02 January 2009

Dirty Angels, Dirty Me

I was born in the City of Angels. What is called “Hollywood” is a manufactured ideal of glitz and showbiz sheen than an actual place. I always get asked “Where are you from?” Since most people here come from everywhere else. I told this one girl I was from L.A. and she said “No, where are you REALLY from?

The freaks you most associate with Southern California, I guarantee you are from someplace else. Every normal, boring, man or woman I ever came apon are always from here or places like Inglewood or West Covina. I once told a waiter I was from Colts Neck, Minnesota (made up on the spot). The ruse didn’t hold up when he said his grandparents lived in Minnesota and asked “Colts Neck? Where is that near?” I should have told him I was a drug mule from Guatemala.

It’s great to be able to ski (Mount Baldy) and surf (Malibu) all in one day and I like to think the thick layer of smog protects me from the sun’s UV rays, but I’m realistic with this place. I know no one will ever say to me “Baby, I’m gonna make you into a star!” before making me cry “Uncle!” on the casting couch. And when the big one seismologist say will one day destroy us (all agree it’s not a matter of if, but when) hits? I won’t care to see it coming. It’s all this sunshine you see, it’s like eating your favorite ice cream every single day, you get sick of it, but you still prefer it to any other flavor being shoved down your throat. It all starts meshing into a smoggy haze of palm tree rows, mini-malls (Thank You Bob Hope), store bought sun burns and hanging ten to the tune of the Mama’s and Papa’s “California Dreamin” bangin in my one note head, but I still love my city of fool’s gold and vanities, It’s all I know.

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