This All Looked Better in the Brochure, Sir.

"So just lay your head down low. Don't let anybody know that it's hard to live in the city."
- Albert Hammond, Jr. - "Hard to Live (In the City)"

The first month of California living: an overwhelming discomfort and displacement.

That's the reality of "the dream." For the first brief while, this place was absolutely everything that an outsider could imagine it as, at least on a physical level. The palm trees, the intense sunshine, and the overall rosy tint of the landscape were all too easy to become absorbed by. The fact that our apartment building offers a large swimming pool and hot tub also lent itself to that special secluded resort ambiance; our own piece of paradise. But those things slowly became overshadowed by the bigger issues.

Jobs were hard to come by. Also, there is no such thing as "easy" or "quick" travel in Southern California. Everything is a process within a process wrapped in a debacle.

Let's start with the job hunt. I'd spend hours online applying to literally hundreds of jobs that were posted on the major career search sites. Then I'd spend a few more hours driving up and down the streets of North Hollywood looking for any door that had a "We're Hiring" sign posted behind the glass. And when none of that was successful, I even resorted to using Craigslist. I need not tell you at this point that situations were dire. But with a bit of persistence and a couple of fruitless interviews, I was finally able to land a job as a security officer for Universal Studios. The hours were meak, the pay was mediocre, and the job description read like how-to guide on death by sheer boredom. But it was a job that let me afford to live in my little resort. And I suppose I could have done worse. As it is, I have the privelage of just patroning In-N-Out Burger instead of donning a paper hat and stepping behind the fryer. That I could be thankful for.

Also, my place of work afforded me the rare occurance of being able to use public transportation instead of my car to travel. This is lucky because I'm compelled to say that if I had been forced to take the 101 or the 405 to and from work everyday, I would have long ago ceased to be. Coming from the Midwest, I'm used to driving 10 miles in roughly 10 minutes. But "no way," says LA. On the contrary: I'd consider myself lucky if I could get to the city in less time than it takes to catch, kill, and cook a turkey.

But those are the prices to be paid for living in such a "happening" place, I suppose. And, again, things could be much worse. I could still be unemployed and without any mode of transportation whatsoever. Or I could be blind.

That would probably be worse.

This Entry In Song:
Albert Hammond, Jr. - "Hard to Live (In the City)"

Be Back Soon,
Shaky Jake