So here I am, finally, in Los Angeles. Los Feliz, to be specific, about a twenty second walk away from Hollywood Boulevard. It's a nice part of town, everyone I talked to recommended it. East of Hollywood, south of Griffith Park, west of hipper-than-thou Silverlake, the flats are a mix of hipsters, college students, and young professionals. There's a sizeable middle-class Armenian population too, but with the area getting as hip as it is, who now remembers the Armenians? The hills are a mix of normal wealth and celebrity wealth. I hear tell that SuicideGirls is based out of somewhere around here, and I've overheard local waitstaff trading Lindsay Lohan complaints on multiple occasions.

I like it here, and since I got over the fact that it wasn't New York, and wasn't even making the barest effort to be, the rest of the city's been growing on me too, despite the fact that it has so far lived up to every stereotype I've ever encountered. Some of them make more sense now that I'm here - you'd wear sunglasses and carry around water too if you lived in a desert. Some of them I've just come to accept - I saw the Olsen twins on the street the other day and realized I really didn't care. Some of them I embrace - seriously, people are just more attractive here. It's still a little disorienting, though. I saw the Hollywood sign the other day and was astounded by the audacity, not to mention the cliche, of the ripoff before I remembered that it was the original.

Starting a new household. Apartmenthold. Studiohold. I've been spending a lot of time at IKEA. IKEA has made me sympathize with the Sims in The Sims.

Now I've got to go find a job. As those of you who have been following my life will know, I came here to join the like fifty percent of anglophone Los Angeles that's trying to be a screenwriter. So in the interim I'm looking to work as an assistant to someone - producer, development exec, writer, agent - where I can learn something about writing, and make connections, alongside all the bitchwork. Now, the entertainment industry, by combination of nature, history, and the economics of the post-studio system world, is the most human of the major economic sectors. And while this includes good aspects like a somewhat laid-back, informal attitude, it also means things like nepotism. As in, getting a job is in large part a factor of who you know. Accordingly, I've been taking lunch meetings with friends of family friends I've never even heard of before. We'll see.

Speaking of money. A few days before I left for my cross-country drive, my parents sat me down and told me that when my grandfather died about a decade ago, he left me some money. Quite a respectable some. It's nice, and I'm perfectly willing to use it to bridge the gap between my projected lower-middle-class income and middle-middle class lifestyle, but I'm kind of afraid of it. I think that when you just graduated college and moved to Hollywood is not a particularly healthy time to come across more money than you know what to do with. At least I don't really care much for cocaine, that should help.

I've been writing some. I have a Firefly spec that I want to be done and polished around the time that Serenity comes out that I'll try to use to get an agent and maybe some interest come next television staffing season, plus some other stuff on the side, plus plenty of ideas, of course. I'm alternating between thinking that I'm fucking amazing and will have no problem, and that I'll be a total hack, except that "hack" implies that someone would actually pay me to sell out. These cycles correspond suspiciously well to how over- or under-caffeinated I am at the time.

Well. I guess that was childhood.

The actress is returning soon and I will lose this beautiful, peaceful sublet by the park. I’ll miss the bright room with six windows and sunlight glinting through big trees. I’ll miss some of the sexy nights I have had in this room on this warm springy bed. But, it is the actress’s place – I am taking care of it while she has a NYC adventure. Her life has turned back here to Toronto. I have taken care of her stuff and kept her plants going but soon it will be time to say goodbye.

I found the apartment unexpectedly – desperate to get away from my old domineering roommate and without time to look properly, I posted the call for apts on Craig’s List - the actress responded. Lately I have been finding all kinds of unexpected little prizes – like finding money among the dirty snow while it is melting in spring. One is the professor who I had the affair with… he still helps me and is kind to me on the phone even though we may never really be together. Also, there is a guy I met through the internet who I have been e-mailing with for 3 weeks. He finally asked to meet me – but it has been tough with my schedule. I have cancelled 3 times on him – for our first date. He says it’s fine, and he respects that I take my priorities seriously… it is nice.

Then, coming back from my family reunion there was this guy on the plane who kept on asking me questions – just as I was ready to take a nap - “where are you from?” “what do you do?” He was cute, well-traveled and seemed to have it together. He was even impressed by my job – which is prestigious within my industry but absolutely nowhere else. We talked from the heart for 3 hours – as only strangers can. It will probably go nowhere but it felt so good to feel involved and engaged – with nothing compromised. It was not perfect but it was money in the snow.

