Vision Magazine Of Palm Trees and Acid Baths

Greek to Me

Of Palm Trees and Acid Baths

We live in a transitory society. People seem to pick up and move with much greater ease and repetition than they used to. I, on the other hand, expected to physically relocate myself from my hometown to another city about as much as a tree stump might expect to trek across a field. This past year, though, I marked my eighteenth anniversary of moving from Chicago to Los Angeles. In doing so, I became a member of this city’s largest undocumented demographic groups—“permanent visitors.” These people come for what they think is going to be a finite period to achieve an articulated goal, fully intending to return to wherever it is they call home once that goal is achieved. So, though this is a story of Midwest meeting Southern California, I want you to also view it as a guide to living here. Assuming your meds are still effective, read on.

Maybe you see moving to Los Angeles as a desirable change of venue. It may be better to think of it as joining the space program. With a lot less Tang. Because moving here is like being dropped on the moon. At least with the moon, though, you know you’re headed into some unfathomable unknown. Los Angeles isn’t nearly as easily classified.

Coming from the Midwest, I didn’t make this subtle distinction because of one simple thing: palm trees. For Midwesterners, palm trees equal paradise. Personally, I blame it on reading too many Dr. Seuss books as a kid.

So if you’re not moving to Los Angeles for a change of scenery, why do you want to move here?

I know—it’s that laid-back southern California lifestyle, right? That’s a myth perpetrated on sun-starved Midwesterners. The lifestyle here can best be described as opulently frenetic. Imagine countless elaborately customized SUV’s, driven by over-caffeinated people wearing state-of-the-art headsets, as they slice and dice their way through bumper-to-bumper traffic, all in a mad rush to get no place in particular. And they have to get there before you. Which is another thing about Los Angeles: you would think that with all the congestion, people would be well practiced at waiting. Not so. They will cut you off in traffic or blow right by you as you’re standing in line somewhere without so much as batting a surgically-enhanced eye. (I figure there is an untapped market for teaching seminars in the lost art of line-waiting. Unfortunately, I doubt anyone will wait in line to enroll.)

Or maybe you want to move here because it’s always warm. Los Angeles is always warm – but, then again, so is Hell.

But all these questions miss the obvious issue: How does it feel to live here? Answering this requires understanding an overwhelming force. The Entertainment Industry.

I grew up in a region that was an industrial hub for steel mills and oil refineries. Many of the people who lived there were responsible for the production of those very tangible goods. It never dawned on me that their manner reflected that fact—that because of the work they did, they literally felt more tangible as a result.

But in Los Angeles, whether it’s feature films or television or music, the ultimate manifestation of everyone’s efforts here is nothing. At least, nothing you can grasp or feel. It makes people here feel as illusory as the very ‘product’ that forms their lifeblood. This has wreaked more than a little havoc in my life.

Many of the lessons I grew up with are in abeyance here. For instance, I was raised to be prompt for my appointments. It conveyed respect for others, while exhibiting a sense of decorum. Not so here. Here, promptness signals that you aren’t a Major Player. Major Players have more meetings than they can possibly attend; consequently, they are never on time, if they show up at all. If you’re prompt, it’s because you have nothing better happening to make you late.

Then there is this cockeyed Midwestern notion that involves looking people in the eye when you talk to them. People here practice the appearance of listening, all while scanning to see if there is anything of greater interest going on. I call this “shopping the moment.” It’s practiced anywhere a room can become unexpectedly unbalanced with the unannounced entrance of a mega-watt celebrity, for example.

So why do I stay here? First, this is the deep end of the entertainment/media pool. It beckons with the lethal charm of the practically unachievable. This is where I want to test my mettle.

Second, there are lessons to be learned here. That I learn them while immersed in what feels like a low-grade acid bath doesn’t make them any less meaningful—it just requires enduring the slow burn of their message.

So if you’re interested in having every belief you were raised with turned inside out while waiting to meet people who may never show up (and ignore you if they do), come on out. Although, come to think of it, why anyone would is Greek to me.

Michael Raysses is a writer/actor/National Public Radio commentator who lives in Los Angeles. His email address is MichaelRaysses@hotmail.com.