The L.A. Ashes: Is There a Phoenix?

 

conflagration - noun - large, destructive fire

On the third of January, I left my present home of Los Angeles to spend a week visiting friends and family in my former home of New Jersey. Within days of my departure, winds blew, sparks flew, igniting destructive flames throughout portions of the City of Angels, reconfiguring the landscape. From Jersey, I flew to Las Vegas where I played the unfamiliar role of refugee until the air quality was breathable. Now that I am back in L.A., the conflagration continues. When it will end, no one seems to know. 

Already, the wealthy displaced are using their monetary advantage to secure replacement homes that are few in number. Already, there is price gouging in the real estate sector while the fires still burn. Already, the opportunists are finding opportune moments to secure all opportunities while the "middle class" wonder whether it would be worth their while to take what little they rescued and move to higher, moister ground, perhaps Helena? 

It all seems nightmarish, but is there a phoenix waiting to emerge from the ashes of what was once unparalleled beauty, natural and manmade? 

In order to answer the question, Americans have to step away from the 24-7 news cycle, ubiquitous, disparaging New York Times editorials for long enough to grasp perspective. Everyone knows that the media and those associated with it tend to enjoy exaggeration for effect. It keeps the customers coming back; the advertisers pleased. Okay, hold on. I'm not saying that the L.A. fires haven't been any accurate pejorative synonym one can find on Google. They have. What I am saying is nothing is as it seems to be, especially depending on where you are standing. 

Case in point, from a safe enough distance away in my hotel room in Vegas, from watching CNN news feed, addressing concerns from friends and family back east, I formulated the impression that I would never be able to return to Los Angeles again as my city of choice was mired in conflagration and destruction, havoc reigned. When I returned yesterday afternoon, that is not what I found. I found nothing amiss. The skies were blue, the rolling hills, mountains, mainly green, the flavor of the air unnoticeably different, the 405 still bumper to bumper at 3:30 in the afternoon. And I asked myself, How could this be? 

Los Angeles County is one of the largest in the country. It is over 4,000 square miles. The affected communities make up 60 square miles, the size of Paris, but roughly 1/70th of the total land area. It is no wonder I didn't see or smell anything. My path didn't take me through the affected regions, my apartment being ten miles from the holocaust. Largely, L.A. is still what it has always been: a great, internationally recognized city that is still functioning 24-7, not missing any beats.

I may not be a seer, but I do know this. Los Angeles was not named the City of Angels for no reason. All of us here are contributing to the salvation of the lost. Many of us do this routinely anyway, fires or no fires. Person vs. Nature is a literary and real human conflict that has plagued us long before "global warming" and "climate change" were even in the lexicon. Government has proven to be inept. But the people, "We, the People" will persevere. Is there a phoenix to rise up from the ashes of destruction? Yes. We, the locals, the millions of feathers on the wings of the phoenix, will rise together.

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life, #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #truth, #society, #L.A.fires, #LosAngeles, #SoCalFires, #Wildfires, #fires

Distorting Reality in "A Complete Unknown"

 

distort - verb - to give a misleading or false account or impression of. (Google)

The real magic of the cinematic art is that it can take a slice of reality and reconfigure or distort it. Setting, a pedestrian place in particular, can be twisted, transfigured, or transmogrified so that it can appear to be somewhere else, a completely different locale, perhaps one that isn't as glamorous as the original. 

Case in point: the recently released, Bob Dylan biopic A Complete Unknown, produced by and starring Hollywood's current hottie, the actor Timothee Chalamet. The movie, which authentically portrays a slice of Bob Dylan's rise to fame, was shot almost entirely in my home state of New Jersey. Even the scenes that are supposed to take place in Greenwich Village, practically a stone's throw away from Jersey, were staged and recorded in Hoboken. What I found astonishing is that the outdoor concert footage depicting a great lawn in what is supposed to be Newport, Rhode Island is actually one in Echo Lake Park, a bit over a mile from where I grew up in Mountainside, a don't-blink-otherwise-you'll-miss-it hamlet, hugging Rt. 22, famous for being the former home of the infamous godfather of N.J., Gip DeCarlo–also a character in Jersey Boys–whose sons I had attended school with. How the production company found the park, I have no idea. Maybe I don't want to know? The very familiar looking motel used in the film is also not in Newport, but in Cape May. 

