Someone, I think it was Shane Nickerson, recently recalled the apocryphal advice given to people who choose to come live in Los Angeles: this city sucks, so if you're going to live here, you should at least love what you do…
I got into Hollywood at 11 yesterday morning, and came back out at 7:30 last night. I can't say why, or what I was doing in town, but the journey there and back again is worth remembering.
I don't know how I did it, but I managed to leave the house on time and didn't feel stressed at all as I drove through the lingering dregs of morning traffic into Hollywood. I exited the freeway at Forest Lawn, and counted at least half a dozen immigrants – many appeared to be entire families with one or two small children – offering bouquets of flowers to people visiting the cemetery for which the street is named. Business must have been good for some of them, because when I looked up the hill into the cemetery, I saw as many flowers as there were graves, maybe even more.
Before I could succumb to any melancholy thoughts, the cemetery was behind me and I was passing Warner Brothers on my way to Barham. Though I've spent much of the last ten years working as a moderately successful writer, getting to work as an actor on things like The Guild, Leverage and The Big Bang Theory last year reminded me how much I love performing with other actors. I hit a red light by one of the studio gates, and stared at one of the sound stages.
I recalled a lifetime spent on stages just like that one, where I'd trade the real world for one that temporarily exists for us because dozens (in some cases hundreds) of people all agree to work together to bring it to life … but also permanently exists for whoever in the audience is watching it.
Stephen King talks about writing as time travel in his book On Writing, and it wasn't until yesterday that I realized the same thing could be said about film and television. I suppose it's one of those things that is so obvious, it's easy to miss unless you're really looking for it.
I looked at that sound stage and desperately wanted to be on it. I wanted to spend whole days working with other actors and a director to bring an imagined world to life. I wanted to experience the joy and creative satisfaction that I can only receive when I discover an unexpected moment in a scene, or am so profoundly moved by something in another actor's performance, the character may as well have been real.
I wanted to walk to Craft Service and linger around a table of half-bagels and soda cans sweating in melting ice while I talked with other actors about acting in a language that only actors understand.
I must have been wishing for a long time, because I was jarred back to reality by the blaring of a car horn behind me. I looked up, saw the light had turned green, and waved the universal "sorry" gesture as I pulled away from the line. The car, a dark-colored Audi, sped around me, its driver clearly and angrily yelling something at me as he passed. I figured he must work at the studio, probably in business affairs.
I made a left on Barham and drove down into Hollywood. Traffic was jammed at Hollywood and Highland. A DOT sign told us the cause was a Special Event, but wasn't more specific. "Only in Hollywood," I thought, "would Special Event happen so frequently, they'd need a sign as common as Road Construction."
About twenty tourists took the whole thing in. Some of them looked down at the walk of fame, others looked up at the theater marquees, most of them posed for and took pictures. Vendors, street performers, and pan handlers all looked on, hoping to somehow separate the visitors from their money. As I drove past, I wondered if the reality of Hollywood meets the expectations tourists have from seeing it on television. I see them wandering Hollywood Boulevard from La Brea to Vine all the time, and I can't help but wonder if it's as disappointing as I think it would be.
I drove on a bit further, and arrived at my destination.
I can't tell you what I did, which is a shame, because it's a pretty cool story all by itself. Perhaps I’ll be able to tell it in the future, but it’s not what this story is about, anyway, so try not to dwell on it.
Hours later, I found myself back on Sunset in the very worst of rush hour traffic, heading East toward the 101. Every local radio station was playing crap, so reached for my iPod, planning to listen to podcasts the entire way home. Further confirming my belief that DEX is my dump stat, I fumbled and dropped it into that place between the passenger seat and the centre console where you can't quite grasp it, but you can nudge it just out of reach to a place where you'll cut the hell out of the back of your hand trying to dig it out. Before I could pull over and begin the annoying recovery process, it bumped against something, lit up, and began playing music from my ambient playlist.
I didn't think to choose ambient, but as it started, I was glad my iPod (which is named BATMAN) did. The music surrounded and calmed me. After a minute, I didn't care that I was creeping along in traffic, sharing the road with but completely isolated from all my fellow commuters. I let go of the frustration of the commute, and opened myself to the interesting things around me. I noticed the fading pink of the setting sun on the West-facing walls of buildings, contrasting with the bright red glow of brake lights ahead of me. I saw the deepening gloom of night beginning to reveal a few very bright stars. I saw Crossroads of the World … and looked through time to late 1979 or early 1980.
