Gone Daddy Gone

Cindy Sherman's Film Still #48

On the eve of my departure, with a room full of boxes and nothing left but my comforter to be packed, I take a moment and look around me. My time here was marked by my time not here. For the last five months I lived in two places and one could say, for that reason, that neither were my home. As one who has been most comfortable as a consummate nester, this nomadic existence has been both anxiety provoking and, well, simpler. A lot simpler. Once I relinquished my role as a property owner, once I downsized to a room in someone else's house—and a suitcase of clothing at my boyfriend's house—I realized how little I needed. If I could live with my stuff in storage for five months, I could prolly live the rest of my life without it.

In the mean time I have become accustomed to the sound of packing tape being stretched taut across cardboard boxes—in fact I have quite grown to like that sound, the tidy finality of it, it's punctuation marking my progression. One more box packed.

I will truly miss the excellent Thai Town cuisine so cheap and so close to my house. And the Thai Elvis, the Thai cover bands, the Thai karaoke and the soju drinks that come with those meals. I will miss driving home and driving directly towards this city's landmark sign. I will miss the midnight bike rides. I will miss moving away from my neighbor, Johnny Knoxville, whom I saw on at least two occasions. I will miss the sprawling Sunday farmer's market, the perfect place for heirloom tomatoes, sprouted bread, or celebrity sightings. I will miss my close proximity to the most excellently named strip club this side of the Mississippi: Jumbo's Clown Room. I will miss Tommy, the guy who cut my hair short, showed me several cell phone photos of his six Ducati motorcycles and who had the same Halloween birthday as me. I will miss the New Beverly Cinema, possibly the greatest and least expensive place to see double features anywhere (try on Kramer Vs. Kramer and The Squid and The Whale for size.) I will miss the wildly affordable Korean spas, the underutilized subway system, the grand yet crumbling downtown. I will miss the late night excitement of this town, it's sheer exuberance over itself, and every one's blind optimism. And, on a good day, when I am feeling benevolent and merciful, I will miss the film shoots on every corner, the filming permits on every door, and the dreams and aspirations of every struggling actor and actress gallantly posing for head shots on whatever stretch of grass they can find.

And, of course, I will miss you.