Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Dear LA

Dear LA:

This is a little awkward, seeing as we barely know each other. Usually I only write to cities after a torrid relationship that draws blood on both sides. Sometimes metaphorically. Sometimes not. But I digress.

Anyway, I've been pretty down on you this year. I know the last time we actually saw each other was 2007 for an ultimately doomed quest to win on Jeopardy, but we left on good terms. I got a framed photo of me and Alex Trebek, and a tote bag! So you may be wondering what it was you did to merit so many passive-aggressive...OKAY, aggressive...hissy fits.

It all started when one acquaintance decided they wanted to move. That was fine. There was a goodbye party. And drinks. And then there was another. And then another. And then it wasn't just acquaintances, but close friends; best friends; ENTIRE SOCIAL GROUPS (I'm not exaggerating, see below):

And before I knew it, by the middle of 2013 you had deprived me of roughly two dozen people. And, to tell the truth, I felt bad. Really bad. All the usual depressing buzzwords: left behind, excluded, forgotten, wah wah wah, etc. It didn't help that because entire clumps of people moved en masse, through the magic of Instagram I was able to see my pals all having a great time like we used to...without me. I also knew that even though good friends mean it when they say they keep in touch, life happens. I knew I was really going to lose some folks. That's a bad feeling.

So I got a little agro. But I'm writing today to say, it's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. And I'm...I'm, uh...I'm SORRY, OKAY? I'm sorry.

I think it's fair to say you and I might not be kindred spirits. I like seasons. Palm trees are lovely, but I can't ever call a place with no seasons home. I love mass transit. I don't tan. I love living in a city that doesn't revolve around one industry. Trust. I lived in DC for seven years. DC is you for nerds. I didn't thrive there, so I suspect you and I just wouldn't work out.

But you are pretty. You have great tacos. You know how to have a good time. And yes, I got jealous when one of my expatriates told me he saw the last scene of How I Met Your Mother being filmed while hanging out on his lunch break. I just had to content myself with the Banksy outside my apartment with the sweeping riverfront views mere steps from the greatest art museum in the worCRAP THERE I GO AGAIN.

Apologies, LA. That wasn't sporting. Back on topic.

But most importantly, you're now the home of a not-insignificant number of people who mean a lot to me, and who played really important parts in helping me build a new, wonderful life for myself in a new place not so very long ago. Now they've come to you. So if I promise to lay off, will you promise to take care of them? And be nice to them like New York was to me? And maybe, just maybe, we can have a proper peace summit in person.

Maybe in February. February sucks in New York. There. You can have February. We'll keep October. Happy?

And I shall continue to hate on the Lakers. I'm afraid that's non-negotiable. But you understand.

In reconciliation,