I was there for an audition with my mom, and we had parked on Sunset right in front. It must have been close to 4pm, because there were three tow trucks lined up on a side street, preparing to tow the cars that violated the ironclad "No Parking from 4-6" rule.
We walked out to the car – a 70s Toyota hatchback that I spent hours in every day after school going to auditions – and I noticed that there were a lot of strangely-dressed women lined up against a fence in front of a motel across the street, talking to a few police officers. They were, of course, prostitutes, and they were everywhere on Sunset in the late 70s and early 80s. I remember feeling fascinated by them, not in a sexual way (the whole concept of sex didn't exist for me, much less buying and selling it) but because they were all dressed in the most outlandish costumes: fur coats, shiny hot pants, thigh-high boots, mini skirts, various animal prints, all of them in high heels and holding shiny little purses. I stared at them the way you'd stare fireworks, or a peacock displaying its feathers, unable to look away. I remember that it bothered my mom, who admonished me to stop staring and get into the car.
I think that motel was a Travelodge back then, but it's long gone, replaced by a decaying strip mall with a 7-11 and some walk up fast food places that I suppose you could call restaurants, in as much as they trade various consumable items for cash.
I continued to (safely) let my mind drift with the music as I crawled toward home at 3 miles per hour, and found myself nearing the Cinerama Dome at Sunset and Ivar.
When I was on Star Trek, we recorded our ADR at a post facility called Modern Sound, which was across Sunset on Ivar, and I remembered a warm afternoon in 1988 or 1989 when I went up to Modern after a morning of on-set schooling to rerecord a bunch of lines from a corridor scene that we shot on stage nine with the stage floor creaking like crazy beneath the camera dolly. I don't recall the episode, but I do recall the post supervisor breaking the entire session up into a different take for each of my lines.
"I think I can do this as one take," I said.
The voice in my headphones wasn't nearly as confident. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, it's just timing; we're not altering the performance at all."
It was quiet for a second. I picked up my pencil and absentmindedly doodled on the line breakdown, illuminated by a small cone of bright white light that made everything else in the studio except the monitor appear to vanish into darkness.
"Okay," the voice said, "we'll try it, but -"
I held up my hand and finished the thought. "But if it doesn't work, we can break it up into chunks or single lines. No big deal."
An engineer slated the take, and I listened for the beeps as the image of Wesley and … I think it was Riker … walking down the corridor began to move, the top Wesley's helmet hair occasionally disappearing behind timecode.
I made it about halfway through the scene on the first take, convinced them to let me try it again, and made it all the way to the end on the second take. I was intensely proud of myself, and more than a little excited that the session we expected to last an hour or more was over in a fraction of that time.
I signed out, and walked back to my car, which I'd parked on Ivar. Back then, the Cinerama Dome was the only structure across the street, and it dominated that whole block like some kind of giant white turtle next to a vast parking lot.
I don't know why I looked at it, but on the marquee, it said they were screening Stanley Kubrick's 2001. On the sidewalk beneath was a sandwich board with showtimes, and I saw that the next showing would begin in twenty minutes.
I've never been an impulsive person, and I to this day I like to plan everything out as much as I can, but I couldn't believe my good fortune. I'd never seen 2001, and I couldn't think of a better way to experience it for the first time. I moved my car into the parking lot, bought my ticket for three dollars or whatever it cost back then, and called my mom from a pay phone in the lobby so she wouldn't worry when I came home hours later than I was expected.
I was overcome by exhilaration. Not only was it my first time seeing what I understood to be one of the greatest Sci-Fi films in history, it was my first time walking inside the Cinerama Dome. There were lobby cards and original posters from the film's first release in the 60s, and I have this very dim memory that may not even be real of reading some notes about the movie that had been printed out, glued to foamcore, and presented on easels near the snack bar.
I walked into the dimly-lit theater and saw that there weren't even 20 other people inside. That weird overture played as I took my seat and looked around the cavernous room – probably the biggest non-arena location I'd ever been in – and felt like I was doing something cool and important.
