In a Motel 6 near LAX it’s a quick lesson in living space, air quality and the difficulty of a restrictive diet. For what seemed like hundreds of miles it was one shop after another, some open, some out of business, and what mostly felt like Thai restaurants – which, thankfully has many options for an eater like me. My sister, my girlfriend and I decided to room at a discounted weekly rate at the motel to get the strength for the next step in a sprawling metropolis.
Spring was slowly falling into a muggy summer. I laid in bed one morning watching my sister’s rascal cat Roscoe claw and bite my feet through a thin, Hawaiian themed comforter. The room we had was small, two beds, one dresser, an old, fat curved television set, and a single window overlooking the road to the airport. We spent a few hours each day searching Craigslist for suitable living, potentially for the three of us. I could sense my sister’s hesitance. On her way in from Florida, she made several stops across the country, and from what I recall, had a falling out with her travel-mate and totaled her van in San Diego. This forced her to rent a U-Haul and a storage unit off the 405 near Wilshire where we eventually stored some of our cumbersome belongings. I knew she was hesitant, however, not because of travel woes, but mostly because LA was dense and tough; she was young and had no specific career pursuit calling her to LA, she just wanted adventure. LA, as I’ve come to find out, takes time to find the groove.
A few days passed, we explored Venice Beach often enthralled by the carefree, charming homeless hippies gathered throughout. My sister met a few friends and ended up disappearing for days at a time on her bike, but kept in contact so we could meet up for dinner or drinks. As we neared the end of our week stay, we had a decision to make. We found one sublet option in Westwood. We banded together to meet the roommate who was leaving and wanted to sublet the room to us, much to his current roommate’s dismay. We had an awkward first meeting where we entered a feud between them, something about how George (not his real name) had very specific living requirements to further his education to become a doctor. This being said standing in the doorway of one bedroom 3 people had to share, adjacent to a living room with a full turn-table and a giant bong. I kept thinking in my head, “I’m too old for this bullshit.” But, I needed a decision to be made fast as I had to head to Sonoma Valley to shoot my first wedding of the year (see last blog entry).
Eventually Liz and Diana made the choice to live there. It might have been out of desperation, but anything was better than Motel 6 LAX. At least we had access to a kitchen, though I made little use of anywhere but the bedroom, our shared balcony, and various healthy fast-food places within walking distance.
Our exploration over the next month for a stable residence brought us to a small, family owned Hawaiian burger joint twenty blocks from the ocean. Everything building up from all leaving our comfort zones, my sister from Florida, Liz and I from Colorado, culminated in 9-minutes before a burger could cook to medium rare. Without pointing the finger at any particular party, conversation went astray and words were had by each, causing Liz to leave the restaurant and my sister and I to have-it-out for the first time in, well, ever. Liz removed herself from the situation and went outside. A mother and her son watched from over my sister’s shoulder in interest until I made eye contact with them.
Burgers were done.
One sat uneaten while my sister and I talked heavily about our current stresses and then I returned to Liz to talk things out.
This moment prompted my sister to move on.
She had met a few friends who were heading to San Diego to stay and mess around, party a little. She left for a while, maybe a week, while I ventured off to find work and travel for more weddings. When I returned, she collected her things a day later and moved in with her friends down south.
Liz and I were back where we started our journey: as roommates in a new apartment, this time in Southern California.
After several weeks passed, I touched base with an old friend of mine I caught up with the first time through: Mr. Kyle Jackson. He had been the co-CEO of a post-production company, Tunnel Post, established 10 years prior. We met up at a local joint off Abbot Kinney he frequented, had some expensive drinks, and chatted about how he left Tunnel and purchased a new spot called Inspire Studios, off Sunset. I was intrigued. I knew nothing of motion picture except that it influenced my composition and inspired my childhood. He told me to just show up, hang out and see what’s going on.
I showed up, hung out, saw what was going on and became employed for over a year.
(More to come soon.)