Andrea Wilson Woods' Blog

Every year on or near my sister Adrienne’s birthday, I go to an event as a way to honor her. Usually I see a ballet, a play, or a concert, but this year I decided to try something different. I had wanted to see the new exhibition, Collection: MOCA’s First Thirty Years, at the Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA) before it closed in May. Originally, I was going to drive there as most Angelenos would. However, my relationship with Los Angeles has become incredibly acrimonious lately so I that thought I would approach the city with a fresh pair of eyes. I decided to be a tourist.

Besides going to art museums, one of my favorite things to do in a new city is to ride the subway and to walk the town. I never do these things in LA because its public transportation sucks and it is not “bipedal-friendly” as a friend of mine likes to say. But in the past ten years, the Metro (i.e., bus and rail system) has made it possible to go from the San Fernando Valley to downtown Los Angeles by taking the red line subway, and the public buses have increased their routes to include short trips such as the Downtown Area Short Hop (DASH), which only costs twenty-five cents. Walking around Los Angeles is still feasible if you plan to stay in one area. So the day after my sister’s birthday, I drove to the North Hollywood Metro station, parked my car, and experienced Los Angeles like a tourist for the first time in almost twenty years.

The immediate surprise was that I didn’t have to wait for the museum to see art, as there are murals inside of the North Hollywood station. The colors are bright and the pictures reflect the diversity and uniqueness of “NoHo”—Sitton’s Restaurant, Phil’s Diner, Lankershim Arts Center, etc. I especially liked the murals that reflect how the Valley looked before it was developed (e.g., Lankershim Ranch and Water Company). Most people don’t realize that the Valley used to be acres upon acres of fruit trees; we have an orange, a tangerine, a Meyer lemon, and a pomegranate tree in our backyard. (If you are local, email me if you want some oranges or lemons!)

As I exited the subway in Pershing Square, I reminded myself that despite its flaws, LA has a rich history full of intriguing characters, mysterious circumstances, and beautiful landscapes. All of these elements are captured in my two favorite movies about Los Angeles: Chinatown and LA Confidential. Wishing I had worn a hat like Mrs. Mulwray, I thought about those films as I buttoned my seersucker jacket when the cold breeze hit me.

AWW — XoXo

P.S. Learning to Love LA (again): Part Two—Walking the City is coming soon!

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When I walked outside this morning, my eyes stung and my mouth tasted like ash. From our front door, which faces east, I could see that the La Crescenta Station fire had turned the blue sky into a dull beige dustbowl. I sighed as I prepared to take one of our cats to the vet. Given that all three of our pets have skin allergies, I should be happy they are not doing worse given the current climate. My eyes are so dry that I have to use Systane eye drops twice per day when weather conditions are normal, four times per day during sooty season. As I went to the car, I noticed that I could no longer see the Verdugo Mountains that separate Burbank from the city of Glendale. Outside of the vet’s office, I saw a mailman wearing a mask. He made me feel like I was in China during the height of the SARS epidemic.

Even though many people complain that the weather here never changes, Los Angeles has four seasons: Fire, Mudslide, Earthquake, and Riot. I’ve lived in LA more than half of my life now so I’ve experienced its unusual spells. Although I was out of town for the 1994 Northridge earthquake, I was driving on the freeway when one of its biggest aftershocks occurred. I watched in awe and in fear as all of the cars simultaneously shifted into neighboring lanes. After mudslides closed the Hollywood canyons, which commuters use to get to and from the San Fernando Valley, I spent almost three hours driving a mere 18 miles. I was living downtown when the 1992 riots turned LA into a war zone. I’ll never forget seeing military vehicles on the 10 freeway and trying to fall asleep to the sound of chopper blades whirring and anarchy rising. Now it is fire season again. People are losing their homes, the land is burning to a black crisp, and the air quality has been deemed “unhealthy.” Though they light up the night sky, the wildfires always cast a shadow over LA, causing a city, full of stars both fake and real, to lose its shine.

