In This Concrete Jungle

Some people may love Los Angeles

The Getty, Disneyland, Griffin Park, Pacific Ocean, blah blah blah.

I’m obviously not one of those people.

don’t get me wrong, I’m happy as a clam when I’m safe at home at six thousand feet among the pines and the fresh alpine scented air in my mountain get away but plant me in the city among the smog, the concrete, the traffic and the city buses and I feel lost and desperate.

Where are the trees?

Where is the open air?

Where is the quite, the, light, the milky way in the night sky and the emptiness that the forest provides me.

My California living may be just a bit different from the California living the rest of Jerry Brown’s State experiences.

I’ve been re-addicted to the Showtime show Californication this week and that show resonates with me. (Even if my roommate does seem to wander down stairs during every episode that looks like porn) Why do I watch this show? ( I mean besides my obvious infatuation with David Duchovny since I was 12 years old.)

It’s all in the writing. I feel like the writers of this show have a passion for their hatred of this concrete jungle that is Los Angeles. It’s a wild grey jungle of freeways, smog and traffic. When I drive to the city for work, Lord do I love my job but it is an oasis of million dollar race horse for me in the middle of a city of filth and depression, which no amount of 20×25 filters can disseminate and diffuse.

I love my job among the majestic Thoroughbreds.

My co workers are like a long-lost family I just recently found.

But my heart aches for the trees, the clear crisp skies and the peacefulness that the un-polluted mountains bring me.