The movie began, and held me rapt from the first primate, through the intermission, to the arrival of the Starchild. I didn't understand all of it (if I'm being honest, I still don't), but I loved every single second, and when I walked back to my slightly-better-than-Patrick-Stewart's 1989 Honda Prelude Si 4WS, I felt like I'd gained a level in Sci-Fi and film appreciation.
The traffic remained as terrible as I've experienced in years, but with Banco de Gaia and Global Communication joining a nearly endless supply of hazy and clear memories of a lifetime spent driving around those very streets, it didn't bother me at all.
I really hate living in Los Angeles. It's way too expensive, it's way too crowded, our infrastructure can't support our population, and everything is so damn spread out, we waste hundreds of hours a year sitting in traffic just trying to get there … but yesterday, as I made my way there and back again, I was grateful for each mile of the journey.
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I really enjoyed this post!
Especially the part about passing by a studio (or sound stage in this case) and really wanting nothing more but to spend hours upon hours there, just doing your thang.
Of course, when you do, it doesn’t always live up to your expectations – at least not in the long-term – but the dream is totally worth it.
A very touching post. The silver lining to the cloud of rush hour. I’m glad you had such a nice experience.
P.S. Just discovered Leverage and watched your ep yesterday. Chaos and Hartisan(sp?) keyboard dueling, absolutely hilarious!!
THIS.
This is why I read your blog and your books. You take us all right in, right there where we can smell the exhaust fumes, hear the honking horn, see the marquee. We KNOW, because you bring us right in and show us. Do you even know how great this is? What a gift you have for narrative? It’s just awesome.
/fangirl.
That was a lovely story, Wil. Thanks for reminding me that though I had a crappy day today, there is always something fun in the madness. I shall endeavor to find it tomorrow…or even tonight. Thanks.
I first saw 2001 on my grandmother’s tiny television when I was a teenager. I sat on the floor the entire time, utterly immersed in and amazed by the film. I had no idea really what was going on but I loved it.
Thanks for sharing this journey.
Cheers!
Thanks, Wil. This is really good to read.
Wil, your narrative nonfiction is excellent. Thanks for sharing these memories with us! 😀
Thank you so much. I haven't really *enjoyed* writing very much lately, and it's mostly because I haven't been writing stories like this one. I really appreciate your feedback, and thanks for reading!
I’ve come a long way
I’ve come a long way
I’ve gone 500 miles today
I’ve come a long way
I’ve come along way
And never even left L.A.
–Michelle Shocked, Come a Long Way
+1
I named my iPhone Batman!
Because it can do ANYTHING!
Right?
It just seems so appropriate!
I like sharing that coincidence with you.
What I’m going to do right now is download the two new audio books, and load them into my player to take on my road trip this weekend. I think it will keep me sane – and reminded that the journey is half the fun.
Thanks for writing, recording, and performing.
I find it funny that you named your iPod “Batman.” I named mine “The BatPod.”
Great post. I live in Hollywood and fight the traffic and tourists every day, every time I want to go someplace. I see them staring, reading the names on the stars, looking for those places they’ve seen on TV. I’ve often wondered the same thing, “are they disappointed?” Is it like they’d hoped? A larger than life place that outshines its TV image? Some of them get the treatment if there is a premiere happening at the Chinese and they can press up against the barricades and take pictures of stars or, like it was during my birthday dinner on this past Saturday, the boulevard is closed off at Highland because they’re filming some crazy Japanese rock video complete with pyrotechnics (talk about a serious pain in the ass traffic-wise).
I just have to say that reading your writing is like watching a movie in my head. Your descriptions bring up vivid images, which is the best trademark of someone who is a wonderful writer. Love your work, love this post.
I love these stories. I also love that I myself spent a lot of yesterday being sucked back in time through wormholes of memory thinking about how it has been too long since I have been on stage, looking through old scripts and production notes scribbled into the margins, sheet upon sheet of organic blocking notes, pictures and more, and thinking I need to get back on stage sooner rather than later.
And then you post this and it drives that into my brain with even more ferocity.
You lived a very charmed life sir and it is so awesome that you are getting so many opportunities to do what you love so much.
Great post, Wil. You really can paint a picture when your writing is on.
So, for those of us dying to know, can you tell us if you were in Hollywood for acting, voice acting, or other without going into detail. It is important to know what to look out for…
I could not have said it any better than aichambaye. Wil, this is exactly why I’ve been reading you for years. You have a special gift for relating the everyday and making it a joy to read.