Since I had known the actual locations before seeing the movie, I found veracity to be distracting. For instance, during the concert scenes, I kept looking for evidence of the Echo Lake Park I remembered: the wooded acres where I would hike with friends in the fall, the lake itself where I would ice skate and the hill where we would sled in winter, the playground where I would watch my daughter climb the monkey bars and listen to her laugh as she negotiated a path through the play set in spring and summer. Although some of the concert audience was C.G.I.ed to seem a lot larger, I could still make out some familiar trees and even a portion of the lake surrounding the extras. As a result, suspension of disbelief became impossible for me, yet not for the Los Angeles natives in the theater, who seemed completely convinced that they were in Rhode Island along with the cast members. 

Good for them! They left the house believing Mountainside was Newport. I left the theater believing my little town had finally found its place in the sun, the sun of Hollywood. Who would have thought? Not I. Not in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that the park down the street, 25 miles west of Manhattan, would ever, could ever touch the imaginations of millions the world over. Yet it is. Hmm. Miracles can and do happen. 

The takeaway? Never say never? The next small borough featured in a big movie could actually be your own, the one attached to your childhood. It may not have the same name or even the exact same look, but you'll recognize it. And the memories that will come flooding back will be yours alone.

Happy New Year, readers, wherever you are. Although you might disagree, I think 2025 could just be a magical, miraculous year. We'll see. Stay safe and stay positive :).

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life, #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #truth, #society, #film-review, #movie-review, #A-Complete-Unknown, #BobDylan, #TimotheeChalamet, #gwynenglishnielsen, #Hollywood

The Benefits of Puerility

 

puerility - noun - quality of being a child; foolishness; silliness.

Yesterday, I had the distinct pleasure of turning 66 at the west end of Rt. 66–at Mel's Drive-In in Santa Monica. I invited 35 of my favorite people in Los Angeles, and twenty came to squeeze into a very long booth that spanned the length of the diner just to celebrate the milestone and to promise to contribute monetarily to two of my favorite charities. As the other half of the eatery was virtually devoid of customers, we took the liberty of celebrating with gusto, whooping it up, being noticeably puerile. You know. Being loud, raucous, immature. Like college kids at a frat party even though the majority of us culprits are in the fourth quarter of life. We weren't bothering anyone. No one complained. We were just having a good time. 

Case in point: Can there be benefits for those who behave like this? Can refusing to age graciously be beneficial? 

You bet.

Age is not a number, but this is something most of you who are in my box already know. It is a state of mind. If you think you are old, then you are. Here I am reminded of my former mother-in-law who got married out of high school, had two children–hardly taking a breath in between–and proceeded to agree to age rapidly because there was nothing better to do. By the time she was 66, she wasn't behaving like I did last night, sporting a red "Historic Route 66" T-shirt and a short skirt, laughing uproariously with her fellow revelers, pausing only to smooch with her seventy-year-old best beau (which would have been my former father-in-law) at Mel's on Lincoln. Nope. Mom was watching TV reruns of "Dallas," pausing only during breaks to light up a Marlboro and stare miserably at a series of commercials advertising such products as Listerine. Naturally, she died relatively young and unhappy only because she had no concept of joy. She consciously chose not to have any understanding of it. 

Those who aspire never to lose track of puerility know how to turn back the hands of time. They simply don't step into the shoes of society's antiquated expectations. They don't listen or answer when their grandkids ask why they ride Viros in and out of traffic. They don't understand what "age appropriate" means. They work out so that they look good in clothes that are designed for much younger people. They dye their hair. They intrinsically know that life is a lot less painful if they surround themselves with a variety of friends of different ages who hold onto humor as if it were a life vest in a turbulent sea. They know joy. They practice it every day by living dauntlessly, not caring what others might think of them. They give generously; they take when necessary. They love passionately. They forgive. They understand. They listen. They are as some say, "All in." And they smile wholeheartedly at the end of each day, knowing they sucked the marrow clean out of it.

