there and back again

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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102 thoughts on “there and back again”

  3. This is one of the most profoundly beautiful posts I’ve read. You really have a gift of painting a picutre with words – and I thank you for sharing your memories with all of us. I recently pre-orded Happiest Days and now I’m looking forward to it even more.
    My husband moved from England to Rochester, NY eight years ago when we were married. He’s never liked the city and while I can agree with all the points he makes (dying city center, not much activity, city council that can’t find their way out of a shoebox with a map) I can’t help but look at the city and remember my childhood and growing up with this old store or that old park. It’s hard for me to explain this to him without sounding like I’m defending what my city has become now. While I’ve never really been all that interested in visiting LA, you’re writing makes me curious to see the old haunts and little corner gems that might still be there rather than the flahsy tourist destinations. Thanks for taking us all back there with you.

  4. Most of the time, I rather like living in Los Angeles… there’s just enough that I love to make up for all that I hate.
    But sometimes, I hate L.A. with a passion. Which is, of course, why I really live and work in Pasadena, and only visit L.A. when I have(or want) to. 😉

  5. I’m coming to L.A. at the beginning of this summer to do a screentest and (hope against hope) get a job or two as a working actress. Thinking about this future, I find myself 20% wide-eyed wonder, 80% terrified out of my skin. After reading this, I think maybe it’s moved to 25% wide-eyed wonder. Maybe you don’t think that’s a significant increase, but in my scared little soul, it is. And I have your fantastic and vivid descriptions to thank for that.
    Another L.A. quote that came to my mind while reading this is courtesy of Joe Versus the Volcano-“It stinks, but it’s a great town.”

  6. Having recently visited Hollywood for the first time, I can only confirm your theory that the reality of Hollywood profoundly disappoints tourists. I reckon that an altercation I experienced on my first walk down Hollywood Boulevard beautifully illustrates my disappointment. I was walking at a nice solid pace when a huge bouncer type store greeter rudely yelled at me when I passed his magic shop. His reason? Apparently, I did not have a smile on my face, and that offended him. Usually, I wouldn’t care about a jackass like that. I would tell him to get stuffed, and move on without missing a beat. But being as I was in LA, and about 6000 miles from home, I took his criticism to heart, and wondered why it was that I did not have a smile on my face. Was it the tacky buildings, the over enthusiastic street merchants, the scientology nutters or the epically overpriced cafe lattes? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that there were a thousand places closer to home that I would rather be. And that a moment more spent in a vacuous place like that was a moment too many. And so it was that my first walk down Hollywood boulevard became my only walk down Hollywood boulevard.

  7. I visited LA once in the late ’80s and a friend (who lived there) took me all around the Walk of Fame — my most profound memory was that someone (or possibly something) had taken a shit on Ronald Reagan’s star. I don’t know if “disappointed” is the right word, but it was definitely different than I’d envisioned. 🙂

  10. You know Wil, L.A. is a weird place, I’m IN PDX and have to move back to Redondo in April because that’s where the business is for us Actors. Perspective is everything, the trick to L.A. is not to take it so serious. I lived in Venice for 22 years, moved to Portland (Which was right at the time for me), and now am moving back as I once again move back to working in front of the camera. We live there because we LOVE what we do, we can hate the smog, the traffic, and sometimes the people, but we LOVE the business we are in. Keep writing Mate! The pearls of your thoughts come out when you least expect it, and we get to enjoy it as well -Ethan Tudor W.

  11. If you are really into ambient, here are some groups that I HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend you check out, Wil. Artist names first, then album names:
    Blue States – Nothing Changes Under the Sun
    Deepsky – In Silico (not ambient, but still a good album to chill out to)
    LFO – Advance (no, not the boy band)
    Mishka – Electric Universes
    Redshift – Redshift (Self-titled debut. They have a lot of work that has come out since, but this is still their best IMO. They have influenced my own music more than any other group)
    Saafi Brothers – any of their albums, although my fave is Midnight’s Children
    Aphex Twin – Surfing on Sine Waves
    http://www.livingwithanerd.com

  12. What a great post. This is the stuff you do best. This is really hitting the deep writing, the core. Excellent. Everyone can relate to memories like this. We’ve all driven down roads from our past and recalled old times. Keep it up!

  13. what is so great about your writing, it that it is reflective without a taste of self pity or self importance. there is this honesty here, that is haunted, sincere and yet enthusiastic. as a child i always wanted belong this world that you describe, and even though i did not experience it in the way that you have, there is a sense of loss in your writing that I resonates in me. this line especially, “when I looked up the hill into the cemetery, I saw as many flowers as there were graves, maybe even more…” its captures the essence of Hollywood, the struggle of myth against reality, faith vs doubt, the dreamers spouting over the jaded and rejected. Los Angeles always interests me because it can not hide what it is, and yet you have found a way to make it poetic.

