Drove to work this morning while the LA sun battled with the LA haze to shine more particles on us hapless car zombies below. This was strange. There was no traffic. What is usually a 50+ minute car commute to me, was strangely pleasant. Usually I’m crawling at 15 mph with an occasional “Hey, what the hell! Use your turn signal!” immediate brake here and there. I’m humming along at 65 mph at 8:30am, very odd. I even get off my exit (Glendale Blvd) and no traffic. Usually it’s a sea of red lights bottlenecking themselves into 2 lanes (down from 5) and at least one homeless man with a sign that says, “God Bless You!” walking from driver’s side window to the next, giving you the eye and hoping to catch a moment of insecurity from you. I’m whizzing along. I’m actually on the streets of downtown LA now, and I’m actually driving fast enough to pass the bicyclists. (Rare, indeed!) I’m a bit unnerved. Is it a holiday? Wasn’t President’s Day last week?

Wait. Oh I see. It’s the day after the Oscars.

How strange to be back in LA where the lifeblood really IS film and television! I forget that sometimes.

I’m not really in the LA scene anymore. After moving back to LA 2 months ago, I have decided to not enter the acting world for a while (semi-retirement) and just explore other options. And that means to embrace this odd suburban life in which I find myself. A true LA hipster will tell you that the only freeways to know are the 10 to the south, the 110 to the north, and the infamous 405 and 5 (which are more like merry parking lots perfect for extended phonecalls to that long lost friend you haven’t talked to in a while). Well, I’m nowhere near those freeways. I actually live in the hills outside of LA. My roommate owns two horses. I spent the weekend helping re-cement the walkway and replacing loose bricks. My man wanted to buy wasabi and we’re so out there, we had to drive 35 minutes into Little Tokyo to buy it. Where I live is rural in many ways, and yes, I know my grocer by name. (And it’s sad because the local Albertson’s is kicking his butt. Poor mom and pop stores!) We walk almost daily on long undulating trails with two of the neighbors dogs panting away around us. I wear sweats and Uggs all day. The most exciting thing to do in my part of town? Mini-golf. Next to the Mongolian grill. It’s strangely idyllic and frustrating, in a way that unfamiliar clothes don’t fit quite right.

How odd, to know that just less than 18 miles that way and 15 hours ago, an awards ceremony happened with people in gowns dripping with diamonds and parties catered by Wolfgang Puck (he’s that frozen pizza guy right? I hear his stuff is good). It’s actually more unreal now that I’m closer to it.

And now, to drive such a clear freeway void of people the day after an awards ceremony really makes me marvel at this whole city who has made its mark in the world by being a land of professional storytellers, from grips to script supervisors to location scouts. How unreal. How wonderful to be near such a beehive of talent and dreams… all of them sleeping in with hangovers from the Oscars…