Life as we all know is so very short. Why get old before your time? Why get old at all? It is not something that you are forced to do.  If you don't want to end up like my former mother-in-law, you are going to have to reset your mindset. Walk on the puerile side. You may live a lot longer, staying a lot healthier in the process. 

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life,  #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #truth, #society, #good advice, #gwynenglishnielsen

"No One Mourns the Wicked": The Politics and Such of Wicked

 

political - adj. - relating to the government of a country

For as long as I can remember, children's fare–whether it be televised cartoons like the Peanuts series or live-action films like The Parent Trap–has catered more to the parents rather than to their young offspring. Of course, when I was seven watching network TV's It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown for the first time along with my sister, mom, and dad, I had no idea what Sally meant when she angrily vocalized, "I want restitution!" to a stunned Linus, but it didn't much matter as the character's body language spoke volumes. Still, the word haunted me until I was old enough to look it up in Webster's. The point I am trying to make in a roundabout way is that production companies that produce family movies have adults in mind because after all, the money is coming from their pockets; and they want to be entertained as well as their kids.

This holiday season's blockbuster Wicked is no exception. While visiting family in Utah over the Thanksgiving weekend, my cousin and I made sure to cue up at 11:30 a.m. for the first showing of the film at the local cineplex, thinking there would actually be a cue. There wasn't. In fact, only about six of us adults wound up in the theater. Oddly enough, there wasn't a single person under fifty in the house. Hmm. Perhaps the green of the Wicked Witch of the West or her prior reputation in the original version of Gregory Maguire's classic The Wizard of Oz kept the sensitive LDS families away, or perhaps they read enough about it to feel as though it was more of a PG-13 offering rather than a PG. They were right to veer on the side of caution. Although much of the suggestive content flies as high out of the range of juvenile comprehension as Wicked Witch Elphaba herself does on her broom at the close of the film, Wicked may not be designed for kids due to its political innuendoes. 

My daughter, a highly educated Millennial, was lucky enough to see the original Broadway show about seven times. The upbeat musical numbers and romantic subplot hooked her and multitudes of other fans. Throughout the years, though, due to her obsession, she managed to read the book on which the stage musical and film were based and began to understand the primary theme, which she recently texted to me as "the vilification of marginalized groups to maintain corrupt power structures." I kept thinking that by releasing the film just before the onset of Trump's presidency, Universal Pictures might be issuing a subtle forewarning to our mature society members who voted for him. During his first term, wasn't he the one responsible for locking immigrant children in cages at the Mexican border? Likewise in Wicked, the replacement professor for Doctor Dillamond, a literal old goat who is forced out of his position teaching history at fictitious Shiz University, displays a caged leopard cub, signifying to the class what the Wizard wants to do to the animals that have the ability to express themselves via language. Yikes. Albeit not exact, this is a clear parallel. Like it or not, Hollywood is expressing an opinion here, an opinion that isn't meant for youngsters to contemplate.  

Some of you are probably wondering whether or not I liked the movie. I did, but not for political reasons as I really deplore politics. Although I am in my late sixties, young matinee idols like Bridgerton's Jonathan Bailey who gives an Oscar-worthy performance as the romantic leading man Fiyero in the film, can still melt me sans any splash of water to the face. Despite being gay (and aren't the truly gorgeous guys always gay?) in real life, Jon is welcome to play the leading man in my dreams any time. 

