UFOs and Mario Lopez, Holocaust Memorials and Sitcom Players

by Philo Hagen

When I was a kid we’d escape the Seattle winter gloom and rain and roll down Interstate 5 to California. Descending from the Shasta National Forest into California’s Central Valley, I’d always put down the window and stick my hand gleefully into the warm, rushing air. “It feels like California, mom! It feels like California!” Not long ago but many years later, I found myself traveling that same stretch of highway. Windows down, a hot and dry wind tousled my hair as I reached my hand out into the sun. It sure felt like California alright, and I couldn’t help but notice that this realization had left a very big smile on my face. That’s when I thought: is it self-abusive to spend your whole life in wet, dark, dank cities when you know you feel so much better in the sunshine? Posing this question to friends on Facebook, the response was overwhelming: “absolutely.” A few weeks later I signed a one-year lease on a sunny studio in a tropical fruit-flavored building in Koreatown. I’m now a resident of Los Angeles, the City of Angels. Keeping my eyes open, I’ve spotted numerous angels in my day to day travels, and we’re not just talking about the ones at the top of the tree.

Walking through a Trader Joe’s parking lot to score some Candy Cane Joe-Joe’s, a plump red-haired woman in a red convertible began honking at me incessantly. I stopped to ask her why she was so horn-ey. She laughed, and said, “Because I want to be, that’s why!” After hearing her voice, I wondered, haven’t I seen this broad in numerous bit parts in bad television sitcoms? So it’s true what they say about L.A.: real life begins to blur with what’s referred to as entertainment. Why, this restaurant seems incredibly familiar, even though I know I’ve never been here before. Is that the villain from “48 Hours” in line for the cash machine behind me? Did Andy Dick just bump into me at Art Walk and not say excuse me? Isn’t that Michael C. Hall from “Dexter” sitting alone eating Thai at Toi on Sunset? Gary Myrick and the Figures were right — I do feel like I’m living in a movie.

While I love how much lighter and easier life is when the weather is on my side, I’ve found it surprising just how often I’ve been told that I’m not allowed to go or walk somewhere because of filming, much less that a city hell-bent on driving everywhere wastes so many obviously good parking spaces, or that flip-flop wearing hip-hop-flavored white boys in their twenties insist on tagging anything within reach of their spray paint cans. Still, I feel healthier and I’m eating better, my fruit intake has probably quadrupled and I’ve been spending more time outdoors than I ever have in my life.

Tisha and I happened to be out hooping at Pan Pacific Park during the ribbon cutting ceremony for the new home of the Los Angeles Museum of the Holocaust, or the MOTH, if you will. Mayor Villaraigosa and other important-looking types were on hand. I couldn’t help wondering why a monument to remember such an atrocity had to be such a — well, while I was told the design won acclaim for its starkness and also for blending into the surrounding park, it certainly doesn’t make you want to rush in and find out what the hell happened. According to the museum, the building “plays a significant role in how you experience your visit. You will notice the rooms descending and decreasing in light as you progress towards the darkest part of history.” I don’t know that viewing historical artifacts from the Holocaust look any more horrific in the dark than they do in the daylight though. Why couldn’t it be more like San Francisco’s AIDS Memorial — a circle of redwood trees — or how about a crisp, white and inviting airy building on a hill overlooking the city that makes you want to go in and leaves you learning more than you’d ever bargained for? I really think the Jews and the gays should be getting together more on these things. After all, we were there too. And why must financial high rollers always have their names etched onto anything that can be hit with a chisel and acid these days? Whatever happened to giving simply for the sake of doing so? I remember the Holocaust for sure but now I also remember The Martz Family.

Speaking of the gays, what with California’s recent judicial nods to marriage equality for same-sex lovin’ folks (subsequent ongoing legalese and proverbial red tape aside), I’ve found myself thinking a whole lot more about finding myself a husband. When the state starts to take gay and lesbian relationships seriously, apparently the individual is tempted to as well. Who knew? And Los Angeles appears to value romantic partnerships more than anywhere I’ve lived. San Francisco, for example, is a singles town through and through, and while you can certainly play in L.A., I’ve noticed a much higher emphasis here on coupling up. Maybe it’s because it can get lonely in a city of 9.86 million, or maybe Angelenos are simply more ambitious, driven to check off all of the boxes on their proverbial “My life really is a success! No, really!” list. Deciding I should go for the high dive, I soon found myself answering a litany of at times irrelevant questions on Match.com and 70 bucks later, I had a three-month pass to swim laps in the dating pool.

Avoiding the early initial splashes from men who don’t understand why they’re still single — and who then proceed to give some very clear answers to that question — I did receive an email from a guy who was, I admit, rather intriguing. He was a singer and who doesn’t like being serenaded. He was also a tall African-American man with an eye on spirituality and metaphysics. Given my tendency to enjoy those who, y’know, pay attention to the condition of their spirit, we rendezvoused at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, the California-based chain similar to Starbucks that relies heavily on powdered drink mixes. When we ordered our drinks to-go though — something I insisted on to help avoid that whole cafe-date-turned-job-interview scenario, I noticed something a little different about him. His voice had that tone to it that the deaf often have, which is when I noticed the giant hearing aids on each of his ears. Walking down Wilshire Boulevard I couldn’t help wondering how this guy could be a singer if he can’t hear the sound of his own voice? Answer: Open mike nights at a neighborhood piano bar. I envisioned an audience of regulars smiling politely through a couple of selections nightly. After all, when he sang “Misty” for me outside the twenty-four hour Tofu House in Koreatown, I smiled and suffered quietly in silence. None of this would necessarily remove him from my potential future husband list! But a troublesome 20-minute monologue regarding his study and worship of the goddess Inanna who lives in the seventh dimension and can be communicated with directly via meditation? That pretty much did the trick. While I’m far from one to say that his spiritual beliefs couldn’t actually be happening, I am one for saying that I had no interest in hearing anything more about it ever again.

So while my love life in Los Angeles so far has been lukewarm, the days have been hot and the sun feels wonderful. It’s December and I find myself needing to do laundry simply because I’ve run out of short-sleeved shirts. And honest, I really do feel great about living in a place where UFOs fall from the sky, TV chefs hire the homeless to kill their wives and 1,689 dead bodies turn up that were never claimed. After all, it’s Christmas and the freeways are cluttered with Christmas trees and Mariah Carey really is our Mrs. Claus, but only because Grandma was given a stray bullet.

Stopping at the mall to pick up a few holiday items myself, realizing that I hadn’t been in an actual mall in years, as I walked past the Kiehl’s store I spied Mario Lopez doing high kicks with a couple of Rockettes for the cameras. He told onlookers that it was “just like doing leg curls at the gym.” Sure it is, Mario, sure it is.

Driving home with my purchases, I was listening to GAYNGS, courtesy of KCRW, while cruising through the gaudy side of town. Sunroof open, I suddenly felt giddy knowing that my new Southern California life is truly unlike any I have ever had. I took a left on Melrose and reached my hand up high into the bright blue sky and once again savored the feeling of warm wind rushing against my tingling palm.

Philo Hagen is the overlord of Hooping.org and Night Owl Nation.