Dear Los Angeles,
I love you. You know that. Without getting too far into let me count the ways… or singing Randy Newman to you, let me just say that you are a wonderful city.
I love Dodger stadium. Elysian Park has some of the best views on a summer night. What do you look at from Angel stadium? The 57? Please.
You have such good food.
You have your flaws; I won’t pretend otherwise–your Metro system needs help, your air may just make me ill, and your freeways make me want to break up.
But everything wonderful is found in you.
And it’s always only an hour away.
And if I expound on your weather–your lack of humidity and your 55 degree winters–this letter may never end.
You’ve had some rough times. Racial tensions, poverty, homelessness–there’s a shadow side to you. We all have one.
I want to be there when you hurt. Your suburbs look so pretty, and tidy, a facade to cover over a lot of pain. And your center is even more obviously hurting, as the poor try to navigate a path to self sufficiency, and mentally ill wander through life without the care their minds need.
You are vibrant, and wonderfully diverse, and have a richer community life than you are given credit for. Despite what the media represents or what reality TV shows get made here, I see that you are full of regular people who really are just trying to navigate this life as best they can.
In short, L.A., you are my city and there is no other. I love you and I always will.