Los Angeles
One thing that Darin asked me to do before I left to go on this trip was to look at some apartments, so that I would see what's being offered out there. Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. CJ and I did a great deal of driving around yesterday but no actual apartment snooping. I wondered if I would get away with not actually stepping inside an apartment building.
I will destroy any possible suspense. The answer is NO.
Having come to the conclusion last night that I would probably, in all likelihood, live in Studio City--a decision CJ highly approved of, which surprised me; I would have thought she'd be more the urban live-on-the-edge type but I was wrong, wrong, wrong--we decided to go over the hill again today and get The Recycler for the San Fernando Valley and drive by some more places. The Recycler lists every possible thing that you can think of for sale and probably some that you can't. It has lots and lots of apartment listings, far more than anywhere else I've looked.
We sat down at a cafe on Ventura Boulevard: CJ read The Big Sleep intently, I pored over listings. I circled five promising ones and then stepped outside to the curb with the cell phone in order to get better reception. I dialed, keeping my pen at the ready to write down addresses and directions.
First three numbers, nobody home. I got very discouraged.
On the fourth number, however, I got someplace called Citywide Rentals, a rental listing service, which happened to be right down Ventura Blvd., in Sherman Oaks. We drove down there and I talked to one of the clerks there for a bit, and he produced some listings that fit my needs. I figured that two of them sounded like reasonable prospects.
What I discovered was, there's a wide range of stuff available out there. For $600, you can get a pretty big one bedrooom apartment in a reasonably secure building. For $650 you can get a very big apartment, and for $700 you can find a building with elevators.
If you're willing to sign a one year lease, the price goes down about $50. And sometimes they throw in utilities. There are buildings with For Rent signs outside them all over Los Angeles (except for Old Pasadena, of course). They have to make deals like cutting the rent with a year-long lease, because it's a buyer's market out there. Getting perks like free utilities is key, of course; Studio City is in the Valley, and as everyone likes to point out, it's hot in the Valley (but don't forget: it's a dry heat).
Dry heat, my ass. I was drenched in sweat. It was a 100+ degrees out there today. Several of the apartments we looked at had fireplaces. I kept looking over at CJ and rolling my eyes--how much for an apartment without a fireplace?
The first building we went to go see was kind of iffy. It wasn't terrible, and one of the apartments was huge. My main problem with it was that the whole place looked run-down and shabby. Not the best reason to say no but if I'm not going to be happy living there, what's the point? I've had a long-standing fear of having to move into what I call a Miami-motel-apartment building, one of these two-story buildings clearly built during the sixties.
The second building was much better and for about the same money as the first one. The apartments were much nicer--huge rooms (unbelievably large, actually) with amazing quantities of closet space. I wondered how big the apartments would be if there weren't so many damn closets. The kitchens usually left something to be desired, but then, I ain't going to cooking school.
The third building we wandered into because it was right up the street from the first one. It was by far the fanciest and most expensive of the three, and just a wee bit too antiseptic, even for me.
I was glad that we actually stepped into some of these buildings, so I could see what was out there. CJ is convinced that I will stumble across something quite nice when it comes time to actually sign a lease, and I think she's right.
Saturday night CJ and I had dinner at the Border Grill, an extremely trendy restaurant that definitely needs to get its people skills in order. They sat us down at the large communal table and then informed us seconds later that, whoops, they needed ten seats at that table for a large party coming in later. They wanted us to volunteer to leave; of course we didn't. They ended up shifting our place settings a few chairs over later on. The food's quite good though, so maybe they don't need people skills.
After dinner we walked down to the Third Street Promenade to see the crush of people going up and down the pedestrian mall, seeing and being seen. CJ managed to witness two rather blatant drug transactions, one happening within inches of me...and I missed it. So much for my ability to observe the world around me.
Conversation overheard whilst walking back to the hotel from the Promenade (I was really bummed that we were in front of these people, because if we'd been behind them we could have followed them surreptitiously to hear even more):
"I just found out that a friend of mine from high school is a stripper."
"A stripper?"
"Can you believe it? I couldn't believe it."
"Is she any good?"
"I don't know, I haven't seen her. I think I want to go see her, but I'm embarrassed. I don't know where she works. I can find out though from this guy. Oh, yeah, that's right, I know this bartender at Ed Debevic's, if you're ever by there you can stop in and ask for free drinks. His name's Elvis, just tell him you know me. Anyhow, we were at this party right after Robert Downey Jr.'s lover died of AIDS..."
Last Updated: 30-Jun-96
©1996 Diane Patterson