los angeles, i'm [not] yours

the title of this post is inspired by John Fante, an italian-american writer from the mid 1900s who lived in los angeles for most of his adult life. Fante wrote one of my all time favorite books called Ask the Dust which was recently butchered into a film in which collin farell and salma hayek starred. please do not see the movie. it is hollywood trash. instead, do yourself a favor and read the book. its filled with sweeping dramatic declarations like 'her hair was so rich, so thick and clustered like big black grapes" and "los angeles, give me some of you! los angeles come to me as i come to you, my feet over your streets, you pretty town i loved so much, you sad flower in the sand, you pretty town."

while you're at it, read The Brotherhood of the Grape, Road to Los Angeles, Wait Until Spring Bandini, etc.

i haven't read these books in quite a while though and at the time that fante captured me, i was young, angry and seduced by equally angry, bitter and lewd literature. his writing not only consoled me but left a huge impression on me which still remains today. i started looking at los angeles in a completely different way. i stopped hating it as much, seeing it less for its nauseating hollywood aspect and more for its rich, diverse and gritty history. la was suddenly much more charming and tolerable thanks to fante's womanizing, racist, poverty stricken stories.

the reason in which i'm ranting about fante is that i really could use some of his romanticizing of la right about now. i find very little charming about today's la, not the traffic, nor the people obsessed with their bodies (unhealthy tans and unhealthy breast sizes aplenty), nor the obsession with celebrities as noted by plentiful trash mags found in most households, nor the scorching 100 + degree desert weather, nor the endless strip malls and soulless track homes...