I remember being completely underwhelmed by Hollywood when I went there for a short visit in 2001 (while attending a gaming con in Burbank) because Mann’s Chinese Theatre was covered in scaffolding so we just had a look at the foot and hand prints (which were, admittedly, cool) and walked around the Walk of Fame a bit to see if we could find some cool names.
The main impression I had was one of a badly painted, crumbling facade which hinted at rather bad things behind. I didn’t feel comfortable and definitely didn’t want to be there at night. Miles away from the glamour I had been expecting (although I knew that Hollywood wasn’t really a nice area).
It’s always weird to me that the downtown areas of US cities tend to be some of the worst parts, poor, dilapitated, unsafe, whereas in Europe, city centres are the shiny, most prominent areas.
Anyway, thank you for sharing another, wonderfully written glimpse into your world with us.
This story made me totally forget about the nasty stomach virus I have. Until just now. Uuurp
Anyway, another fine example of how storytelling (specifically yours) can create an escape that doesn’t even come close to movies or TV.
I did go to lulu.com, and I got a nice thank you note that referenced 2009.
[Using a BugMeNot because I want to comment but signing up is too much effort]
Last year, my wife and I scheduled a one-night stopover in LA returning home (mostly to break up a series of long flights, but because we may as well check it out since we’re already there, right?). We decided to stay in Hollywood, knowing it’s a bit of a dump, because we wanted to see the famous landmarks and had little time. A one night stopover also because I knew I wouldn’t like LA.
We toured the Warner lot (while you were filming The Big Bang Theory, coincidentally) and far from being star struck or excited about all the famous stuff I was seeing, what I really took away is what you quoted in the first paragraph. People in LA are there because they really love what they’re doing. Why else would you stay there if you didn’t have to? The passion evoked from the people I saw on the lot, who weren’t part of the tour, really showed me that there is something to LA if you want to be in showbiz. It really shows how passionate people are because they can put up with LA because they love being a set designer, or sound guy, or show runner, or writer so much.
Hollywood’s still a dump, though. We even saw two premieres happening while we were there, and I was far from impressed.
Another very enjoyable read; thank you for writing it.
Based on many descriptions like yours and having visited the place (although on a limited basis, to be fair), I don’t think I could live happily in L.A.; while some of the same problems do exist in NYC (overcrowding and high cost of living), I’ve never lived somewhere I loved so much. Not a knock on L.A. or any other place, it’s just that for some odd reason, New York just clicks for me and did from the first time I visited.
The fact that I don’t like driving probably would make things worse.
It’s not LA traffic, but Boston area traffic is its own kind of hell. I drive 40 miles each way, every day, anywhere from an hour most days to 2 1/2 hrs once or twice a year. Each way. Audiobooks make it tolerable, but the recent months have been great, first with Memories of the Futurecast, and then the RFB archives when I ran out of those… I just got (LuLu’d?) Just a Geek and Happiest Days of Our Lives, and will be listening to them just as soon as I’ve made it through all the D&D podcasts (discovered thanks to you)…
Thanks Wil for adding a TON of enjoyment to my commutes. I love your readings of your own writings – you write well, but I think you read it even better. Listening to the recent Radio Free Burrito reading of your conversation with (Sir) Patrick on the backlot was really moving.
Thanks!
Your writing is, for lack of a better phrase, is simply beautiful. As you are swept into the wormhole of memories, your words tow us right along with you. Thank you so much for sharing with us creepy internet folk.
Really great hearing your memories of these places, Wil.
For me, Crossroads of the World will always be associated with a religious supplies store that used to be in it, on the right side at the front. It’s where my mother bought me my first rosary – silver with little faux pearls – for my First Communion, and a sweet little white porcelain statue of the Virgin Mary to go with it.
And the Cinerama Dome? 15 viewings of “Tommy” the summer it came out, with my two best friends. We used to go all the way down to the front row and lie on the floor to watch it. Also, “Rocky Horror Picture Show”, 1975. Before it became a cult classic.
Also, dude – if you really hate L.A. traffic (don’t blame you), try public transportation. Seriously, ever since the subways got established, it’s a hell of a lot easier to get around town. I gave up my car a year ago and have never been happier living here. Never have to worry about traffic or nasty drivers, can relax and socialize with people, and save a ton of money. Even as an occasional thing, such as the trip you’re writing about here (by yourself with a definite schedule), you’re save yourself an enormous amount of hassle. You could probably have made that trip in half the time on bus/train. Try it sometime.
