I don't really like L.A. that much, but if i was going to live there I'd like it for the long, straight roads and their over-arching palms. You don't know how some people go through their lives without being around palm trees. It somehow brings you to life - lifts you up from wherever you are into a state of carefree breeze-in-your-hair summertime.
But L.A., like most other large ctities, is full of scary figures who are just trying to make a buck and have lost their own souls to the hot pavement and the constant oppression from The Man.
In L.A., not having a running vehicle is definitely the physical equivalent of constipation: You can't go when and where you need to. It truly sucks as well. I was constipated for years...ummm, yeah...I should delete that but I'm not.
I appreciate your sentiments, but I have to completely disagree with you. Now, I've probably been driving for much longer than you have ... when I was 17, I bought my own car with my own money. That was a 1987 Ford Taurus. You might remember seeing me in it. It looked like a faded turd. The paint on top was practically gone, eaten away by the sun. All of those models seem to have that same paint problem. Anyway, when I was 18, I bought my second car, a 1993 Nissan Sentra. I was driving around in that for about four months before I wrecked it. Ironically, I wasn't drunk, but I crashed it into a liquor store. I've been driving my 1999 Camaro ever since 2001. Well, I've been driving for at least six years. About a year and a half ago, I got sick of it. I decided to quit driving for the most part. I was fed up with traffic, bad drivers, gas prices, but most of all, the fact that I had accustomed myself to operating a big machine. I didn't like that, the monotony of getting into an automobile and wasting your concentration on driving. I
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Cheap parasols.leondacterMarch 19 2007, 20:15:15 UTC
I decided I should comment here because I've linked to this entry from another journal I write, linked to it like some quiet sycophant, a silent sad little worshiper. Your writing is generally spectacular, but you know that. It's awkward coincidence that I love Los Angeles as well, and with great disregard for reason, because I was born in Georgia, grew up in Kansas, lived for some time in Tennessee. I live here now, near downtown Culver City, and work a necessarily evil job at a posh, contemporary hotel. I have a car, a Chevy Malibu, loud, dirty, American and cheap. I'm sure it taxes my concentration in obscure ways, but no more than my job, which is an intractable issue. I understand entirely if you want nothing to do with barters in personal details online, but do you write for a living, for a paper, a publication, do you edit, proof? I'm an illegitimate Angeleno, a bastard who clings -- with a grip that is hopefully substantial and not too shallow -- to the ankles of a wonderful new stranger the he feels is family
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But L.A., like most other large ctities, is full of scary figures who are just trying to make a buck and have lost their own souls to the hot pavement and the constant oppression from The Man.
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