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On a whim, I went to Los Angeles last week.
Well, it wasn't quite on a whim. I'd been daydreaming about a trip during much of the pandemic—I've made three good friends over the past year, and all of them happened to live in the city. And I hadn't visited California in nearly a decade, despite being quite fond of it (I don't know if it was living in Sacramento as a young kid or having family history in the area, but it's always felt weirdly like home to me, even though I have no desire to live there). So, when Alaska Airlines sent me an email a few days after my second vaccination shot offering ridiculously cheap fares from Chicago to LA, the serendipity seemed too strong to ignore. So I bought the fare, booked a convertible for the week (via Turo, because rental cars are insanely pricey right now), made plans with my friend Myra to stay with her, and a couple weeks later I was jetting across the country.
We road-tripped up to Tracy (of tumblr infamy) to see for ourselves if it was as creepy as the post promises. Verdict: actually, yes. Nothing overtly dangerous-feeling happened while we were there, but that distinct sensation of something being a little off was absolutely present, and occasionally spilled over into interactions with the townsfolk, many of whom seemed to nurse that sort of quiet desperation and hopelessness that I've seen a lot in rural areas. If I ever write a Supernatural case fic, I'm 100% setting it there; you couldn't have paid me enough to go wandering through the town after dark.
From Tracy, we drove to SantaCarla Cruz, which is actually where my parents met in college (as the bookshop clerk told me when I mentioned this: "Oh, so you're banana slug spawn!") We did wander around a bit downtown after dark, and found dinner at a sketchy-seeming but (it turned out) thoroughly delicious Greek takeout place. The vibe was interesting; a fair number of homeless folks, some people making deals, the bar crowd (fairly low-key as it was a Thursday night); there was a mild air of menace, including one particularly creepy moment where we were passing by a parking garage that had some kind of ruckus emanating from it, of the sort where it's hard to tell if it's laughter or screaming. Interestingly, when we came down the next day to check out the bookshop, the same mildly-sketchy downtown street had practically transformed into a pleasantly shady avenue of shops; there was still a fairly significant countercultural presence (street musicians, probably-unlicensed vendors, etc.) but it was much friendlier. More fodder for writing in the future, I suspect...
Other highlights included a lovely lunch with my friend Jay, and taking my friend Rebekah up Mulholland Drive at night; the views are every bit as amazing as advertised. I also got to see my friend April, who's now running two businesses (a realty and an AirBNB management company) and trying to find good employees to help her with them...I have zero intention of moving to LA (I quite like my life here in Chicago), but it's nice to know that if something goes pear-shaped, I have opportunities elsewhere. Really, I think that's half the fun of travel; getting to try on new identities for a while, see who I become in a different context, which parts of me stay the same and which alter. It gives me perspective on who I am now, and lets me choose whether I want to keep that identity or make changes to it.
One thing that made me laugh a little bit was Myra's combined confusion/awe at how people on the street would just...talk to me. And I'd talk back. I'd never really thought of it as being anything that strange; I've intentionally cultivated a certain approachability as I've gotten older, but she's not the first one to comment on it. (Once, not long after I started dyeing my hair bright colors, Brian and I were wandering through Bisbee during an art walk night and three different people commented on it in a stretch of five minutes or so—I remember him turning to me and asking "is it always like this?" and it took me a minute to realize what he meant.) Myra, by contrast, is physically much smaller and distinctly uncomfortable around strangers/in crowds, though she said she liked being with me because she got to absorb some of the positive feelings from casual interactions without having to actually interact at all.
In any case, now I'm home, and it feels comforting rather than confining. I'm going to roll up my sleeves and try writing again this afternoon; it's been tough lately, I suspect due to pandemic burnout. But after spending a week seeing new places, meeting new people, and being (a little bit of) a different person myself, I think it'll come a little easier.
Well, it wasn't quite on a whim. I'd been daydreaming about a trip during much of the pandemic—I've made three good friends over the past year, and all of them happened to live in the city. And I hadn't visited California in nearly a decade, despite being quite fond of it (I don't know if it was living in Sacramento as a young kid or having family history in the area, but it's always felt weirdly like home to me, even though I have no desire to live there). So, when Alaska Airlines sent me an email a few days after my second vaccination shot offering ridiculously cheap fares from Chicago to LA, the serendipity seemed too strong to ignore. So I bought the fare, booked a convertible for the week (via Turo, because rental cars are insanely pricey right now), made plans with my friend Myra to stay with her, and a couple weeks later I was jetting across the country.
We road-tripped up to Tracy (of tumblr infamy) to see for ourselves if it was as creepy as the post promises. Verdict: actually, yes. Nothing overtly dangerous-feeling happened while we were there, but that distinct sensation of something being a little off was absolutely present, and occasionally spilled over into interactions with the townsfolk, many of whom seemed to nurse that sort of quiet desperation and hopelessness that I've seen a lot in rural areas. If I ever write a Supernatural case fic, I'm 100% setting it there; you couldn't have paid me enough to go wandering through the town after dark.
From Tracy, we drove to Santa
Other highlights included a lovely lunch with my friend Jay, and taking my friend Rebekah up Mulholland Drive at night; the views are every bit as amazing as advertised. I also got to see my friend April, who's now running two businesses (a realty and an AirBNB management company) and trying to find good employees to help her with them...I have zero intention of moving to LA (I quite like my life here in Chicago), but it's nice to know that if something goes pear-shaped, I have opportunities elsewhere. Really, I think that's half the fun of travel; getting to try on new identities for a while, see who I become in a different context, which parts of me stay the same and which alter. It gives me perspective on who I am now, and lets me choose whether I want to keep that identity or make changes to it.
One thing that made me laugh a little bit was Myra's combined confusion/awe at how people on the street would just...talk to me. And I'd talk back. I'd never really thought of it as being anything that strange; I've intentionally cultivated a certain approachability as I've gotten older, but she's not the first one to comment on it. (Once, not long after I started dyeing my hair bright colors, Brian and I were wandering through Bisbee during an art walk night and three different people commented on it in a stretch of five minutes or so—I remember him turning to me and asking "is it always like this?" and it took me a minute to realize what he meant.) Myra, by contrast, is physically much smaller and distinctly uncomfortable around strangers/in crowds, though she said she liked being with me because she got to absorb some of the positive feelings from casual interactions without having to actually interact at all.
In any case, now I'm home, and it feels comforting rather than confining. I'm going to roll up my sleeves and try writing again this afternoon; it's been tough lately, I suspect due to pandemic burnout. But after spending a week seeing new places, meeting new people, and being (a little bit of) a different person myself, I think it'll come a little easier.
