A literal narrative in beauty

The "theys" of the world say LA has no seasons. We don't. We have fires and we have earthquakes. We have mudslides, and we have the most unnatural of disasters in an entertainment industry. My friend Bill in Chicago, content apparently with sub zero temperatures and lake snow effect, says he'd never live in LA. Seasons, he says, is what keeps him in Evanston. I like Bill but he's wrong about a lot of things.

Bill in Evanston keeps Bill out of LA and one less Bill on the 105, and the 605, and the 10 East, and the 405 South. So Bill can stay in Evanston. But if Bill stumbled upon my blog, he'd get not a tutorial in Chicago or LA or freeway traffic or things he's wrong about but a written essay, a literal narrative in beauty. And here it goes.

A society sysincly accustomed to excess. A population encouraged to live in future wants. A happiness always slightly out of reach. Out of touch. A people out of touch.

It's actually very simple to have too much of something. Too much coffee. Too much work. Too much wine. We're familiar without much more example of a planet supple with excess, and a people not shy of having too much.

Bill of Evanston needs dire long winters, piles of autumn leaves, densely humid summers, drastic seasonal change, just as an investment banker needs gobs of cash, and a kept lady needs another handbag, one more pair of Manolos, a better car.

Bigger better faster larger smaller more efficient newer more more, just honestly more. For the love of God, more of it all.

I have a Tivo that thinks it knows me. It recommends television shows I wouldn't watch. Last week I came home and it had recorded three episodes of Sesame Street and that afternoon's Ducktails.

My Tivo thinks I'm a 3 year old.

I tried to tell it, through the technological specified ways, that I was actually 28, going on 29. I came home the next day, to recordings of boxing, MMA, and a really awkward girl on girl mudwrestling championship. 28 and female, Tivo, female.

I turned off the suggestions feature.

As someone who works in technology I'm an odd person to be astonished by new media, but I am. Odd. And astonished.

My GPS, correctly, globally, positioning, via a satellite, my exact location. It knows where I am at all the time. All the damn time. It blows my mind. But at the end of the day and the beginning of the next one and every day after that, I know LA better than it. I know that canyon where it narrows to one lane and creates a logging effect down the hill. I know that driveway where it's pretty darn near impossible to turn. I know four emergency vehicles in front of me telling me you can't go through a street. I know the best way home from my Mom's house. But that GPS, well her and I never really seem to be on the same page. Our drives together are a series of verbal outbursts by me and her, "REROUTING ROUTE REROUTING ROUTE REROUTING ROUTE." We still don't agree the best way to get home from the north valley, but yesterday she said "Please Make a U-Turn Only When It's Safe," and it was then I knew she was starting to get me. I waited until it was safe, and then I didn't listen to her after that.

A world of more bigger better has pushed out a technology trying to get to know me. It wants to know what shows I like. It wants to tell me how to get around in my own city, it reads my e-mails and it personalizes ads. My teeth are white enough thank you very much google g-mail ads.

I know what shows I like, and sometimes yes they may be Sesame Street. And I know how to get around my own city, not always, but it's then I will rely on the woman in my GPS. I'm OK with the amount of money in my bank account. It could be less and it could be more, but I will be happy all the same. Ten pairs of shoes or one to suffice. Happiness lives somewhere else.

Happiness lives with beauty. In beauty's guest house. Whereas bigger better more excess ignites a boundary of too much, you can never have too much beauty. Never will I love my sister too much, or that gingerbread candle smell too amazing. I don't think I will ever say I have had too much Vivaldi and he plays on medium volume through my car stereo and I drive through the small collection of autumn leaves pieced around the road on my drive to the office. So that's the catch with beauty, Bill from Evanson. You can never have too much of it, but can live on the smidgest of amounts. A one sentence text from my best friend. When my favorite one year old dives in to her birthday cupcakes hairless head first. LA doesn't have drastic seasons, but Bill from Evanston is still wrong. Because if you're looking for happiness, you'll find it. And if you're looking for beauty, if you're looking for a fall morning in LA where just a small pocket of leaves have gathered and they crisp under the drive of your tires you will find it here, just as you will find it in Evanston. If you're looking for beauty, you will find it pretty much anywhere you seek it.