I’m currently down in the Lesser Los Angeles area (calling it “greater” just doesn’t feel right to me). The weather has been perfect today — sunny with just a few clouds, the temperature in the high 70s or low 80s with no trace of the San Francisco chill I left this morning. I spent the day hearing about all kinds of cool stuff going on. Tomorrow I have to go down and spend most of the day at Disneyland for work.
But I can’t breathe, is the thing. Whether it’s because of the smog, or psychosomatic, I dunno; all I know is that the second I step off the plane, my right nostril seizes up and doesn’t get clear until I touch down in the Bay Area again.
Which sums up my relationship with Los Angeles better than anything else. There are plenty of visible indicators that it’s a nice enough place, and despite all the evil, has enough going on to make people want to stay. But I just don’t function well down here. It’s not just the typical anti-LA bias that comes from being a resident of the Bay Area; my body is physically telling me You Don’t Belong Here.