'll smile at you, and then slap you in the face."
And there you have it. The thing about LA, after the first month back? It is a passive aggressive roller coaster ride. One day it praises you and loves you, gives you an audition, bathes you in sunlight, and says, "Yes, you're worth it." And the next day? It tells you you're not pretty enough, it gives you a parking ticket for no reason except the parking enforcement officer thinks AM is synonymous with PM, it strands you in hours of traffic at midnight on the 405, it denies you a job, it sponges up your money, and it makes you feel a bit lost and lonely.
But then, as you're bitching to yourself driving home, you pass the same spot three nights in a row where some barely-living figure is huddled against the concrete wall under an overpass, feet poking out of a too-short blanket, just trying to survive one more night. And in that moment, your faith is simultaneously crushed and revived.
You renew your self-vow to get up one more day and achieve that dream that millions of others are seeking, because why not? What else do you have to do? And how great that you're HERE and DOING this! And hell, a meteor might collide with the planet in a few years anyhow, so you might as well go for it. And you say, "Fuck 'em...I'm gonna be who I am and if Mr. And Mrs. Angeles don't like me, then I'll leave!"
And so the world turns on my first month in LA. I believe this city CAN assault you, and every day you can witness things that devastate you. But, for now, I am privileged and lucky: I have a roof over my head, friends with whom I can rebuild, re-tool, and rejuvenate, a strength of self I've built from my past lives and the people who have guided me through them, LA peeps who BELIEVE in me, and a dream in my heart that craves fulfillment, and insulates me from some of the assault. And my one-month-in wish is this: that I never lose the hard focus on this city, frustrating and devastating as it may be. Even if it tosses me, turns me, and loop-dee-loops me to the point of wanting to vomit in its passive aggressive face, I pray that I never become so overwhelmed that I allow myself to become dulled to its realities, and drift into a malaise of soft focus where I don't notice the huddling figure under the overpass because I'm too caught up in my own anxieties about how "successful" I've been. Then I'm not really LIVING...I'm just coasting, passing then aggressing.
As I move into month two, I shall avoid deriding this city for its complications, and rather attempt to enjoy the hills - both the trudge of the climb, and the WHEEEEEE of the release. And hey, at least it's sunny. :-)
