Everyone tells me that nobody walks in Los Angeles. And up until yesterday I was like, "I'm nobody?" because I liked walking and biking around Atwater-Los Feliz-Glendale, where I used to live. Suddenly, however, I'm staying in West Hollywood and working six days a week in Burbank. The Spice Girls tour is renting me a car for the next six weeks and, as I found out this morning, ten miles behind the wheel of a car on this route equals at least one hour trapped in drive.
Now, the leather that I'm sitting is soft. So soft. And the engine is zippy and the stereo is loud and clear but I swear I'm not totally seduced. Just partially. And as I drove through morning rush hour, I thought, "Oh, this is the canyon and the valley everyone talks about!" My geography of the city is suddenly expanding and I can get so much further, much faster, in this car.
At one point, mid-canyon and full-traffic, I realized that the muscles and tendons on the top of my right foot were getting sore from all the braking and inching, braking and inching. "Motherfucker!" I thought, "My hamstrings and calves are fine, but my itty bitty ANTERIOR TIBIAL is out of shape?!"