Wow. This story is excellent. As I read the last lines, I felt a great payoff and closure. You know when you listen to a particularly well-conceived song, and you hit that part in the chorus that feels *just* right? That’s what this felt like.
I’ve been entertained by your blog for a while, but I don’t think I fully appreciated your writing talent – no, probably skill – until today. Thanks Wil Wheaton! Keep being your awesome-at-lots-of-things self!
What a great post! LA traffic is enough to make you explode Wile E. Coyote style. Thank god for ipods!! You know what’s worse than being stuck in traffic…..being stuck in traffic with a dead ipod….always charge at night! Well, I am glad you enjoy your wonderful writing job so much, cause I sure enjoy reading it. Please stay safe on the roads….too many stupid drivers to think about these days.
I like Banco de Gaia (Last Train to Lhasa is probably my favorite track of his/theirs); not familiar with Global Communication. The other ambient/new age band I’ve been listening to lately is Amethystium — not sure if that means I’m getting old or just easily influenced by occasional Soundscapes viewing/listening on Music Choice.
Wil, this is why I keep reading your stuff… you’re an excellent writer!
Wil, could you ever see yourself living somewhere other than Los Angeles? As a writer, you could basically live anywhere you want, right?
There’s a good chance two of those tourists you saw were my brother-in-law and his daughter. They had a wonderful time on the Walk of Fame yesterday, followed by sunset on Santa Monica Pier. They left this morning, with a big bag of lemons from our backyard tree, headed for the gray snows of the Midwest. Listening to them talk about the things they saw and watching them enjoy the warm weather reminded me what I like about LA – which is important, because it’s easy for me to get stuck thinking of the things I don’t enjoy.
Thanks Wil. I’d just brushed my teeth and got in bed, but before I was about to roll over and fall asleep, I thought see what’s going on with my RSS feeds.
I’m glad I did.
I’m travelling for 10 hours tomorrow, but after reading this post I know I’m going to wake up feeling calm. Positive.
I’d better get my ambient iPod playlist ready.
And Wil – just keep writing. I know you know that, but we love to read your stuff. Unlike an athlete, whose perfect body is short-lived, writing is a cumulative skill; an it will only get better.
I really hope you can continue to do what you love.
Heh. I've lived here my whole life, I've been there a thousand times, and I *still* read the names on the stars when I walk past them.
Happy belated birthday.
Once, long, long ago, in a city not so far removed from our beloved host, I had the opportunity to spend several days in LalaLand.
The first couple of days I did the tourist thing, and was sadly left unfulfilled by the experience. There were just too many people who didn’t belong there, too many people like me.
I’ve always loved the magic that is movie making, and had a romanticized concept of Hollywood and LA. Being a tourist can shatter that illusion, as it did for me.
I spent much of my remaining time in LA sitting in Griffith Park and reading, a truly beautiful place.
My friend, a gaffer, had managed to get me a pass to visit the set where he worked. We left Tarzana before the sun came up and he went out of the way so we could drive down Hollywood Blvd. as the sun came up.
There was such a difference between that drive and my first visit days before. The hordes of tourists were absent and comparatively peaceful. We stopped at Mann’s Chinese Theatre, because I’ve always loved that building, and in the dim light of dawn and it was so truly beautiful my eyes started to well up.
We drove to the studio and he presented his id and my pass and we went to park. We walked over to the sound stage as I stared in awe at, well, everything! I was giddy beyond belief! We entered the stage, and my friend introduced me to the PA that had arranged for me to visit, I thanked her, entirely too much, and she found me a place to watch from.
I sadly can’t remember what happened on the set that day. I seem to remember that it was rather uneventful, everyone was professional, they were there to do their jobs, and they did them, without any drama, that wasn’t required by the script of course. Though, my memory could be clouded by the sheer 6 year old on Christmas morning excitement I was feeling. It was amazing and wonderful.
They wrapped up that days shoot around 8pm, and it was just getting dark. We wandered back to the car, chatting about movies, and sneaking looks in the different stages we passed. My friend told me he’d seen how disappointed I had been by my first few days. “I know you’ve loved this city forever and I couldn’t live with myself if you left hating it. LA can be a terrible place” he said. “It destroys so many people who come here. But there is a lot here that is really wonderful.”
