The siren call of California has worked its magic into the dendrite fiber of my brain, and Tessa’s too – you know how your body regenerates cells so that you are an entirely different human every 7 years? The effects of this transmogrification must kick in after three months, because New York is seeming very distant, like I’m not sure I was ever there.
Everything in Santa Monica is an opiate. Take this, for example:
I’m not sure what those flowers are, growing on the phone wire, but they give me the soporific sensation of those poppy fields in “The Wizard of Oz.” You get sleepy with the beauty here, every day sunny, cloudless and 78 degrees. You’d need a heart made of bruises and veins filled with methane NOT to grow a little complacent.
I swore that I would never return to Los Angeles unless three things happened:
1) I was invited
2) I had a job
3) I could live by the water
Lo, and the Heavens spake forth that I should lack none of those three things, and It has made all the difference. The fourth, most unspoken difference is that I’m here with my wife, thus rendering the delirious horrorshow called “Dating in Los Angeles” a moot point.
I can’t recommend NOT DATING in Los Angeles enough. My advice for all men thinking about taking the Hollywood plunge is to forcibly remove your own nads, or swear off all intimacy in a monk-like devotion to your craft. Women: moving to LA means putting all hope of meaningful contact into a lockbox, which you may only open on trips outside the state. This sounds draconian, sure, but BELIEVE ME, it makes everything so… much… easier…
But if you’re married? Shit, come to LA and enjoy it. It’s awesome. The weather never changes! If you’re talented, you might get paid for doing something you like! And there’s no humidity!
i’m feeling rather dizzy
perhaps I should lie down