I used to love Los Angeles. I remember when my affair with the City of Angels began. I had arrived for a summer freshmen orientation at the University of Southern California (USC). The campus was (and still is) beautiful. The sun was shining, the temperature was a perfect 75 degrees, and I had never seen so many beautiful men in my entire life. I was sold. I wasn’t even 18 years old yet, but LA had stolen my heart with its beauty, weather, diversity, culture, nightlife, and location—near the beach, mountains, and desert and more than 2,500 miles away from my mother. I didn’t know about the traffic, the air quality, the anonymity, or the character of many Los Angelenos—dense, shallow, tardy, and egocentric. I guess all of that beauty comes with a price.

Despite its flaws, I continued my relationship with LA but on different terms. In 1997, I moved to Burbank (a city that is technically separate from LA) so my sister Adrienne could attend a better school. Four years later, we moved across town to a another house in Burbank—the place where she died. In fact, I’m writing this blog in her bedroom right now, which may disturb some people, but it comforts me. I like to think of her as my muse. Anyway, in October I will have lived here longer than I lived in any other home in my entire life. I never thought I would want to move because I was afraid of leaving Adrienne behind. From her spirit in this house to her grave at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery, I didn’t want to abandon her. However, Burbank is still LA, and it began losing its luster the day I lost her.

The irony is that Adrienne loved Los Angeles. Whether she was a hippie in Venice, a rocker in Hollywood, or an ordinary kid in Burbank, she appreciated everything LA has to offer. She accepted its faults. While I had wanted her to attend an Ivy League university far from home, she had planned on going to USC. The one time we argued about it she said, “Forget it, Sissy. I’m not leaving Los Angeles.” Now she will always be here, and I’m the one who wants to go. I can’t escape the pain; it will follow me. But in the City of Angels, my grief outweighs any happiness I might derive from my memories, which haunt me. Maybe when I’m not running into something every day that reminds me of what I’m missing (I don’t need proof), I can finally remember all of the wonderful times I had with my sister—how much joy, humor, and depth she brought into my life.

I want a fresh start in a new place where I can make new memories in a new house with my not-so-new husband. In a small town, I can breathe. Today, I inhaled dirt. It’s over, LA. I’m sorry. You didn’t change … but I did.

AWW — XoXo

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Whenever I ask people why they don’t like the Los Angeles Lakers, the answer is always the same, “I hate Kobe.” The last time I checked, the Lakers were a basketball team as in “a number of persons forming one of the sides in a game.” Kobe Bryant may be the Lakers’ most recognizable player, but he is only one man. I don’t understand hating an entire sports team because of your dislike for a particular players, no matter what the reason.

Some people say Kobe isn’t a team player; a viable issue earlier in his career that I feel has been resolved due to strong coaching, increased maturity, and an ever-deepening love for the game. If you don’t believe me on that last point, watch the 2008 Summer Olympics Men’s Basketball Ceremony; Kobe wanted to win for the United States, not for himself. Many people have expressed a dislike for Kobe because he got away with rape. Well, maybe he did, and maybe he didn’t. However, just as I refuse to judge a whole team by one player’s actions, I’m not going to allow my personal opinion of Kobe to taint my view of his athletic abilities. No matter what you think of the man, you cannot deny his talent and skill. Kobe Bryant may not be my favorite NBA player (Michael Jordan stole my heart years ago), but he is one of the greatest basketball players of all time, and he happens to play for the LA Lakers—my local team.

As game five of the NBA Finals approaches, I have some final words for my fellow Los Angelenos. If you are rooting for the Orlando Magic because you are originally from Florida, you have always liked the organization, and/or you have a thing for Dwight Howard, then I wish your team the best of luck. However, if you want the Magic to win simply because you hate the Lakers (i.e. you hate Kobe) then you have no community spirit whatsoever. With or without Kobe, I support the Lakers because they are a Los Angeles sports team. Veteran player Derek Fisher not Kobe saved game four on Thursday night by tying the game and forcing it into overtime. Pau Gasol, Trevor Ariza, and Lamar Odom have contributed more than their fair share during the post-season playoffs. The Lakers are not perfect, but they do represent the “City of Angels.” We should be proud of them.

As for all of you local Lakers Haters (including my husband), I cannot wait to see the looks on your faces when the Lakers win the national championship, their fourth one in the past ten years. Because they will succeed, and when they do, you can kiss my Lakers-loving ass.

AWW — XoXo

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