  14. “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.”
    thank you for saying that you found Los Angeles beautiful. I maintain a clear head and expect LA to be what it is, but find it so beautiful. beautiful because everyone thinks that people run to Hollywood to be a star, but they really go there to be a ghost, to join the mythology of the city. even if you are successful you will be haunted, because you always lose somepart of yourself in exchange for what you love, even when you win.

  15. Wil – I called up Mapquest and followed along as I read this story. I loved the post – esp. the attention to color detail in describing the early evening sky and the glow on the buildings. I can picture the entire scene, and feel the air. Absolutely wonderful!

  16. Great post!
    Hollywood and Downtown are obviously the two busiest areas to have to drive through.
    What about the TO/Agoura Hills Area? Much nicer and only an hour away.
    There has always been a contingent of Hollywood that lives in Orange County and drives to LA. Kobe does it pretty much every day.

  17. That was a great story. I love those days when the walk down memory lane helps get you through the process of something that is no so pleasant.
    I’ve been to LA and as much as I loved it (I was only there 4 days) it drove me crazy that you had to drive everywhere and across the street meant miles away.
    Thanks for sharing with us.
    hugs

  20. Having just seen Avatar at the dome on a recent visit home, I have to say that it makes me a little sad that you can’t really see the beauty of the giant white turtle anymore.

  23. That was a touching and moving piece of writing Wil, and for reason I don’t understand it helped bring me out of the funk I was in surrounding my most recent writing related rejection. (Normally rejections don’t phase me, I’m too stupid and too stubborn to quit. This one hit hard for some reason.) Thank you for writing it at just the right time.
    On a side note – I might have been in that theater with you. My friends and I drove up from San Diego to see 2001 at the Cinerama Dome. That was quite an experience I am very glad that this was your first viewing of the movie and not a washed-out video.

  24. Wil,
    I may not agree with you on, well, just about anything, but that post was excellent. Really really excellent.
    Thank you.
    Steve in Flyover country

  26. What a great piece, Wil, I was transported. I could see the sunset on the buildings. Reading your blog is one of my guilty pleasures at lunchtime. Thank you.
    PDX, really?

  27. I LOVE movies, and think that the people who make them(this goes for TV too) are some of the luckiest, most talented people in the world.
    Well at least people behind the creation of the work, not the money people, they’re usually talentless scumbags who wouldn’t know a wonderful piece of art if it bit them in the tail, but they’re a necessary evil. But I digress.
    Before I’d had my hopes of stardom dashed by every single producer that ever requested one of my screenplays. Hmm, if they’re all saying I’m terrible, maybe the consensus is accurate…NAH! Any way, before countless rejections I had hoped to “break-in” and move down to LA.
    For me, there’s just something about LA, that tugs at my homing instinct, and I try to return every few years to recharge my soul, it’s my Hajj.
    I really wish the wonderful parts of LA weren’t so over shadowed by the icky-bits. It’s a crying shame that everyone doesn’t get the chance to feel the way I do about it.
    Mind you, if I lived there, I’d probably hate it too. 🙂

  28. i love the fantasy of LA, which is why i find myself going out there, on SHORT visits. It feels like an amazing release coming from NYC. To deal with LA one should live in NYC for a few years and then LA will feel like paradise, all the space, all the sunshine, everyone is so “nice”, (although lazy and flaky as well.) I think LA is easier to love if you have a passion for 1980’s movies, such as Thrashin’, Earth Girls Are Easy and Valley Girl. And also 1980’s hair metal (to which i do), then it is like a trip down an old White Snake video.

  29. Thanks Wil. I’m at a client site discussing Smaug (Really!) and no one all day got my reference. Keep it up and maybe the sun will Rankin amoung the Bast…

  30. Wil,
    I know I’m not the first to say this but it’s these kinds of stories that have kept me coming back here for years now. Since the first time you told me about this blog at SDCC many years ago I’ve been checking in almost every day. Of course, I’ve enjoyed all variety of what you post here and other places, but it’s after reading pieces like this that I’m left in amazement as to how accurately you bring to life the details of the world you are conveying to us. I drive up to LA from SD at least 3 times a year for various reasons. I’ve been in the exact same traffic you describe here and as I read this I can almost smell the carbon monoxide. At least next time I’ll be better equipped with knowledge of a strategy to ward off the frustration that comes with sitting in a linear parking lot. Thanks Wil!

