The days are dwindling until I finally leave for the land of lisps and I’m tho exthited to finally make the tranthition. I’ve been keeping myself busy with side projects I was anxious to finally pursue after graduating. I splurged and took the leap from the solid numbers in my bank account and got a new camera. So, I’ve been snapping away as I try to capture as much of my L.A. lifestyle as I can before I finally say “Sayonara” to her beautiful and neurotic ways. I don’t really know where this blog will end up in contingent with my thoughts, all I know is Bobby Brown’s, “My Prerogative” is booming in these blasted cafe speakers right now and I am really wondering if he felt happier before or after he fixed his tooth gap. I am also wondering why the man across from me — a regular at this coffee shop who always schools me in chess — only speaks to me in Spanish, when he knows I have a first grade understanding of it. Oh, the mysteries of life.
So, this is me counting down the days until Spain. I am going to say that I did start this blog to chronicle my travels abroad and provide tips on what to do when you sit next to overtly psycho people on trains, buses and airplanes. What do you do? become the crazier person. This trip should be fun.
Oh, and I also entered this letter to a Pale House Press Submission for my dearest city — Los Angeles — which pretty much wraps up my cumulative time here. If you enjoy writing letters and live in this disastrously beautiful city, send one in to Pale House: http://www.palehouse.com/submissions.html
Dearest Los Angeles,
I don’t know whether I should even start this letter with ‘dear’ because there have been moments when you weren’t dear to me at all. Your streets were lined with crudeness and vulgarity, which frightened me. Or maybe it was the memories, which outline the infrastructure of your city. Sometimes I can’t separate the two. Memories and location attach themselves to each other and telling the difference between the two become tenuous with time. The two commingle so that when I am walking down Santa Monica Blvd, I think of the bike ride I took with a mob of loony cyclists. You were very dear that night, Los Angeles. Your streets were paved (for the most part), but even the bumps didn’t matter because your air provided the sweet aroma of Century City trees wafting through my nose.
I know I cheated on you once or twice. I fled to Northern California a few times where the weed grows strong and the hippies run amok. I’m sorry I left you, but I had to explore my options before I settled down in one place. I know you will understand because you’ve gone through many transformations and changes yourself. I fell in love with your Northern counterpart – San Francisco – and really hit it off with her transportation system and foggy weather. I really think you would be fond of her. She has so much to say, and she’s wickedly funny and has got a great mind to match a beautiful body. She can be a bit harsh sometimes, but I think it’s only because she had a rough childhood.
Anyways, you know as well as I do that my roots will always be firmly implanted in your long windy streets – from Mulholland drive where that boy kissed me to the sandy Santa Monica beaches where long strolls were always had. I know I love you. There is no question about that. I will never forget moving to San Francisco for the first time and leaving the comforting nest of your warm sunrays and bleached smiles. I couldn’t stop thinking about you for months and everywhere I went I tried looking for remnants of you.
Alright, I am starting to go on a tangent. What I really want to say to you, L.A, is that I think we should be in an open relationship right now. I am still not ready to settle down in one spot, but I want you to know that you will always be close to my heart. You were my first love. I’ll go as far to say that it was even love at first sight. Damn, you were beautiful in the 90’s. Until out next adventure, my magnificent city!
With ardent love and affection,