When I was here in early May, looking for an apartment, Rick and I stopped at the 7-11 around the corner from our new place. A white stretch limo pulled up beside us. In the back, a slender African-American woman smoked a cigarette out the window while the driver went in to buy something from the store.
Wanna-be star? Actual star? (We're close to Sony Pictures; it's possible) Delusional trust fund baby? Whatever, we'd just had our first L.A. Moment.
Now that I've been here for a few weeks, I suspect that whatever demographic she actually belonged to, she went to the 7-11 in a limo because she's one of the many people in L.A. who feel like they're living in a movie, and act accordingly, trying to create a good scene. It already feels like a movie set because of the familiar street and neighborhood names. Lots of songs are about California -- there's your soundtrack. The weather forecast says 76 and sunny for the next week -- where's Steve Martin throwing little suns up on the weather map? The whole L.A. myth is surreal and overwhelming, and I can already see how locals get sucked into it. That must be why everyone calls it LaLaLand.
I went to my first west coast TV taping on Friday night, the 12th episode of the Orlando Jones Show. I liked seeing the behind-the-scenes psychology of it all: a stand-up comic to rile up the crowd; a DJ who doesn't do much on the show but is crucial for keeping everyone in a good mood between takes; the comic acting as a human Applause sign ("C'mon, lots of energy now!"); a staffer whose job was to make sure the audience members in the high-profile/more-airtime seats were a certain demographic mix and a proper SoCal level of physical attractiveness.
What really made it an L.A. Moment, though, is the sheer number of audience members who treated the pre-show time and commercial breaks like their own personal American Idol. They wanted to sing or rap for us (really for Orlando Jones, his producer and DJ, and whoever else might have been watching). No surprise there, but the audience wranglers like the stand-up comic *let them.* The third rapper, during his freestyling, called out the first rapper. During the next commercial break, this escalated into a rap battle.
Now, did these guys grow up in a neighborhood where rap battles were part of the culture, or have they just seen it in the movies? I have no idea. But I bet they felt like movie stars just then -- they were even on a set, and there was their co-star Orlando Jones grooving off in the corner.
As I write this, my CD player just served up the Propellerheads' "Take California." That's what I'm talking about.
The screenwriters are messing with me.
Look, if I'm really in a movie, let me help you script the part where I win the lottery. I know I've been telling everyone I'm not a screenwriter, but just this once, I'm willing to make an exception.
Wanna-be star? Actual star? (We're close to Sony Pictures; it's possible) Delusional trust fund baby? Whatever, we'd just had our first L.A. Moment.
Now that I've been here for a few weeks, I suspect that whatever demographic she actually belonged to, she went to the 7-11 in a limo because she's one of the many people in L.A. who feel like they're living in a movie, and act accordingly, trying to create a good scene. It already feels like a movie set because of the familiar street and neighborhood names. Lots of songs are about California -- there's your soundtrack. The weather forecast says 76 and sunny for the next week -- where's Steve Martin throwing little suns up on the weather map? The whole L.A. myth is surreal and overwhelming, and I can already see how locals get sucked into it. That must be why everyone calls it LaLaLand.
I went to my first west coast TV taping on Friday night, the 12th episode of the Orlando Jones Show. I liked seeing the behind-the-scenes psychology of it all: a stand-up comic to rile up the crowd; a DJ who doesn't do much on the show but is crucial for keeping everyone in a good mood between takes; the comic acting as a human Applause sign ("C'mon, lots of energy now!"); a staffer whose job was to make sure the audience members in the high-profile/more-airtime seats were a certain demographic mix and a proper SoCal level of physical attractiveness.
What really made it an L.A. Moment, though, is the sheer number of audience members who treated the pre-show time and commercial breaks like their own personal American Idol. They wanted to sing or rap for us (really for Orlando Jones, his producer and DJ, and whoever else might have been watching). No surprise there, but the audience wranglers like the stand-up comic *let them.* The third rapper, during his freestyling, called out the first rapper. During the next commercial break, this escalated into a rap battle.
Now, did these guys grow up in a neighborhood where rap battles were part of the culture, or have they just seen it in the movies? I have no idea. But I bet they felt like movie stars just then -- they were even on a set, and there was their co-star Orlando Jones grooving off in the corner.
As I write this, my CD player just served up the Propellerheads' "Take California." That's what I'm talking about.
The screenwriters are messing with me.
Look, if I'm really in a movie, let me help you script the part where I win the lottery. I know I've been telling everyone I'm not a screenwriter, but just this once, I'm willing to make an exception.
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