Days 8-11

Starting Point/Destination: West Hollywood, CA

Miles Driven: [negligible, my friend Peter was nice enough to taxi me through most of my L.A. adventures]

I was hanging at a hookah lounge on Sunset Boulevard with Peter and Alex. At some point the nature of my project came up and Alex asked me (without judgment, only curiosity) why I think road trips are valuable. After all this time I still don’t feel I have a satisfactory answer, but I told him I think the best way to truly experience America is to travel across the expanse of the continent, that only by seeing everything up close – the vast diversity of towns, people, architecture, geography, climate, graffiti, gas prices, fast food – can one appreciate the depth of the sordid social ecosystem that is this country.

Take billboards for example. In just over a week and a half I’ve glanced at hundreds of large rectangular boards meant to flag the attention of passing motorists. Most are banal, some are obnoxious, others are unintentionally amusing. In Kansas I saw a few signs for a gun outlet called Joe Bob’s boasting all of the assault rifles one can purchase at their store. Then there are my favoritesp; the long-decayed remnants of a billboard whose faded letters beg someone, anyone, to advertise their product to the denizens of some desolate locality.

But I’ve never seen anything quite like the billboards in L.A. They’re huge, detailed, vibrant. They pop out at you even in an urban environment crowded with distractions. It’s as if they’re designed to be an attraction in an of themselves.

I spent four days in West Hollywood and it was cloudy and cool virtually the entire time. The locals despaired the lack of sun but for me it was absolutely perfect. Cloudy, temperate, non-humid weather is my jam and I honestly didn’t even think it was possible in a place like L.A. It felt like yet another undeserved gift from God.

I didn’t do a ton of sightseeing during my stay, so if you came to read about the Chinese Theater or see close-up pics of the Hollywood sign I’m sorry to disappoint. I did in a few experiences only the City of Angels can offer. I went to a show at the legendary Comedy Store and perused the indelibly vibrant streets of Melrose and Santa Monica Boulevard. I ate some great food and drank some incredible coffee. I took a quick stop at Mystery Pier, an iconic independent bookstore made up entirely of first editions, many of which are signed (and can cost up to five figures!).

At one point Peter and I even stopped to picket with the striking WGA writers outside of Netflix headquarters. I don’t mean to sound self-congratulatory here – we’re both marginal creators unaffiliated with the Guild – but it’s a cause we both wholeheartedly support and something of dire importance to anyone who truly cares about art and entertainment. In this world you get what you pay for, and failing to recognize and fairly compensate artists will inevitably result in inferior art, period. Everyone should support the writers on strike, as they should basically all organized labor.

But enough soapbox talk. The truth is, I wasn’t particularly concerned about L.A. during this leg of the trip. I’d been there before and my feelings about it have been captured in previous posts. My focus on this leg was people. I have many folks I’m fortunate enough to call friends in Los Angeles and I met with quite a few of them in these four days.

The subject of conversation varied widely, from personal bullshit to the state of society to the struggles of being a creative spirit. Most of my friends out here are artists in some way or another and to a person their lives, work and spirits inspire me to be better at my own craft (whether it’s my screenwriting, my podcast, or this stupid blog).

That’s why I came to L.A. Honestly, it’s one of the reasons why I embarked on this journey to begin with. Deep down I knew there was something I needed to rediscover, something I needed to affirm within myself. But sometimes we need others to help take us there, and I’m grateful for the spiritual comfort of folks like Peter, Ina, Brandon, Alex, Vinny, and others who for whatever reason believe in me and inspire me to be the best possible version of myself.

This post got a bit more personal than I expected. Again I apologize to those who understandably would rather invest their attention with a traditional travel blog. But this is what the Ghostly spirit is bringing out of me right now.

In that same hookah conversation Alex brought up another interesting point. Again without judgement he speculated on a potential paradox of writing a travel blog, or any blog for that matter. When writing for an audience there’s always a question of honesty; my natural incentive is to entertain as many people as possible, therefore am I not compelled to exaggerate every moment, every aspect of my experience? When I say the Petrified Forest was a feast for the eyes or that most of Western Kansas/Eastern Colorado is a dilapidated hellhole, should you really trust me?

I don’t have a clear-cut answer to this other than the one I gave Alex: that my M.O. with this blog is to be as honest as possible. I write about what I observe and think and let you be the judge. I’m getting too old to really care about looking cool. I can’t be perfect, but I try. And I’m thankful for the souls that keep me trying harder.