My first year in Los Angeles was actually spent in Burbank.
Before moving to The West Coast Jamie and I made a scouting mission, driving all around town searching desperately for an apartment. Los Feliz was the best neighborhood we visited, but the places we checked out in our budget had no vacancies. Where else, I wondered, as we maneuvered that rental car up and down the freeways of Los Angeles.
Burbank was twenty minutes from the Hollywood Scene and home of NBC & Warner Brothers. I loved those mountains looming over the city, I knew it would be a quiet place to write, and once I got that TV deal it would be a short commute to work. So we plunked down the first, last, and deposit and I suddenly found myself living in beautiful downtown Burbank.
Our apartment was two blocks from Ikea and the damned mall. Teenaged kids roamed freely. By August it was routinely 100 degrees with a steady sheen of smog. It was not how I pictured LA to be.
A year later Jamie had found love and was moving in with his girl. My friend Bradleigh (as wild as Marilyn Manson but with the heart of The Buddha) had recently split with his girlfriend and was moving out. I wanted Real LA Experiences to write about and needed a room. Bradleigh wanted somebody he could trust to pay the rent and party with. So we became roommates on June Street in Hollywood, California.
At first it was a disaster.
I was used to solitude . . . Jamie would either be at work when I was home or at his girlfriend’s place. In Burbank I wrote, watched movies, and always got a good night’s rest. Sure I’d hit the bars or even drink beers at home, but it was on my terms and my schedule. Nobody ever bothered me.
After my third night living with Bradleigh in Hollywood I wanted to move out.
I had worked that evening at California Pizza Kitchen and had to do the early shift in the morning. I had a few “getting to sleep” beers and called it a night at one a.m. At 3:30 am I was awoken to Kid Rock screaming from the speakers and muffled voices through the walls. The rest of the night I struggled to sleep and fumed inwardly over my roommate’s lack of respect.
That morning I wrote a note, a whole mess of words decrying Bradleigh’s actions and how disappointed I was and blah, blah, blah. The whole afternoon at work I could not stop wondering how Bradleigh would respond. We were friends, but at that point we didn’t know each other very well (less than a year). I also knew he was a bad mofo and could kick my ass.
When I came home he was waiting at the door. Would there be yelling? Would there be punches? No . . . he hugged me and apologized like a madman. Bradleigh’s words were sincere, and at that moment we became the true friends we are today.
Although that wasn’t the last time he ruined a night’s sleep, I could no longer get angry. First of all, I had come to participate in most of Bradleigh’s late night drunken revelries. Secondly, I was meeting all kinds of good, cool, and crazy people that could find their way into my stories (Many of them in what would become A Model Community). And most importantly, I knew that Bradleigh had nothing but respect and always felt bad about rousting me from bed. But the guy was 24 and committed to having a good time, trying to live life to the fullest. There was no way to get mad at somebody like that.
June Street in Hollywood is where I began my LA Adventures, and I have my lifelong friend Bradleigh to thank for introducing me to that sweet madness.
Before moving to The West Coast Jamie and I made a scouting mission, driving all around town searching desperately for an apartment. Los Feliz was the best neighborhood we visited, but the places we checked out in our budget had no vacancies. Where else, I wondered, as we maneuvered that rental car up and down the freeways of Los Angeles.
Burbank was twenty minutes from the Hollywood Scene and home of NBC & Warner Brothers. I loved those mountains looming over the city, I knew it would be a quiet place to write, and once I got that TV deal it would be a short commute to work. So we plunked down the first, last, and deposit and I suddenly found myself living in beautiful downtown Burbank.
Our apartment was two blocks from Ikea and the damned mall. Teenaged kids roamed freely. By August it was routinely 100 degrees with a steady sheen of smog. It was not how I pictured LA to be.
A year later Jamie had found love and was moving in with his girl. My friend Bradleigh (as wild as Marilyn Manson but with the heart of The Buddha) had recently split with his girlfriend and was moving out. I wanted Real LA Experiences to write about and needed a room. Bradleigh wanted somebody he could trust to pay the rent and party with. So we became roommates on June Street in Hollywood, California.
At first it was a disaster.
I was used to solitude . . . Jamie would either be at work when I was home or at his girlfriend’s place. In Burbank I wrote, watched movies, and always got a good night’s rest. Sure I’d hit the bars or even drink beers at home, but it was on my terms and my schedule. Nobody ever bothered me.
After my third night living with Bradleigh in Hollywood I wanted to move out.
I had worked that evening at California Pizza Kitchen and had to do the early shift in the morning. I had a few “getting to sleep” beers and called it a night at one a.m. At 3:30 am I was awoken to Kid Rock screaming from the speakers and muffled voices through the walls. The rest of the night I struggled to sleep and fumed inwardly over my roommate’s lack of respect.
That morning I wrote a note, a whole mess of words decrying Bradleigh’s actions and how disappointed I was and blah, blah, blah. The whole afternoon at work I could not stop wondering how Bradleigh would respond. We were friends, but at that point we didn’t know each other very well (less than a year). I also knew he was a bad mofo and could kick my ass.
When I came home he was waiting at the door. Would there be yelling? Would there be punches? No . . . he hugged me and apologized like a madman. Bradleigh’s words were sincere, and at that moment we became the true friends we are today.
Although that wasn’t the last time he ruined a night’s sleep, I could no longer get angry. First of all, I had come to participate in most of Bradleigh’s late night drunken revelries. Secondly, I was meeting all kinds of good, cool, and crazy people that could find their way into my stories (Many of them in what would become A Model Community). And most importantly, I knew that Bradleigh had nothing but respect and always felt bad about rousting me from bed. But the guy was 24 and committed to having a good time, trying to live life to the fullest. There was no way to get mad at somebody like that.
June Street in Hollywood is where I began my LA Adventures, and I have my lifelong friend Bradleigh to thank for introducing me to that sweet madness.
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