you were chosen to walk through the fire

driving down the freeway with the windows rolled up and all of a sudden you smell smoke through your car ventilation. your heart pounds as you sniff out each individual note of the smoke, wondering if your greatest fear--barbecued tire--has finally dawned upon you. but no. the smoke is too redolent of hickory and not rubber for that. you look ahead and realize the world is covered in the haze of a southern californian brush fire. relief is quickly tempered with foreboding. the ground, you feel, could rise up at any moment, burn up through your tires, and become absorbed into the relentless sunshine glaring through the fog. the apocalypse is near, and it will strike first in southern california. it is then you realize that the road to hell is probably paved with concrete highways.

my one complaint since moving to los angeles is that, for a city built on the film industry, no cinematic representation of los angeles seems to do it justice. all the movies shot in los angeles are too generous with their use of open space. the colors are too reserved and saturated, not blinding and washed out. the people are rosy-cheeked and happy, not tanned and determined. i want someone to make me a completely unromantic film which, i think, is the only way to fully capture the romance of this place.