  33. I still think it would be a great excuse for you to come onto TBBT again. The guys start playing the game in their birds of prey, sneering at the losers with English names for Klingon ships, when all of a sudden a Galaxy-class cruiser warps in and blows them to smithereens. The last thing we see is Wil’s face underlit by the glow of a monitor: “Game over, Moonpie.”

  37. Very cool. I only knew of you from Star Trek for all these years, but thanks to Twitter recently discovered your writing. Pieces like this make me glad I did.

  38. Linked to, but not entirely to do with this post, I live in the town where Arthur C. Clarke was born!!!!
    Don’t often get the chance to say that to people who’ll appreciate it as much as they should. 😀

  39. My only visit to the Cinerama Dome also happened during my first visit to Hollywood and Los Angeles. Summer of 1986. I walked along a section of the Walk of Fame. There was some plywood covering a couple of the names and the sidewalk could’ve used some serious cleaning.
    I passed a Holiday Inn with an exterior color scheme that looked like a contestant from the Dating Game could’ve won a night’s stay there.
    Walked past the Chinese Theater, but didn’t go in because I didn’t want to see the movie that was showing there at the time.
    I’d never seen palm trees before — and coming from the Seattle area — I wasn’t used to constant sunshine.
    Rode past the Hollywood sign, the Capitol Records building and the Castle of Scientology. I’d seen these things on TV and in so many movies that the whole area just felt one big movie set.
    I saw “Howard The Duck” at the Cinerama Dome. Nice theatre, horrible movie. Our Cinerama up here (before the remodeling) was like the red version of the Cimerama Dome. It still is, sort of. Huge, curved screen. People could lay on the floor between the front row and the screen before the movie — and between if it was a double feature.
    I suppose the big difference between our Cinerama and the one down there is that ours is surrounded by tall buildings and the one down there looks like God sliced his approach shot at the 18th hole. 🙂

  43. I finally saw 2001 for the first time almost two years ago. Luckily, it was in 70mm at the Egyptian – much better than a DVD. I completely understand what you felt.
    I’ve lived in L.A. for almost thirty years, since I was a teen, and I’ve grown to love this weird town, even when I hate it (like I did Saturday as I cursed the Hollywood tourists and Hollywood Blvd. lane closures for getting in my way and making me late for an event at the Egyptian – Grrr. Argh.). Knowing every landmark you mention, remembering the Cinerama Dome before its union with the Arclight, makes me smile and carries me along with you.
    Thank you, Wil.

  44. I first saw this movie in 1968 the year it came out. It changed everything for me. This one movie got me into the silver screen and I’ve been hooked ever since. I’m always amazed when I ask if they have seen this movie and they say nah I’ve heard its boring. I so glad you saw it and shared the moment with us.
    Have you seen ZARDOZ?

  46. So, think about how the movie experience would’ve gone down today:
    No payphone; you call home on your cell. When you get out, you tweet (again from your phone) about seeing the movie; you have a couple of mentions on twitter that go something like: “Holy shit, just saw 2001 and @wilw was TWO ROWS IN FRONT OF ME. nerdgasm!!!”
    Then you go home, write a blog post about seeing the movie, and the next morning there are a billion comments about whether or not 2001 makes any sense.
    We are living in the future. And it’s weird…