Before driving home we stopped and got sushi, something I’d never had before, but thoroughly enjoyed. We then drove up Mulholland so I could see the Hollywood sign. I sat on the hood of the car and stared out at it for what seemed like hours. I thought about the last week, and how everything I’ve always loved about LA, the romanticized fantasy, had been all but obliterated by my first few days and how, with the help of my friend, I’d fallen in love with the city all over again.
After my first few days in LA, I thought I’d leave disgusted by the city. In the end, I left thinking that like the Dragon on the facade at Mann’s, “In the right light, it can be truly beautiful.”
LA really can be a miserable place. But if you ignore the noise, the people, and the bullshit, sometimes, if you’re lucky, you get a glimpse of how beautiful it can be.
That’s part of the reason I love these stories of yours, Wil. They remind me of the feeling I had that night below the Hollywood Sign, regardless of its unappealing qualities, I still and always will love the City of Angels.
As someone who’s traveled the world, Hollywood is not one of those places that is the same in real life as you imagine it to be. In real life, it’s a sad disappointment, one of the worst cities I’ve ever been to. It feels like the broken dreams of failed actors hangs over the city like a permanent gloom. Homeless are the creepiest/craziest of any other major city, hands down, and it’s got that “Tijuana I’ll do anything just give me money” feel to it… makes you want to shower. For some reason, though dreams are made and broken in New York City, it has quite the opposite feel to it. Vibrant, exciting.
Still, fantastic story, and can totally relate to that mysterious but deadly place between the seat and the center console.
Oh and the first time I got to see 2001 was after the wonderful invention of the cellphone and I got to threaten someone (texting through the entire movie) to shut the phone off, or I’ll get someone to do it for her. Going to the movies now makes me stabby.
And finally, @peeweeherman totally RT’d your tweet from earlier. Yes, the REAL Pee Wee is on twitter. Check it out!!!
As a writer, yes. As an actor, not really.
But I have very seriously considered a move to PDX.
Thank you so much for sharing your story. It's beautifully-written and gave me a wonderful perspective on the city I love to hate.
"It feels like the broken dreams of failed actors hangs over the city like a permanent gloom."
Can I steal that for a future short story?
Please please please please please please please please PLEASE do a reading of this as (or as part of) an episode of Radio Free Burrito!!!
This is easily one of my favorite things I’ve read of yours, and I’d love to hear you read it for us!!!
Tag it and slot it for the next book, because this one is a winner. This is the world I INHABIT every day. I wouldn’t say it hits too close to home, but it sure hits pretty close to work. 🙂 Great piece, Wil. Stories like this are my favorite WWdN stories.
Thanks, Shane. They're my favorite Nickerblog stories, too.
Thank you for this story, Wil! My husband, young son, and I had the opportunity to visit LA two Decembers ago, when my sister-in-law was living in Pasadena at the time. We did as many “touristy” things as possible, and we managed to get to Hollywood and Highland one day. Although I enjoyed the mall and seeing the Hollywood sign from one of its top levels, I was a little disappointed with the rest of “Hollywood”. It was neat to see the stars and Mann’s Theater, but other than that, it was not much like the “idea” we Midwesterners must have had of it. My favorite parts of the trip (besides the LA zoo) occurred while we traipsed around Pasadena. What a beautiful city! You just can’t beat roses in December! I’d love to go back again, soon. Thanks, again, for your perspective.
So many people have said thank you even more eloquently than I can but I wanted to add my voice. Thank you, Wil. This story made me smile.
Your description of LA made me really homesick for the short seven months I lived there. I know there are a lot of crappy things about the town, but, hey, everything bad about LA is bad about everywhere else too, more or less. Not that I’ve lived EVERYwhere, but I’ve gotten around. And LA is all right with me.
I hope I’m not being a dick about this, but…
Just try living out here where I am (in central Wyoming) for a while, and you’ll see what I mean. Our traffic is lighter, but our drivers are worse. We’re a small town, but our crime rate is higher. Highly armed right-wing crackpots seem to outnumber the regular citizens. The wind on a regular day is gale-force, and people literally freeze to death often enough that nobody pays any attention.
