They've been one of my favorites for a long time (probably since seeing the first Decline movie when I was around 11), but their whole squalid-desperation thing just makes so much more sense to me now that i'm living out here. I always figured a lot of the Repo Man/Blade Runner/Appetite For Destruction/Straight Outta Compton /Mike Davis stuff about L.A.-as-burning-apocalyptic-hellhole was sorta half-true, half-myth, but no it's ALL true. This place is no joke. I like it (parts of it), but it tests the fuck out of my patience and goodwill. All that bourgie xenophobia and gated-community living starts sounding less begrudgeable when you've got crackheads on your lawn and your neighbor wakes up with a knife in her face. (And this is supposed to be one of the "better" neighborhoods south of the 10.)
I listened to the Dangerhouse single of "Los Angeles"*
three six times tonight. It helped.
Later this morning I'm going to San Marino for a symposium, and as I walk the mile and a half from the nearest bus stop to the Huntington, I'm sure I'll feel like the crackhead on someone else's lawn.
*Oh yeah, if you're squeamish about cultural epithets of any sort, don't download this. It's all just narrative though; the "she" is a character. I relate to the frustration, if not the specific sentiments.