3.12.98

I feel like it has been a long time since I have written. I haven't felt that inspired about things but we all know what a sad excuse that is.

I've been reading other people's journals -- some new ones that I've "found." They're pretty good though I know short-lived for me. I feel obligated to watch what they come up with in the next few weeks but then I'll move on.

It's rather petty and probably some sort of "reverse elitism" that I'm irritated at both these journal writers for the money that they have. Yes, I have issues with money. I don't have issues with material possessions that other people buy I have issues with the fact that they can buy them. Money may not buy happiness but it sure can help. I must keep reminding myself that these writers are almost ten years older than myself. And, yes, I have issues with wanting everything right now. But, let's not go there today. I'd rather reflect on those issues in retrospect, with 20/20 vision and while sipping a margarita.

Is the word margarita trademarked?

It is really amazing how many things we conceptualize as we move through life. I find it so very interesting to go to places I've imagined and deconstruct my preconceived notions. Paris, for example, was not the music-filled Mecca of light, happiness and culture as I imagined it to be. But then, I was only there for a weekend with no one but myself and my equally clueless buddy, Kellie, to guide me through it. We didn't speak French. We didn't have any money. We had a blast but the reality was so much more real than I thought it would be.

I have learned from my Venice Beach experience to expect the mundane. But, for this reason, I am wallowing in blowing apart my concepts of Los Angeles. Some dialog:

T. and I are driving somewhere on the 405 and I see a house which reminds me that somewhere on the 405 is a large sign for the Bel-Air Estates. I have no idea if this is the Bel-Air or not but I think we have to go.

Me: We should go to Bel-Air next weekend.
T: And do what?
Me: Oh, I don't know -- just be in Bel-Air.
T: And look for The Fresh Prince.
Me: Ummm.... I guess.

Bel-Air the concept is just huge -- it's so huge that it is difficult to define. I know it's about excess, largess and opulence but beyond that just what is it? The plausible answer -- a subdivision populated by the wealthy -- just doesn't do it for me.

Here are some other high concepts (do they mean anything to you?):

Mann's Chinese Theater

The Hollywood Sign

Hollywood

The Santa Monica Pier

Orange County

Wilshire Boulevard

Rodeo Drive

Melrose

Beverly Hills

Spago

The Whisky A-Go-Go

The Sunset Strip

The Viper Room

Brentwood

I was in West Hollywood the other day for a job interview that turned out not to be a job interview but more of a look-touch-hmmm-we'll call you thing. I still don't have my bearings enough to know if real Angelino's consider West Hollywood to be "Hollywood" but I found it odd that I could just drive into it. Don't I need a passport or something?

Brentwood is one of those places that I have several concepts of. If I try to combine these into one to get some sort of "bigger picture" it gives me a headache and I have to reseparate them. My primary concept of Brentwood is the one many people probably have now - OJ Simpson Murder Playground. A second concept has to do with a friend of mine from school who grew up in Brentwood in a dysfunctional family and went to some acting kids school with Fred Savage. Another concept is one put forth by Douglas Coupland in his book Polaroids from the Dead. He writes how Brentwood has no history. In fact, he seems to imply that without a concept, without conceptualization, Brentwood might not exist.

Wow, that's my second Coupland reference in these stories. What does that say about me? I consider my writing style and my thinking process to be somewhere between Coupland and Don DeLillo. This doesn't mean I think I'm a high-caliber writer or that these two are great writers or that I would even want to be compared with them. They just both happen to write stuff that makes me laugh. Although, I still haven't finished the wretched Underworld.

In the end, the blowing apart of these concepts have little to do with the ultimate reality of Los Angeles but rather my reality. I bet that if I were extremely wealthy and had extremely wealthy friends, hip to the local scene, L.A. life would seem exactly like I thought it would. It's all about who you know.

So, it's doubtful that this lowly body will achieve glamour by association. Although, some far-away friends might attach an aura of glamour to my person just for living in L.A. -- conceptualization.

Oh well.