Which brings me to something significant: the reason why we go to the movies. Most of us go to escape the drabness of reality that has grown sepia with familiarity. The emerald green of Wicked's Emerald City and Elphaba's visage shine vibrantly mainly because of talent. And green is the color of spring, of eternal youth, something we all would like to hold on to indefinitely. So grab a grandchild, daughter, son, or neighbor's teen and see Wicked if only to defy gravity for two hours and forty minutes. Mourn or don't mourn the wicked, your choice. (As a postscript: Another slightly less controversial theme that the movie implies is that there is no such concept as evil since the wicked are merely misunderstood. Politically speaking, we'll see about that :). )

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life,  #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #truth, #society, #good advice, #Wicked #film-review #gwyn-english-nielsen

How to Quell Fear

 

quell - verb - to suppress (esp. an unpleasant feeling) Google.com

Whenever something unexpected happens, human nature presses us to dive head first into a pool of fear. Unfortunately, it is an impulse that is generally acted upon sans any sort of prior contemplation. The way the majority handles fear is either to stand and fight it or flee from it. But then there is the minority that refuses even to wade in the aforementioned cement pond for fear of getting mired in it. I can't help but reflect on F.D.R.'s huge capacity for common sense when he shouted into the microphone at his first inauguration in 1933: "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." His ingenious quote has unlimited shelf life, especially when it comes to politics. 

Without stating the obvious re: politics, I will say that here in L.A. county, quite a few people are  drowning in so much fear as a result of the elections that they are relying on therapists and clergy members to offer them mouth-to-mouth resuscitation: advice as to how to quell it. Since I am close to both a top psychologist and an effective Presbyterian minister, I will share their solid suggestions with those of you who are still barely afloat, paddling around on a punctured floatation device in the deep end:

1. Upon waking each morning, take a series of deep breaths and then embrace the impetus to get out of bed.

2. Ignore the constant stream of notifications from The New York Times or similar publications on your smart phone.

3. Don't watch the news until you are doing #1 regularly.

4. Work out by running, walking, lifting weights, etc.

5. Search for a local Buddhist temple and take the monks up on their offer to guide you through a free mediation session.

6. Indulge in yoga or take a sound bath.

7. Concentrate on staying in the moment. Forget about all of the what-if's. Find a safe place and stay in it. 

8. Call a friend whom you haven't spoken to in a while and talk about everything except politics.

9. Let go and let God because you should already know that historically speaking, Goodness tends to prevail in the end.

10. Do all of the above. 

What you should not do is head to the liquor cabinet or your stash of Mary Jane for solace as they will only complicate matters or just kill you eventually. Temporary gratification is just that: temporary. 

Times are tough, but we have all experienced challenges before. No matter what, we will get through whatever might happen. 

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life,  #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #truth, #society, #good advice, #fear, #gwynenglishnielsen

Odious Rejection and How to Cope with It

 

odious - adjective - extremely unpleasant (Google)

Depending upon your point of view, there are few things more odious than rejection. Why? It takes a nasty bite out of the ego, leaving you with a sour residue in your mouth. And that's only if you are strong and somewhat used to repeated spurns. What if you're not? Well then, the metaphor gets more injurious. If you are a neophyte, then repudiation is more like a swift kick in the groin. If you are the sensitive type, it may be so debilitating that you may stay prostrate on the floor for a long time, forgetting all about the purpose of the initial quest. When you finally recover, rise, and totter away, the dream that motivated you in the first place could just be left behind.

Rejection for me is very commonplace as I pretty much experience it everyday. Okay, okay. It is my fault because I put myself up for the daily whipping. I am not only a singer/songwriter, trying to get my music heard, a nearly impossible feat as there are millions of other singer/songwriters trying to do the same thing, but I am also a writer who has just finished a novel. Which is getting lost in myriad databases of literary agents all over the country, again due to furious competition. According to Google, I have a one in one thousandth chance of finding an agent to represent my writing, meaning I may have to query about a thousand agents before one even bats an eyelash of interest. Yikes! I'm only at 43. 

I am up for the challenge, though. Why not? I believe that Ray Bradbury, the sci-fi author responsible for the classic Fahrenheit 450, was rejected about eight hundred times before some really smart publisher saw his worth and took a risk on him. I could use Ray as inspiration, and I will. 

