the other night in our writing group, Brenda said that cities had genders... she said that New York was very masculine, all loud and brash and in your face... interestingly, she thought that Washington D.C. was like a powerful woman, which i liked very much...
i realized the other day that my last lover wasn't a man, it was a city...
driving down Venice Boulevard to get my sister a birthday gift, it dawned on me that Los Angeles was my on-again, off-again mainstay, the one i returned to whenever i was bereft of love...
i met "him" through my sister, who has lived on the Westside for ten years... she would regale our younger sister and i with tales of his many attractions... under the respectable guise of visiting her, i would furtively experience his charms: bright lights, beautiful shops, great restaurants... and somehow, i didn't mind sharing him with the thousands of other star-struck, Prada-pursuing girls that lined up in their cars, all on their way to work, auditions, or Yogurtland...
his pedigree is fascinating... i could delve into one of many ethnic enclaves within minutes and ingratiate myself to his Japanese, Chinese, Ethiopian, Greek or Persian relatives... i could listen to them speak their language, eat their food, and marvel at how they have made a niche for themselves in this teeming Manhattan of the West...
although our relationship is largely physical - and mostly centered around finding the best bakery in town - there is an intellectual side to it...
although the independent bookstores are tragically closing one by one, a few hang on... i stumbled into one on Sawtelle where a half-dozen of his malcontented and erudite friends were having what turned out to be a regular weekly salon, a hybrid of literary criticism and group therapy... and although some of the museums seem to tout their exhibitions as tawdrily as the latest blockbuster film, great art can be seen in his halls...
he has his faults... he's narcissistic and a night owl... i always have to drive, he never picks up the check and often charges me a fee for parking in the wrong spot... but when i'm standing in line at Sprinkles while jonesing for a red velvet cupcake, gazing at the view from the Getty Center, or walking at dusk on the Third Street Promenade, enjoying being alone in crowd, he's mine, all mine...
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