A weekly passion/resume addition project created by yours truly to inspire laughter, commiseration, unity, and at times entertainment.
A little bit about little ol’ me.
I am a freelance writer in the City of Angels, one of the many artists who wishes to accomplish their dream of recognition and authentic existence all while living it up in the ~big city~ (while actually frantically running around with my phone all the time for Postmates™.) Right now I am sharing a room in a 1920’s home with my two other crazy dreamer roommates, who I met on Craigslist. They may or may not be in THE BIZ and could tell you a thing or two about set action or the behind-scenes drama of Little Women Atlanta.
It’s funny because we are all transplants, but as are most people who live here. I have East Coast grandparents in the Valley who would beg to differ that I am not in fact a transplant, but I guess in some ways I still consider myself a tourist, the way I still get giddy to drive my convertible on the freeway… I came here in 2016 to attend school at USC. A place I only really applied to because I had an adolescent crush on James Franco and was told he would be teaching a film production class. I now revoke the crush considering his reprehensible actions, but I think even then I knew he was shady, but I think like most teenage girls, I was attracted to danger. There’s this great Britney Spears quote, which should bear further consideration in light of the #FreeBritney movement, and the way she was exploited unknowingly, yet one which has still resonated with me:
“Well, I think we’re all girls, and I mean, that’s a part of who we are. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like to feel sexy. You know what I mean? You’re a girl.”
But back to USC-Franco debacle. On the eve of admissions, my mother told me not to “get my hopes up”, to which I sneered, because I only did this for jokes, everything is a joke, right? My mother logged onto the portal and there it was. I remember leaving her room in a very self-satisfied told-you-so way. And well would you believe that I never even saw Franco all four years that I was enrolled at USC! Mostly because I wasn’t cinematically inclined, at least in a technical way. I studied the Media Arts pathway at my all-girls college preparatory high school, and made many a short film which scraped short of disaster. Making an homage to The Graduate involving not only my mother, but the teenage family friend that everyone insisted I date, in which HE was the pursuant. This is what happens kids, when you are cooped up in a Girls Scout cult for too long kids, you end up unintentionally making an allegoric erotic Feminist film the likes of which would have even disturbed Lina Wertmüller .
Back to Franco. You see I am taking you on non-linear journey, because historically, writing has been dominated by the upper echelon cis dude class, which is very phallocentric (which reminds me of all the lectures I sat in on with my kick ass former Comp Lit Professor Mia Du Plessis, in which she continually compared writing and the act of begetting to male ejaculation.) The only time I ever even heard of Mr. Franco was when I was having my regular brunch (of americano and either the egg-white-spinach or the frittata-ciabatta sandwich) at the on-campus Illy, when I overheard a couple of girls talking–that’s right, I am an active eavesdropper and write down anything interesting you say in my iPhone notes. One said to the other “oh so you have class with Franco? what’s he like” to which the other said “well he always comes late and he always has like four cups of coffee on him” [pause] “oh yeah and he like sleeps with everyone.”
My teenage soul was crushed that I was not in that class to be a coffee-bearer or “extra-credit” achiever, and yet I am glad my lack of talent afforded me to avoid this track because maybe I would have ended up dating even more film bros than the the thirty year old who lives in Koreatown and doesn’t “believe in deodorant” per his Pacific Northwest woo woo.
And so why am I still here even though I’ve already graduated, per Class of Covid? It’s actually kind of funny because I’m the last person I would expect to like Los Angeles. I’m originally from Austin, which is like sunny Portland lite. Hollywood was so ewwww, mainstream was so ewwwwww. When I came to USC for college acceptance day with my mother, missing my own prom, I remember crying and saying to her I don’t think I can be here. But then what did I know, I was only eighteen and I had no taste. It’s like when I met my former trust-fund-baby-from-Mexico-boyfriend’s neighbor who was affectionately referred to as his “American Mom.” She asked me how old I was at the time, and when I told her she said “oh honey you don’t know anything.” And I’m so glad she said that, even though it stung at the time because she was right.
I was naive to think that L.A. is “fake” and just a glorified amusement park for influencers and social climbers. There is so so so much history and soul here. I’m always in awe of the cultural diversity, and the history of the city as a counter-culture to modernity. New York has a history of order, while L.A. has a history of disorder. Sure the trains always run in New York, but half of the freeway merges you see look like they were designed by children with building blocks and hard hats. Not to mention the rich history of social justice movements that have existed here. Black and brown liberation have always had a strong grip here. The way that artists, communists, and general rabble-rousers have habitually resided here is comforting.
I hope I’ve convinced you by now to take an interest in the weekly newsletter which I intend to produce. Even if it is in the most minuscule way, I hope to bring some content which will inspire, perhaps occasionally irk, but mostly inspire! Tschüssi <3(✿◠‿◠)
P.S. leave me a comment below of the SATC character you most adore, and the one you most relate to.