When I lived in Los Angeles for approximately 6 years, I remember so little of the tourist Mecca spots.

I was trying to experience LA while wearing a blindfold in all the iconic places everyone had heard of. Sure I went to Pink's Hot Dogs at 11:00 PM on two different occasions and had a police helicopter spotlight me when I climbed to the Hollywood sign but that’s it for the famous spots that I went out of my way to see (although, technically, there was the first time I ran across the street at the Sunset strip, inebriated, to buy cigarettes). There was something about fame that rubbed me the wrong way. I never wanted to be famous. I loved the area but I wanted to stick my head in the beach sand to hide. And I (unknowingly) always wanted to view the City of Angels from a different angle than the public stereotypically viewed it.

Maybe I was too young and naive trying to be the antithesis to your average joe tourist with a fanny pack taking pictures of famous people. Subconsciously I began pondering different ways to feel unique and different. Whenever I would have eureka moments, I would later find out that a subpar article had already been posted by a proud explorer showing off their new gold star. (I think for about 3 days I wanted to be a journalist, by the way). Traffic at midnight further solidified the depths of frustration, oftentimes rising to a 10 on a scale of road rage (I now meditate on the Metro rail whenever in town because your average cool dude doesn’t understand the concept of public transportation so it still humors my former LA self’s sense of discovery). Maybe that’s why I joined a band to vent it.

There were a few spots and people that were “alright.” I tried to find the unseen parts of LA., I went to places like a speakeasy right off Skid Row when downtown was a ghost town at night. I secretly wanted to be hip like my temporary roomie in Mar Vista named Koz McRae who was a hardcore biker or my good friend’s buddy, Manhattan, who had a British accent and refused to travel west of downtown (he was an Eastsider who I never actually met). I guess I wanted to be famous and cool but only known to a select few (I think my cap was at 7 people that knew who I was).

Don’t get me wrong; the scenery around Los Angeles is beautiful. The popularity of it is a no brainer: the perfect weather year round, the beach, and the mountains. But the people... those people... were so hypothetically obnoxious narcissistic assholes. At least I jumped to this conclusion very quickly. Spiraling, I forced myself to live in this imaginary LA world which was the celebrity gossip on steroids that did not allow people to be friendly. Instead of “howdy neighbor” they would instantly say “fuck you, you’re not famous.” This is the concept of LA that I had allowed myself to create. So it was no surprise that when my girlfriend invited me to move into her place in San Francisco, I left the next day and prepared to offer sacrament to the granola gods.

In hindsight, I think I was just schizo on the idea of inevitability becoming famous living in LA. I never stopped to actually think about the other 14 million people that live in the area. It is possible (and surprisingly more normal) to NOT be famous. I never really considered the idea of good normal people actually existing in this place, of meeting a new person who moved to LA from Kansas City to work in accounting and would say “Hey, what’s up?” I would instantly say “fuck you, I’m not famous.”

Whenever I humbly return to Los Angeles, I think about it objectively (except whenever I ride the Metro... only then am I allowed to be pretentious). It feels different now, it’s actually nice whenever I go back. Having a different view from a different angle feels good for my (metaphorical) receipt of a gold star for my new adventures to discover LA. Or maybe I just had secret surgery to install a chip in my brain to block freak outs on being famous. Side note, I do confess that after moving out of LA more than 11 years ago, I still say “the” in front of all interstate numbers, no matter where I am or live. Also, I still haven’t been to Vegas in years and I’m still over that place. Not that that place has anything to do with Los Angeles, it’s just I equate the two due to spontaneous adventures from Los Angeles but I don't want to go anymore. I don’t want to talk about it