Silver Lake

It was an upstairs two bedroom apartment with a fenced in back yard in East Hollywood. The neighborhood was named Silver Lake and it was like a Rothko color study. Even the homeless people had gardens. It was such a hip and vibrant place. And one of my favorite features of my neighborhood was that you could walk a mile or two up any hill and see what seemed like all of Los Angeles: buildings on top of buildings with no real distinguishing features, and cars, everyone in LA drives three cars at once, a lot of hybrids though, but at night it was nothing but lights and space between lights, and from some streets on a starry night it was hard to tell where the sky began and ended.

 

Getting into Character

Originally I had planned on moving to Los Angeles. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when your girlfriend’s overly eccentric musician sister calls you at one o’clock in the morning because her roommate is moving out and she needs help with the rent? Though I had never been west of Texas, and knew very well Woody Allen’s thoughts on the city, the idea of shaking the dust of this crumby little town still seemed like a fantastic idea at the time.

We packed everything we could fit and two dogs into a Jeep Cherokee and Mercury Sable, and like a terribly disorganized circus, Beth, myself, and her father began to “get into character.” My mom has cut stories, pictures, and especially cartoons out of the newspaper for me since I was old enough to read. We had already said our painful goodbyes and gotten into the car when she waved her hand. I rolled down the window, and she handed me a Ziggy cartoon. It had a picture of Ziggy in his car, and was titled “Going to Hollywood.” Inside the bubble it read, “Getting into character.”

We made it to L.A. in three days. Beth drove the entire way. I was at the time in a phase where I couldn’t drive. I would have terrible panic attacks and have to stop breathing when I got behind the wheel. Our pace made it difficult to really take in the experience of driving coast to coast. We stopped mainly to eat, walk the dogs, and sleep. We did pull over to view the largest cross in the world. It was ridiculous. If I remember correctly you can see it from space. And I remember seeing the biggest mountain I’ve ever seen. Humphrey’s peak was 12,633 feet high.

 If I’m really nostalgic about any part of the trip it would have to be the way the landscapes slowly became less familiar. People are a lot the same anywhere you go. I can always feel at home around people, but I felt 2,000 miles away from anywhere when I first viewed a desert. The total absence of grass was far more overwhelming than Grand Central Station. And the plateaus were so weird! It was one of the few times in life I can remember feeling completely new. I didn’t know these places, and they didn’t know me.

Chicago