Putting myself aside, though, my heart goes out to those of you (like my daughter) who are pounding the cyber pavements daily in search of a job that pays a living wage. The employment rate may be up, but positions that pay100K or more are few and far between. For most of the MBA recipients out there right now, there isn't much. My daughter was one of 600 applicants for an opening at Hulu. After a month of chatting, going back and forth with various corporate heads, she wound up in the number one spot just before they told her they had changed their minds and couldn't use her. An odious rejection? You betcha. But as Nietzsche once penned, "What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger" or something like that. 

And then there are Kamala Harris, Tim Walz and the rest of the Democratic party. Nope. I'm not going there. Sorry. But no doubt, they are all feeling the pugilistic pangs of rejection as well. 

So just how do you cope with painful snubs? There's always hope, hope in the reality that everything will turn around, which is not blind optimism; it's common sense. Life is a balance, a series of dualities. What goes up must come down. What is at its nadir eventually rises. A slow market sooner or later speeds up. If you never, never, never give up, you will most likely get what you have always wanted. It just takes a lot of effort, time, and patience. Hard? Yes. But nothing is easy. 

To borrow Nike's slogan, "Just do it." Good luck and Godspeed. 

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life,  #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #truth, #society, #good advice, #gwynenglishnielsen

The Magnitude of the Small

 

magnitude - noun - great size or extent of something.

Recently, I met a journalist who is responsible for coming up with 250 words daily on a subject related to the media. He writes for an online magazine that caters to content-thirsty industry professionals looking to quench the sensation in the time it takes to empty a grande mocha cappuccino. Although it may sound easy, it isn't. To write concisely, densely on anything is difficult. What is even tougher is selecting just the right topic, researching it, writing the sentences, proofreading them, and then posting the finished paragraph before the average, weary industry professional saunters into his or her favorite Starbucks to order that grande mocha cappuccino. 

I have a similar problem. Despite only contributing to this blog bi-monthly, after 373 articles, it isn't uncommon for me to be at a loss for subject matter. Sometimes it takes me a few days–as opposed to hours–to experience the eureka-I've-got-it moment. Since I don't compose this blog for a living (I can't figure out how to monetize it), I am under no obligation to meet any deadlines. Still, I strive to please those of you who actually read what I write. (Thanks, by the way!)

For today's installment of Word to Words, I chose the concept "The Magnitude of the Small," which as you might have noticed is a contradiction. How can something insignificant be great? Easy. To understand my original (?) paradox, you simply have to take notice. I mean, really look around you. 

For instance, this evening while returning home from a day spent ferrying a friend to and from a medical center for a colonoscopy (yikes! I am really dating myself here), I decided to take the scenic route. Which, for some, could just be the long way, perhaps through an unfamiliar neighborhood, featuring houses festooned with holiday decorations. 'Tis the season. Yet for me, one of the lucky Americans to live near the Hollywood Riviera (South Bay, L.A.), the scenic route is breathtakingly gorgeous, so glorious in its beauty that I was reduced to driving 25 mph just to look at it when everyone, who wasn't concerned with the magnitude of the small, was accelerating to 45, saluting with a raised middle finger as he or she passed me. Yet each incensed driver missed the sunset. If he/she did catch it, it was in his/her eyes, causing his/her to squint uncomfortably or reposition his/her eyes just beneath the dropped sun visor just to see the road. The magnitude of the sun might have been a small annoyance to those who became jaded, who got "used to" the allure that disintegrated into commonplace somewhere in the repetitiveness of daily commutation. 

But don't you do it. Don't let the magnificent become banal. Make a concerted effort to keep it fresh by stopping to notice, to realize, to appreciate Nature's marvels no matter how minute they may be. If you do, you may feel a lot better about everything that isn't quite right these days. If you do, maybe you may arrive at your destination with hope: abstract, compact, yet so very vast. 

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life,  #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #truth, #society, #good advice, #gwynenglishnielsen