As in most other places, a people make it work.
J.T.
L.A. is Full of Stars
But they are not in Hollywood!
J.T.
Survivors in Japan: Hiroshima
“My mother entered the center of Hiroshima three days after the bombing. She was four months pregnant with me. I was very sickly in my childhood, suffering from many kinds of infectious diseases, which might have been because of a weak immune system.
My mother developed bladder cancer in 1992, but recovered completely. Fourteen years later, she was bedridden half a year and could not stand up or walk at all. But she is now 99 years old and healthy. We live together.
My grandfather was in the center of Hiroshima. He was buried alive underneath a house, but returned home late at night. Ten days later many purple spots appeared on his body. He became weaker and weaker, [and] had a lot of bloody diarrhea and vomited excessively…
He could not eat or speak, and died twenty-seven days later.”
Mito Kosei, In-Utero (before birth) Survivor
Hiroshima, Japan
Randomness in L.A with Lucky Baba
It’s the fourth of July, yet my mind is far away from a holiday. I was out in the city earlier today when a stranger came up to me and said something I’ve heard for the umpteenth time in my life, which is that I “think too much.”
A moment later, he also told me that I probably “talk too much” as well. I smiled politely and told him he was right; it turns out the man was there to tell me my fortune, that is, for just a small donation.
We were in the parking lot of a small store as I waited for mom to get back from her errand. I glanced at the stranger again, and saw a kind face in him more than anything else. Figuring that mom would be just a bit longer, I nodded to the man in affirmation of his wager. He proceeded to ask me a few questions about my life, including questions about my family, whether or not I had a partner, and what my number one wish was at the moment.
It was the last hour of the morning before the afternoon, and as the sun rose above, so did the heat. Still, we were both humble in front of one another as the game between us spiraled us away from ourselves, or at least, from too much attention to one another.
The man told me that I’d live a long life, and that while I wouldn’t have much material wealth, I would have much respect in my life. He also told me that I would live a healthy life, and that I just had to let go of a few old habits to ensure it.
I laughed and appreciated his words; they were refreshing to hear, and whether or not there was full truth in them didn’t matter, they’d hit just the right notes at an opportune time either way.
After another trick of the hand or so, the fortune teller assured me that he could pray for me in this fortune with the help of just another small donation. I smiled and laughed in kind, but informed him that I’d given him all I had. I was a humble man after all, I reminded him.
The man pressed on with his offer, but without even the slightest about-face, still kindly. I smiled again, this time letting him know that I was out of time to spare, too. The fortune teller finally relented, and we made for our separate ways. But just before completely losing sight of him, I asked the fortune teller for his name. He said his name was Lucky Baba.
Immediately afterwards I thought of how there are people out there who’d pay him far more than I ever could for his kind words in that moment.
He was in the parking lot outside the store with humble people like himself, after all, rather than with L.A.’s more fortunate patrons, somewhere in Beverly or Hidden Hills. He was really bright, after all, with an ability to tell a story holding the weight of the world in ways many people out there already pay fortunes to listen to.
It also seemed Lucky Baba was a family man, and that he wasn’t in his trade just for himself, but for his loved ones somewhere out there. All he needed was his own fortune from one of these encounters, to strike his own lucky payday for him and all of his dreams.
So here’s to Lucky Baba pressing on in his way, then, not so much in a hurry but with his warm patience, to meet a great payday for himself and his family one of these days; and here’s to a lucky strike for all of us, rushing madly towards our destinations as well. We’ve still got to get to them, after all, for which all our close calls beforehand make them only more rewarding.
With warmth from Los Angeles,
J.T.
Los Angeles, the Disconnected Metropolis?
In Los Angeles this week we just capped off a round of Municipal and Special Elections, with turnout for the elections at 11.45%. 2017’s low voter turnout for the special elections actually ranks lower than previous low for an election in Los Angeles, when in 2013 the mayor’s seat was up for contention. In 2013, only 12.4% of eligible voters decided who would be mayor of the second largest metropolitan city in the world. In an interview discussing the low turnout rates for the city, Dean Logan, the L.A. County Registrar, admitted that the current setup for people to cast their ballots is “arguably outdated”. It’s high time–and even late–for Logan to finally acknowledge this.
What’s also true is that as a geopolitical landscape in the 21st century, L.A. is more decentralized than ever; looking at the city from the street or from above, one would be hard pressed to pinpoint a sense of community in the constant conveyor belt of automobiles stuck in traffic through its avenues and boulevards. Exactly where civic engagement is supposed to begin when a city is so disconnected from itself is almost anyone’s guess.
Even so, 11.45%? No way! But there is a larger point here.
In an effort to follow the elections in L.A. as closely as possible, over the last month I’ve uncovered a treasure cove of data regarding the political framework of Los Angeles. The result is a true backdrop of information that will serve as a place from which ideas and momentum will go forward. For example, check out the table below to get an idea of the look and feel of L.A. as a geopolitical entity.
Of course, the table can only say so much. But keep in mind that L.A. is arguably the least visible metropolis in the West, which is to say that when visitors get here, the common question will almost always be: just where is Los Angeles, exactly? As in, where does it begin, and just where does it end? Unlike that other city out in the East coast, or the one north from us in the bay, Los Angeles is spread out like a waffle, with enclaves enclosing one community after the next, so that the city is definitely aware of itself but without ever actually seeing its other sides.
In this way, when stuck in between some part of the waffle, the citizens of Los Angeles can hardly connect with a greater sense than one’s self, and so there isn’t much of an “L.A.” except as seen on Dodger caps and commercials. The only things we can be certain about is that traffic and congestion are getting worse by the day, and also that it’s getting warmer out each year. Moreover, citizens just work and pay taxes here to fund their local government and schools. Aren’t the elected officials supposed to take care of things from there?
Which leads us naturally to: What vote? There is no vote! Too many votes with your vote for this here and your vote for that there!
But with more in no time,
J.T.