May 8, 2009
Like King Kong back in the wild
I stalk LA
Like Fried Chicken born to the bucket
I retake my place
Like an ant carried on errant winds
I drive my car obediently
Like a toddler who knows not when to sleep
I trust that I have all the time in the world
LA never looks pretty to me. Its overgrowth has pained me for decades. Somewhere in the early nineties someone assailed my love of So Cal pink sunsets with the knowledge that without LA’s multitude of exhaust and consumption, the man made mauve sunsets would never exist. Even back then, I knew that there were places on earth which didn’t have to be shared.
But now, returning from a jungle bungalow, my motel room by the freeway seems especially bleak. I am lucky in that I have tied my visit to the City of An Hells with Mother’s Day. I have two mothers so it’s great to give them some time.
Time is on my side because I seem to be rewarded by Asian jetlag. I go to bed at 9 pm and wake up chipper at 6 am. All my computer and paper work can be completed before most everyone is up, and that lends me the aura of “being on it” to my lacksadaisical Cali friends who get going after their 3rd coffee at 10 am.
I don’t enjoy driving as much as I used to. My Toyota 4Runner truck was a pleasure to drive in Lake Tahoe but in LA it seems like Gulliver trampling Lilliput’s tiny homes. Maybe it’s just that I have no antenna and I miss KROQ radio circa 1991.
Stamping out my own childhood has always been a worry when I am in LA. I wonder how many adult frustrations have overwritten childhood casualness and how many physical landmarks lost their luster because of that. They say LA is a shitty place to raise children. Try raising yourself as an adult here.
The feigning re-immersion into LA is tempered by a trip to Cannes’ film festival in a few days and while some of LA LA’s elite gets up and follows me there, I will leave behind unhealthy, unhappy, and overburdened souls who will still be in their cars when I get back.