A Mix CD and a Lonely Halloween

I'm sitting here listening to the best mix CD I've ever heard in my life. A friend from Starkville planned to make me a "Going to California" album before I left, but things happen and priorities get shifted and I'm just now getting the thing. Doesn't matter. When I put it in and started listening, I was overcome with all the same feelings I had the day I drove out of that place. Those same mixed emotions of elation and sadness, eagerness and feeling like something was over. The CD is almost a narrative, with songs about small towns, getting away, finding dreams, riding shotgun and saying goodbye. I'll get emotional every time I listen to it, I have no doubts. And I can remember a point when I would never openly admit that, but I'm not afraid to say it now.

Here's the track listing, for those of you who care:
1. Smallsville - Gladhands
2. Free to Go - The Folk Implosion
3. I Ran (So Far Away) - Flock of Seagulls
4. Rental Car - Beck
5. Quality of Armor - Guided By Voices
6. Destination Unknown - Missing Persons
7. Rockin' Down the Highway - The Doobie Brothers
8. Freeways - Bachman-Turner Overdrive
9. In A Big Country - Big Country
10. Red Carpet Ride - Tiara
11. Moving - Supergrass
12. Passenger Side - Wilco
13. Ride With Me - The Lemonheads
14. Under the Milky Way - The Church
15. Across the Universe - The Beatles
16. Going to California - Led Zeppelin
17. Ventura Highway - America
18. Lemme Take You to the Beach - Frank Zappa
19. Losing California - Sloan
20. Bye Bye Goodbye - Brak

Good stuff, I tell ya. Kudos to Mike Yeager. He wins the award for best mix CD craftsmanship. It really is quite genius.

In other news, it's a strange night on South Bentley. Halloween will pass me by this year, and I won't have pretended to be anyone else. This is new for me. I love transforming. Becoming, if only for a night, something I'm not. It's exhilarating. And it gives me an excuse to wear fishnets and too much eyeliner...which now that I think about it, I don't really need an excuse for in California. I guess that frame of mind harkens back to life in Mississippi.

Oh, and I finally got a job! I say that as such an afterthought, when in reality, unemployment has become the bane of my existence these last few months. It's a huge deal that I finally have something. It's only a part-time gig for now, but it's in my field and will look great on my resume. I am quite thrilled about the situation. I'll finally start feeling like I'm planting my feet firmly here. It's a good thing.

So I'm gonna keep listening to this wonderful CD. A tear might fall. Because it's nights like these when I long desperately for a roomful of familiar faces. And who am I kidding? Music affects me like little else. The saddest movie in the world won't make me flinch, but put on a good song and you just might need a flotation device.

The Wonders Never Cease

After my last posting, I have become more and more aware that a mere five-point list of why L.A. is so amusing to me just simply won't cut it. How could it? Even in the last week or so I've experienced a few things that simply must be passed along to you, dear reader. I learned via Facebook status that a friend of mine stood in line behind Drew Barrymore at CVS today. This amuses me. I don't know why. Maybe because I haven't had a star sighting yet. I'm still waiting to run into and fall madly in love with Charlie Hunnam before marrying him and having half British, have Southern babies. Hey, if you can get caught in the drugstore line behind Drew Barrymore, anything can happen. Fingers crossed!

Last weekend marked my second voyage to the incredibly jubilant and raucous Oktoberfest in Alpine Village. Okay, so it's not exactly in L.A. But every year people come out en masse to swizzle copious amounts of beer, eat bratwurst, yell "Prost!" and, of course, do the chicken dance. Many bring their own steins. Some buy gigantic glass boots from which to guzzle their brew. Some of us go low key with the paper cups. But very few of us left the tent with steady legs beneath us. I'm glad I didn't run into Charlie Hunnam that night. Methinks it would have been a poor showing on my part.

And finally. The revelation I've been waiting for. The sentence that, if I'm being honest, is the only reason I actually wrote this post in the first place...

The girl who cuts my hair used to be a yellow power ranger. Need I say more?

How Do I Love L.A.? Let Me Count the Ways

1. I'm surrounded by characters. I don't mean characters from TV and film, thought it's true those people are prevalent in this place. I'm talking about average people who have somehow become caricatures of themselves. Cartoon-like creatures wandering the streets of L.A. Like the 65-year-old, gray-haired man on the street corner in Venice, resplendent in his leopard print leggings and white running shoes. Or the young man in Hollywood (and I use the word "man" loosely here) sporting a silver tank top sparkly enough to put every Southern pageant queen since the '80s to total shame. There are heads of hair in every color of the spectrum. There are people on stilts. There are people whose sex cannot be determined by mere observation. There are beauties and junkies and class-acts and freaks. And they make this place what it is. A place where no one is out of place. Except, of course, for the tourist families wearing fanny packs...and let's face it. Those people don't fit in anywhere.

2. There's history on every corner. Wherever I go I always wonder who has walked that path before me. For years people have flocked to this place, be it in search of stardom or just the desire to live somewhere beautiful. The kings and queens of Tinseltown wandered these streets. Some of this world's most influential musicians have played here. And you can feel that in the air. It's impossible to ignore. At least for me, anyway. My first visit to The Roxy was moving, not because the show was great, but because I know that John Lennon used to hang out in that very place. My feet possibly touched the same ground his feet once touched. For most people I'm sure that sounds silly, but for me, it's electrifying.

3. It's damn near impossible to get bored. There is always something happening in this town. A never ending string of fun festivals, live music every night of the week, comedy shows, beautiful beaches, mountains, theater, sporting events, farmer's markets, and a plethora of gentlemen's clubs offering the best live nude entertainment this country has to offer. You name it, you can do it here. Hey, they don't call it LaLa Land for nothing, people.

4. Food. Any kind of food you can imagine, and some that you'd never want to. Whatever taste you need to please your palate is certain to be no more than a few minutes away, if not right next door. I haven't been able to tickle my culinary fancy just yet, considering my lack of funds at the moment, but just knowing that it's there waiting to be devoured is enough for me. Some favorites to date... Brazilian cuisine just a couple of blocks from my apartment, a hole-in-the-wall seafood dive in Santa Monica and brunch at Overland Cafe, including $5 all-you-can-drink champagne. Those people know how to make this girl happy. Give me bubbly and I'll be forever loyal.

5. The "come as you are, que sera, sera" attitude. I'm growing quite fond of the laid back atmosphere of Southern California. Doesn't matter what you wear, when you arrive or why you came. Just do what you please. No one will mind. Or even notice, for that matter. Some people say it can be a lonely place since people don't really go out of their way to interject themselves into your life or your personal business. I revel in the fact that no one's in my business, but that shouldn't come as a surprise to those of you who know me well. What should come as a surprise is how drastically my anal retentiveness has slacked off (you know what I'm talking about - the cleaning, the bed making, the organizing, etc.) There are currently dirty dishes in the sink and the trash needs taking out. I haven't made my bed in quite some time and I have unpacked boxes upon which I have piled books, magazines and other unsightly items. And it's not bothering me a bit. Maybe it's just a visual testament to what I knew the first night I slept on Bentley Avenue as a resident of Los Angeles... I'm happy.