1.) I moved to downtown Los Angeles (where before I was in a suburban, quaint neighborhood called the Miracle Mile District).
There's so much to say about living downtown--it is another world all together. I could write pages alone on the types of people I've met--so many young artists swarming the lofts and we all look at each other, strangers all of us, like we know some big secret. It's like we were all drawn here by some giant wizard and we're about to take part in an enormous electric daisy carnival-esque rave of life. Y
Yeah, maybe it sounds a bit out there, I know, I think so too but the kids downtown would not! It's a beautiful thing.
And maybe it is a giant secret because the city--it's shitty looking. Skid Row is two blocks and a skip left of my building. There are druggies, screaming homeless bickering and urinating bums on every corner and in every ally. Rats the size of my cat scamper back and forth from the overflowing dumpsters piled with the worst smelling trash I've ever come across in my life. Urine and feces decorate the streets more commonly than I'd like to acknowledge. You take a shower, step outside, and you're covered in dirt. I am scared for my life after 9 PM--if I want to walk down a few blocks to Seven-Eleven--I cannot alone. Most people cannot, actually. English magazines are very difficult to find and speaking english in general is rather a lost cause. One way streets are a bitch....So what is the "secret" we young people are all excited about? We don't know! That's what's so awesome! I guess we all wonder what the hell we're doing down here...but upon exploring, we've found there is an entire playground expecting us! Trendy, painfully posh clubs, lounges and restaurants have begun to rise out of the most atrocious abandoned buildings. During the day--these old, boarded up, dingy spaces are dormant but come nightfall a red rope sneaks into position and a queue of Chanel purses, Jimmy Choo stilettos and Chloe skirts with Prada overcoats forms in the shadows of the flickering street lamps--one red rope after another and further into the night the streets, usually filled with bums are fill-ed with dashing couples straight out of a 1920's movie about Speakeasy's and flappers. And then, if the artist types don't feel like dressing up--it's unneeded anyway since every loft
building is flooded with Loft parties and young hippsters hanging off the fire escapes, floating music, waving cigarets and lounging from roof top pool to roof top pool.
...Downtown is too cool for me.
My loft is too cool for me. I'd post pictures...or I will soon but I can't find my stupid camera cord right now--I'm living in an excessively large industrial space...out of poorly marked, sporadically packed boxes that are scattered throughout three floors. It's tough to be on time in the mornings when your underwear is in one box, your socks are in another box the floor below, your shoes are back upstairs in a bag somewhere and then your shorts are in one of four boxes marked "pants" all the way on the first floor.
Alright--so this first blog is to kick of a series of blogs titled "Dear Downtown: (blank)" where I'll be documenting how the move is going or writing up any unusual adventures.
Two to look for next:
"Downtown Dearest:' The Heist'"
"Downtown Dearest: Flying Couches and Sweating Bears"
Final note--Marjorie came to stay with me in my new place! We went to a movie at the Grove and dinner and she stayed the night and we went to Disneyland the next day before I sadly took her back to her parent's home so she can return to SanFran today. One year. She graduates in one year and then I'll have a roommate to share in these adventures!