Next time, David

A cheerful hello there from your Los Angeles connection. It’s been a busy week so far for us, as much as that’s possible when you’re setting down roots on the other side of the country, gazing around with a bewildered look on your face. Corelyn and I are both hot on the tail of promising job opportunities, her with a very prestigious legal-specific temp agency that specializes in “temp to hire” (in other words, temp jobs with clients who are looking to permanently employ the person if they like them), and myself with a really neat post-production company that operates out of the Paramount Studios Lot (very exciting!) I had a meeting with the guy who runs this enterprise today, and he seemed sharp as a tack, and we got along well. He had years of industry experience that I can already tell I’ll really benefit from if I get the gig. My particular role would be as a sales rep, pounding the phone and stirring up interest with new clients. Sounds good to me.

Some of you may know that my beloved big sister Caroline was in town tonight. Some of you may not know that one of my favorite directors, David Cronenberg, was also in town tonight. Those same people may continue in their habit of unawareness concerning the fact that the aforementioned cinema auteur was screening one of his masterpieces at the Arclight Theater, as well as taking questions from the audience. Naturally, because God likes to punish me, this screening, which I had long since purchased tickets for, happened at the exact moment that Caroline’s flight arrived. Sigh.

I chose Caroline. She seemed appreciate, but I’m not sure she actually grasped how badly I had wanted to meet this guy, so I’m complaining about it to you, dear reader. Now I stand by my decision any day, family comes first of course, but my heart is aching at the fact that these two events had to happen at the same exact moment.

Good news, though, Caroline graciously took Cor and I out to dinner with an old Tuck buddy of hers, who my wife and I agreed was a total winner of a guy; smart, funny, gracious, etc. I discovered, much to my delight, that whatever perverse malfunction in this poor man’s brain that made him find an Allen funny and charming seemed to carry over from Caroline to myself. Good times.

Man, I tell you what, driving in Los Angeles is a whole other experience. People here do not kid around. Let me list for you some of the crazy things about being behind the wheel here:

1. You have to steal left turns. Remember that nice green arrow you East Coasters are so used to? They haven’t heard of that crap out here. You want to make a left, you have to make a left, ain’t nobody gonna hand it to you. The method for procuring this rare phenomenon tends to be speeding across the intersection as the light turns yellow, or blasting off the line as the light turns green before the guys going the opposite way have a chance to get going. Or you just run a red light, I see that one a lot. Honestly, I once saw a left so desperate, that one dude ran a red, and then a second one tailgated him as he did it. Now that decision is somewhat tactical in a scenario where the person you’re following has right of way, but what exactly is the advantage of “getting in on” someone else breaking the rules? 

2. Freeways have identity crises. There is not a single major road in this town that is not struggling with multiple personality disorder. Where I come from, my work ends after choosing the correct ramp, but here, no highway remains itself for very long. You get on the 110? Two minutes later, three of its five lanes have become the 405. And of course, the signs only warn you of this as the change is happening. 

3. You have to change lanes like you might stab a person. Changing lanes on the East Coast is like breaking up with the lane; you’ve been on it forever, you’ve been through a lot together, and now it’s time to signal and move on. Out here, every road relationship is an emotionally caustic one-night-stand, and if you don’t literally throw your car into the area you’re aiming for, the rest of the traffic pattern will flow around you like a stream around a rock. I’m amazed that hitting your turn signal is still required by law in this state, because absolutely no one cares when you do. It does not affect the behavior of a single car in your midst. You sit there, meekly blinking your stupid little light, while giant Hummers blast by, seeming to say, “And people in hell want ice water, son!” It’s brutal stuff.