Daydreams #2

hollywood bowl

{Hollywood Bowl via}

As much as I love New York City, there are days when I long to be in the lush sunshine, retro-chic, palmy paradise that is Los Angeles. Especially during those long stretches of grey after grey days…

NYC totally has that energetic buzz that people rave about it. It’s like a raging bitch, destructive ex-lover, teenage raver, grumpy chain-smoker, intellectual scholar, creative chef, preppy uptowner, clever comedian, and loud, obnoxious aunt, all rolled into one. And you love it. You love every single fucking second of it. Because it’s addictive. It’s a drug. And you’re an addict. A helpless, shameless, selfish, anxious, inspired addict. You just can’t give it up.

LA is quite the opposite in that, as much as it’s experiencing its creative renaissance, my fondest memories of it embody a much slower feeling. The vibe is really savoring. The sun warming up your skin gradually as the day wanes on, the long stretches of freeway traffic you stop and stroll through just listening to album after album to keep you sane, and the lengthy hours you spend hiking in the hills or stretched out on the sand along the Pacific.

Sure, you have your new-age, kale-drinking, Soul Cyle-spinning, Botox-injecting, tinted-windows-of-my-super-un-eco-friendly-Mercedes-Benz-G-class-driving weirdos. But that’s just a niche of LA that the media likes to market and haters like to hate on.

In reality, LA still has its grazing-through-the-day kind of feeling, coupled now with an injection of East Coast energy (read more about this recent phenomenon, accurately observed here). A few years ago if you had asked me if I’m ever moving back there, I would have spiraled down the rabbit hole that is my inescapable anxiety about the future. But now, I’ll calmly tell you that I think about it from time to time, that I’m not in a rush to leave New York, but that I do daydream about it at random moments.

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