Today, I went to a MBA team meeting at one of my group member’s offices in a tower downtown overlooking the city. The eight of us sat in the boardroom and discussed – with all of us sneaking peeks out the window at the passing boats and the sun’s reflection glowing on the lake. The group all thanked me for a project I worked on – it felt so good. After I went and bought a black suit at the mall for my interview on Monday.

Saul Bellow the author of Herzog, keeps talking about “potato love”. He defines this as the sentimental love of your family and old friends. He seems to mock it and discourage it, asserting that it is better to have love for your fellow man – that is separate from friends or family. He thought of this as a more dignified love. Perhaps this is what I am experiencing, with the money I am finding in the melting snow. These people are kind, but kind strangers – not close enough for “potato love”.

On the other hand, after listening to one lecturer’s take on Bellow – I wonder if he is being genuine. Apparently Bellow, who lost his mother when he was a teenager, was always looking for someone who would love him as much as she did. Bellow did not deny this. A biographer wrote about it and Bellow authorized. Even though he had other relationships, they were absent of that idealized love. Apparently he cheated on his first three wives frequently. Maybe I have the same problem – with my lost dad and with it impossible to find a person that loves me as much as he did – with no compromises. My sister says that I keep becoming attracted to unavailable people (long-distance, in other relationships etc.) because I am afraid to truely get close. I don’t know if that is true. I hope not.

The Unnecessarily Scandalous Daily Herald

August 21, 2005

Making news out of very little since 2005

Holy man denies ties with the devil

by Chad Major

A Minnesota pastor denied yesterday (Saturday) having ties with the devil. He was quoted as saying "I have no idea what you are talking about," when confronted with the allegations.

John Mitchham, a 34 year-old pastor from Wolfbingham, Minnesota, has been in the town for 7 years. He moved there from Cairo, Minnesota when there was an opening for a pastor in Wolfbingham. Mitchham is a loved and respected member of the society at Wolfbingham. Interviews with several locals revealed that none of them had ever suspected that Mitchham might secretly be a devil-worshipper. 55-year old Joe Delphiki, a local tradesman, said, "John was always very kind to everyone. I don't believe he worships the devil." Mitchham himself, in a short interview, denied any involvement with the dark forces, and said, "I don't know what you are talking about."

Homosexual man declared mentally ill

by Larry Judge

A homosexual man checked himself into a mental institution in Orlando, Florida on Friday. He was diagnosed as being mentally ill, and admitted within the hour. His family refused to be interviewed, but said that they had known he was homosexual for about 6 years. The 26-year old man was diagnosed as being schizophrenic with paranoid tendencies.

The man's former psychologist refused to comment.

The brutal rape that never was

by Justice Longley

Susan Jones is a nurse at the Smokeyville nursing home in Smokeyville, Kentucky. On Saturday morning, she was called in to work as another nurse was feeling ill. She told her husband, Bob, to take care of the children and left the house. She was not aware of the horrors that would not unfold. Just as she was about to get into the car, she was not approached by a large man wearing a ski mask. The large man did not then proceed to, in broad daylight, drag her into his car and drive to a clearing in the local woods. He then did not tie her to a tree and did not rape and sodomise her. Afterwards, he did not leave her in the woods or drive her home. Susan, on being interviewed, said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

today's edition >> next edition

They're fighting behind me and I hear only bits and pieces of it.

They're drunk and demand music even though they are at each other's throats, I don't think Crimson and Clover was ever meant to be played this loud.

"You tried to fucking shoot me!" he bellows.

"I haven't shot at you in ten years," she wails.

This is beyond dysfunctional and I will have to remember on Thanksgiving to be thankful they aren't my parents.

She has her bags packed and piled in the middle of the living room floor, she is grabbing knick-knacks from around the house and stuffing them in her pockets, she is gathering up the dogs and their food.

He is sitting on the couch telling her that she forgot to get this, she forgot to grab that.

I am stuck as the DJ for this party and am trying to send subliminal messages for them to chill by selecting songs that relate to their plight, but, now that I think about it, every fucking song in their library relates to their plight. Could what they listen to, even though it is mellow and calm 60's folk, be the cause of all this?

"You tried to fucking shoot me, twice!"

"If I wanted to hit you I would have, I wasn't that drunk,"

These are the things that people in love tell each other. They will be back together before Wednesday and will pretend that this never happened, but for now she slams the door and he cracks another beer.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.