apologies for the delay i do not understand the time difference between new york and los angeles and that's not my problem
like if LA is three hours behind NY, that means my newsletter is already four days late
Hello, my little silly billys … my little oompa loompas … my little minions that I stole from the set of Despicable Me … my HEART … how is everyone? Is everyone enjoying their summer? Oh, it’s not summer? It’s March 4th? It’s just dangerously warm? Nice!
For everyone who asked (in my dreams), I’m currently in LA — aka Los Angeles aka the city of the Big Apple (?) — and am spending a few weeks here. Yes, it’s been very nice. No, it’s not a city. No, I do not understand it. Yes, I’m very confused here.
Here are some of the highlights thus (thus?) far:
LA is very, very, very, veryveryvEryVeryveRy funny to me. It’s a bunch of suburbs combined into one large suburb. Every single conversation I overhear is about the industry and what they’re all doing in it. Everyone is talking about themselves. Other than the convos I overhear that are just about gossip within friend groups, literally every other one is about working — or trying to work — in movies and TV and music. The stereotypes hold true. We’ve been working remotely in coffee shops in different neighborhoods every day, and the one we went to in Echo Park had each table discussing what meeting they were gonna have about their movies or whatever after the meetings they were currently having. This Adam Sandler lookalike — basketball shorts, snapback, Nikes — was shouting about his new wine bar that would play Runaway by Kanye West and have signs on the walls that say “No Spitting” while pretending to listen to the illustrator he was interviewing. The only question he asked her was if she was in school, and then when she said yes, he told her to drop out. His partner who was also there to interview the girl didn’t say one word and looked like he regretted the day he met the Adam Sandler lookalike. I think we were all regretting the day we met the Adam Sandler lookalike.
LA is a very beautiful place in the same way that it’s not (like, what does that mean, Kerry). The greenery mixed in with the houses is really something, and I would love to be part of it — in the same way that Brooklyn Heights or Fort Greene are places that I would love to live in. But at the same time, some neighborhoods aren’t taken care of and don’t look very nice and make me feel like this entire city is a dream — that none of it is real. LA is Sim City, for real. Everyone in every direction is doing the most random thing you could think of — walking 11 dogs, wearing a ginormous camping backpack to go from Silverlake to Echo Park, pretending to work, climbing a wall, holding an umbrella in the sun (GROW UP), being a celebrity and hoping that people recognize you (this has happened twice that I’ve seen so far), et cetera, et thetera. BAGGUs everywhere. It’s just such a random place.
I also feel like the billboards here are really different. The buildings are lower, so they almost feel eye-level; I also feel like the design of the ads for movies and TV shows are different and original to the city. The movie billboards I’ve seen here don’t look like the ones in New York or Chicago or anywhere else I’ve seen. This really do be a movie town, and I have always said that and so have you. We have all said that.
Alright, now, how do I transition out of talking about LA oh wait I figured it out—
Since the day I left for California, my landlord troubles have taken a turn for the worse. When I say “landlord troubles” like I’ve mentioned them in the past, I know that I haven’t but we’re gonna move on. The electric, gas, and heat all went out for about a week, and my landlord was on vacation in Puerto Rico and had no backup plan to solve this problem. This, my friends, is illegal. So yes, we called 311, and yes, he did call me and scream at me about it. When he returned to New York, he did say that he’d love for us to move out, and no, we did not answer that.
This whole issue started a while ago when we realized that our power breaker did not connect to our electricity, meaning that when our power would go out, we had to depend on him to go into his basement — an area we are forbidden from going to — so that he could turn it back on. This would take hours, most of the time. We were not his priority. And according to him, after I gave him my rent early so that he could pay the gas company, our gas was turned off because they’d been trying to inspect the gas for a long time, and he wouldn’t let them into the basement. So, of course, they turned it off. I do not know what the deal is with this basement. What in the fresh hell is going on down there?! What if he’s a serial killer? It doesn’t matter! It’s simply too good of a space! A guest room? In New York City? Are you kidding me? We’re truly blessed. A guest room but no control over our power and feeling like we’re walking on eggshells any time our landlord is lurking downstairs and also having so many rules that aren’t on our lease as if we’re staying in his guest room? Blessed. “I love it here! I love New York apartment living!” she shouted from a coffee shop in Los Angeles. Like, can I get a damn grip? Everything’s fine. Worse things are happening! I will never be homeless! I will be ok! I’m turning 27 in two weeks! Life is good! Everyone, calm down.
Anyway, I’ll have more for you all next week. I’ve got a little under two weeks left here, and I’m sure there will be more about this city that inspires several more paragraphs about how everyone here is a Scientologist including my dad and also everyone is very good-looking (but not as good-looking as me). No opinions in Circle Back just facts.
Have a good week — live laugh love loser! Like, who is that for? My landlord. Dalé.
TV show rec: Insecure
book rec: I have not been reading I have been daydreaming so if you’d like to read my daydreams I’m happy to recommend them
music rec: Norman Fucking Rockwell! by Lana Del Rey — that girl loves America a little too much
person who may need to sleep on your couch four months from now when her landlord kicks her out: me, myself, and I — all three of us
This just made me realize we’re approaching that part of every year where we’re three years apart instead of two