Native v. Migrant: A Brief Manifesto

IF WE are married to L.A., then she is the love that continually cheats on us.  Somehow, we still don't have the strength to leave her.  Maybe it's her mystique, or unapologetic grit.  Or how her origins are as deeply rooted in myth as they are in fact. The steamy summers won't make us leave, the rush hour blockade can't keep us off the freeway.  It is a city that has given us the ammunition to riddle it with bullets; but somehow, we stand by its side.  We do this because it is our home.

Out of the many colorful and mind-boggling geographical nuances of LA, it is Pasadena that I understand best.  Pasadena is the city of slumber.  It lies in safe shelter, willfully disconnected from the sin that lies below the skyscrapers, yet is so close to the city that the ash and soot still can leave a bad taste in your mouth.  As  writer Alexander McClung said, Pasadena is one of the "independent health-and-pleasure towns".  Some of Pasadena's population lives in a wonderland that is almost scot-free of injustice, but as always in LA, poverty is just around the corner.  And like all makeshift shelters, the rain has the potential to break right through the ceiling.  Corrupting and corrupted youths escape into the wild night unnoticed.  It is a bubble that is as easy to burst as it was to blow.

Perhaps the hub of culture lies in the region that is dubbed Old Town, or Old Pasadena.  Fifty-year-old buildings are erected for the sake of creating a mythical sense of history that is either absent or has been demolished for the sake of being rebuilt.  Though LA may be an old soul, make no mistake, she's as young as they come.  People go to Old Town for music, dance, drink, and fine dining all along Colorado Boulevard.  It is like the Hollywood Boulevard we all like to remember but never really saw.

Yes, Los Angeles has never looked better or worse.  It is the place we love to hate, or hate to love, or can't remember which one it was anymore.  It is the place where culture thrives and revolutions are fought, yet we all aren't quite sure where to find them.  It is a place where musicians are made into rock legends; just don't ask any musician about it that actually lives in the city.  It is home to celebrity and parties you'd never be allowed to enter, but somehow we forgive our city for this.  We forgive her because we love her, even though some aren't bold or predictable enough to admit it.

-- Carey Uhl
Photo promoted by Legends of America

Native vs. Migrant: The Darker Magic

FROM MY hometown of Bend, Oregon, Los Angeles seemed worlds away. It was the busy and glamorous place my aunt lived, and where I sometimes got to visit over the summer. It was a giant airport, with a sterile, echoing, flickering hallway to baggage claim. Los Angeles was more cars on the freeway than people in my town.


It was a magical place where it was always warm, perfect weather, even though there were armies of girls wearing Uggs. I felt like the perfect LA weather would never get old. And the traffic? I didn’t understand how that could be an issue. I always liked being in the car, and I was frequently in the car for around two hours to get to my grandma’s house 120 miles away.


There is a magic about this town, but its a darker magic than I thought before. Excess is mixed with the bare minimum. I have found LA to be like those sparkly Uggs - you know, the ones with the sequins? Once you put on a pair, you understand why everyone talks about them and you never want to take them off. Yet there is something not quite right - the ugliness of the shoe is drenched in glitz and it makes you forget sometimes why you didn’t like them in the first place. And they are shamelessly over-the-top.


I have learned since moving here that, while the weather is usually nice, on occasion (more frequently than I thought) it rains! Or falls below 65 degrees. But not often - or consistent - enough. The bad days are peppered throughout the year. One day it is relatively cold, the next nearly 80 degrees. How is one supposed to dress? I always get it wrong. And the usually warm weather does get old.

Despite my thinking people exaggerate traffic here, I never thought that I would drive here. It was too scary. I did believe people were impatient and rude - that proved to be true. But I didn’t expect there to be also so many nice people.


I loved this city before because it was glamorous and new, but now my feelings have changed. I love it and I hate it. I love the nooks and crannies; all the intrigue and possibilities it has to offer. But I dislike a lot of things as well - like the stupid weather that makes me long for the snowy days of Oregon. I can only visit my once-home now, I couldn’t live there anymore. This city sucks you in.

The only thing I know for certain is that I am now the proud owner of my very own pair of Uggs, to keep my feet warm when the temperature plummets to 60 degrees.


And yes, they are sparkly.



-- Allie Flinn

Photo: LAX Terminal 
Credit: mezzoblue via flickr creative commons