  47. Wil,
    As I was listening to you read this simply put and strikingly moving story on RFB, I had a similar kind of reminiscent “flashback.” You managed to bring me back nearly 30 years to the place I grew up in and the experiences I had there.
    When I was three years old, my parents and I moved to a small (at the time) suburb on the western outskirts of Chicago, called Carol Stream. It was an odd community made up of residential neighborhoods, park land, and light industrial areas with business names I’d never heard of. There was no main street and no “old town” as the village had only been incorporated in 1959. However, the genius behind this family oriented experiment, Jay Stream, believed that a city should have certain rules to help make life just that much easier and enjoyable. To this day, some of his forward-thinking ideas still make it one of the most unique places I’ve been privileged to call home. For instance, all parking spaces within city limits are 2′ wider than the “standard” space. The idea behind this was that kids would have more room to flail open the doors of the family truckster and not cause the proverbial door ding in the adjacent car.
    Carol Stream was, and still is, the type of suburb idolized by early television shows. Kids could ride their bikes anywhere without fear of strangers. Little league baseball games were huge fanfare for more than just the players’ parents. Armstrong Park’s sledhill was where everyone would congregate the day after a big snowfall, but always after school as snow days were for wimps in our area. For all intents and purposes, my parents never had to worry about something bad happening to me while I was on the “other side of town” exploring the monkey bars of an elementary school playground different than the one by my house. The village was our haven and even though we were too young to realize it at the time, we had it better than most kids our age would ever have it.
    These were the days before big-box retailers, so everyone shopped at the same small stores. Once a week, we’d hop (or climb as it were) into my mom’s 1973 Cadillac El Dorado and go grocery shopping at J&M’s on Gary Avenue. It was a store so small that it would be considered a department in a modern grocery store. I would get excited each time we went because I knew that at the end of the first aisle we went down was the Slush Puppy machine. I’d always get a small grape Slush Puppy and spend the rest of our shopping experience going up and down all the aisles sipping away while trying not to over-do it and get a brain freeze.
    When we were sick, there was only one place to get our prescriptions filled: Carol Stream Drugs. John the pharmacist was the owner and always knew our mom’s name, even if he didn’t initially remember ours. Saturday mornings I’d go with my dad down to John’s Food and Liquor (no relation to John the pharmacist) to pick up his case of beer and carton of smokes for the week ahead. The woman who worked the only register made sure to give me a pretzel stick out of the container on the counter. When it came time for a haircut, we’d head down to the Village View Barber Shop and see Ross Ferraro. Ross was from Italy and as kids we sometimes had a hard time understanding him. When I was 12, he became the mayor of our little town. Twenty years and an additional 35,000 people later, he finally retired from both jobs.
    Little did we know it, but our years growing up were historic not only for us but for the village as well. The businesses that the town was built around have long since closed down. There are malls just across the city limits where kids spend their summer days rather than biking “all the way to Steamer’s Hot Dogs” with your playmate, Chad. Carol Stream Drugs is now an adult “fun” store called Lovers Lane. And all the trees we planted in our front yards are now taller than the houses we grew up in.
    Hearing your words and memories brought me back to all the places I saw through eight year old eyes again. I’d displaced those experiences while making room for thoughts of work, bills, and home repair. My memory just need jogging…so thanks for the exercise.
    John

  48. Great story! (I’d say more but really, others have said it already and said it better. So “Great story!” will have to suffice.)
    As for whether Hollywood is disappointing… yes. It just felt like such a huge wasted opportunity… Given the history of the place, and the attention it gets from billions of people around the world, there should be something really unique, vibrant, and alive going on, and instead it’s just yet another run-down neighbourhood with some sequins stapled on.

  49. Wonderful writing, Wil. As others have stated, this post is an excellent example of why I love everything you write. I was right there, next to you, in the car, as you described the areas, the memories, the frustration of traffic and losing yourself in the music. You did see me sitting next to you, didn’t you? Because I’m positive I was witnessing everything you did. Great writing, truly.
    In reading some of your posters’ comments, and the slamming of L.A., my first reaction is to defend my home. They just don’t get it, or they want to feel superior over the Angelinos, or they just had a bad experience on their visit. (I think ES is from Northern California…. and they definitely have a hard-on about L.A….) Then I have to admit that what they write is true, and from their viewpoints, what they witnessed, is accurate.
    But I submit that it is all about perspective. Two people can look at the exact same picture and see entirely different things. It’s not WHERE you live, but HOW you live. Anyone that is too consumed about location, location, location, is short-changing themselves and missing whatever the present circumstances can offer.
    I really like your eyes. They see things that are lovely, nostalgic and hopeful. Those are three of my favorite visions…..

  50. I arrived in Los Angeles in late 1978, and despite what was clearly the seediness of Hollywood proper, the city still was magical. I had never been there before, but I discovered to my amazement that I recognized so very much of the area — I had seen so much of it on television and in movies that I knew the town, believe it or not, seemingly almost as well as I knew my home town of St. Louis. I was lucky in who I met, too, as in very short order I was invited to the Magic Castle, and visited the set of BATTLESTAR GALACTICA, getting to wander around the GALACTICA’s bridge (they, too, had a sign saying “Don’t sit here!” in the Command Chair) and watch scenes being filmed. Later on, I got to meet Susan Sackett, Gene, and Grace Lee Whitney at a wedding at Susan’s house, and ran into Dorothy Fontana, George Takei, Nichelle Nichols, and Walter Koenig in odd places. For an original Trek fan from out of town, as I was, L. A. was a wonderful place at times. I moved back to St. Louis in late ’83, but I miss L. A. still.
    Thank you for the reminders of why I liked it despite Hollywood Boulevard (and even worse, Santa Monica Boulevard).

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