All told, I’d probably prefer to be homeless in LA than rich here. (The rub: I’m poor here.) I was never happier than I was in LA, and I can’t wait to go back to my Endless City, my Teevee Land, the place where the snow is made of ash instead of vicious icy needles.
If this frakking little old west outpost doesn’t eat me first.
Anyway, thanks muchly for the lovely story. It’s all about the happy moments, sir.
I love it when I read something, and it’s as if the author was right there, telling me the story, in their own voice. Writers who can do this are few and far between. You are one of the rare ones! Thank you so much!
We’d love to have you move to PDX!
Wil,
What a great story, but sad that such a great opportunity was missed to see 2001 in such a setting. I’m glad you got to see it.
I was able to go with my dad to see it at the Uptown Theatre in it’s first run, second day of it’s release. I still have the program, which was quite a purchase in that day. I was and still am a serious follower of space, and that was just like being plugged into the space program directly.
I made a run up to LA recently to Apex surplus and was able to navigate the way w/o any of the really awful traffic, and it was for a midday run (from OC even) a great run.
My recollection in Hollywood was that a friend took a bunch of us when I was first out in this area working for an old minicomputer company and got the impression of what the main area of Hollywood is vs. the perception. Another friend in recent years had the fortune to be on Jimmy Kimmel for a bit, so I got to see a bit of the backstage as well.
Most places have that sort of feeling from recalling when you were actually standing there at some time vs. the current time, vs. the perception of a place. One can talk about the glitz, but be glad that you weren’t around when someone got shot outside the Wax Museum, or whatever, or discovered dead from an overdose in some cheap motel.
Thanks again for your stories like this, as well as the stories about events like going to a Seth MacFarlane party. I suspect you got a bit of the feeling that night I’m trying to describe here.
Wil,
It seems, to me, you might be just bored with a place that your senses have feasted on since childhood. It is good to see that you still have positive feelings for your great city. Whenever I get out to LA it seems that most people are from someplace else but love the place. The locals, I have talked to, love the east coast. While east coast people, like me, love the west coast. I know LA, like any major city, has it’s problems but enjoy not getting stuck in the snow during your latest drive. Maybe you just need another vacation. Until that time, I hope the energy of the people you are surrounded by will more than just get you through the day.
FG
I’m incredibly fascinated with the power of the brain to teleport us back to those memories. Whether it’s the light hitting the car in front of you a certain way, music playing, smells, locations…
You were telling your story of your first encounter with 2001, and I don’t know why that reminded me of Stephen King’s Langoliers. Such a wonderful concept that affected me recently. I had been wrapped up in oversleeping my alarm (slightly intentionally) and my own version of “langoliers” came along into my dream to clean it up for me. The imagery of these creatures stuck with me, and I borrowed King’s name for lack of a better one.
The connection of your memory reminded me of the dream that had been lost for a while in my head.
Thanks for not only sharing a great story but pulling that imagery out of my eccentric brain. 🙂
Listen up.
Los Angeles is an awful place.
Period.
Sure, the city looks as if some giant behemoth crawled out of the ocean and, dog-like, regurgitated a mass of dirty concrete, graffiti and condos on to the landscape. Sure it’s almost impossible to read the signs over the freeways because they are so coated in grime and filth. Sure, the local geological topography looks like its having some sort of ongoing acute schizophrenic episode.
But what really annoys me about that place are the people. So many people there (at least many of whom I’ve encountered) are so immensely snooty and narcissitic it’s almost eye-popping.
Hyperbole? Too harsh?
Maybe.
But honestly. Who do these people think they are? Apparently it’s true: you can’t throw a rock fifty feet without hitting someone who’s working on a script/taking acting lessons/connected somehow to the Great American Hollywood Thing.
And boy, do they let you know it.
Admittedly, there are some nicer areas. Long Beach, for instance. And I hear that Pasadena’s decent although I’ve never spent any quality time there.
But fer Cripes’ sake.
When I hit the Cajon Pass and the twelve lanes o
f headlights thin out I really feel like I can breathe again.
Ya know–this doesn’t escape me. That I’m here openly and probably unfairly slamming the people of L.A. for being collectively narcissistic when this whole entry has been not much more than an expression of my own “I-me-mine” self-centrism. Lol.
Well okay, okay.
After some contemplation and with some degree of guilt I can say that maybe it’s not THAT bad.
The language must have gotten away from me.