WU LYF at the Lodge Room

Fifteen years ago, WU LYF were all the hype and they had this lore about their live shows being a hefty dose of energy amidst a bland, guys-with-moustaches-and-banjos indie rock scene. After being broken up since 2012, they’re back with a solid new album and a tour to boot.

I can’t tell if I’m just getting older, or everybody is, or there’s a legitimate disconnect in live shows now against back then, but it’s just so strange to watch a crowd stay relatively still for pretty dance-worthy music. Maybe it’s just because I came up from the punk scene where any given show would have complete strangers falling over each other and helping one another up in a communal joy, but it’s weird to see a rock band have a fairly sterile response (at least considering the energy they provided).

Nevertheless, they were solid, but I spent a lot of time wondering about if the relatively dormant crowd was a sign of an increasingly broken society, or if we’re all just fifteen years older and our knees can’t take jumping around as much as they used to.

After living in a number of small to mid-size cities throughout my 20s and 30s, I’ve landed in Los Angeles for the past five years and feel like it’s the right kind of fit—even though, somewhat ironically, I’d call it the most American city in the United States. It’s a sprawling collection of towns and suburbs connected by freeways and back roads more than it really is a city, with a few urban centers with skyscrapers orbiting the official ‘downtown.’ There’s any number of reasons this is an interesting set-up, which is a post for another time.

Right now I’m finding the most relevant aspect of this to be moving. I’ve spent my time in LA so far in a couple different apartments in East Hollywood—a neighborhood I liked a lot for its convenience to public transit, generally central location, decent walkability and a solid variety of places to eat. Now I live in Westlake, which feels like I may as well have moved across the country.

Fountain Ave, East Hollywood

It’s only four miles southeast of where I used to live, but the differences are stark. This is one of the reasons I really enjoy LA as a city—when I lived in Portland, it didn’t really matter what part I lived in. It was generally similar across the board and small enough where getting across town was no chore. San Francisco had more destination neighborhoods (where people might gravitate to the Mission on the weekend, no matter what part of the city you were from) and it didn’t seem to matter where anyone lived, as the city was only seven miles square. When I lived in those places, I felt like in order to change up my life I had to get out completely, whereas here I just have to find a new place in a new neighborhood and it feels about the same.

This offers such an interesting take on reinvention. A city that is known for being constantly in flux also offers the chance to change your life without ever leaving. While there’s plenty to have a grievance about in LA, the opportunity to have that kind of existential relationship with a place is pretty unique in America. And while my new place is pretty incredible and I hope to not leave anytime soon, it’s good to know if I ever need to, I won’t have to go far.

I moved recently. Or, perhaps, I’m in the process of moving. I still have some floors to vacuum and trash to throw away and a microwave to drive from East Hollywood to MacArthur Park. Nevertheless, things are in motion and perhaps that’s one of the reasons I’ve decided to begin writing online once again. Clean slates, fresh starts, et cetera.

I can’t exactly say why I stopped to begin with. It was a number of factors. My usual writing partner (a stiff drink) has been out of my life for coming up on five years now and, to be honest, it’s been proving incredibly challenging to get in the mood for anything creative while sober. Drinking can be a destructive habit, sure, but it also allowed for me to blur out the mess of the world and focus on just what I was feeling. Without that assistance, the overwhelming existential weight of everything makes the idea of writing, drawing, or even getting out of bed in the morning feel like a pointless endeavor. What good is it to do anything in America these days, anyway?

Then there’s the Dead Internet Theory, which contributes even more to the tsunami of What the fuck am I even bothering with any of this for? thought patterns that plague every spark of inspiration I may get these days. With most of the internet a devolving dialogue between bots and the rest of it a grotesque monetization scheme amidst the dying embers of capitalism, contributing to the static doesn’t feel like a valuable way to spend my time. (This is to say nothing of a declining literacy rate and the fact most people get content in short-form video now.)

Anyway, I’m moving, and I don’t know if it’s my new IP address or just the timing, but from my new place I can no longer watch YouTube videos. The site requires I sign in (I do not have an account) in order to view any of their content. For whatever reason, this pushed me over the edge and I guess re-starting this little blog is my way of putting one more site on the internet that doesn’t track its audience—no required log-in, no storing of cookies. Just whatever bullshit I come up with, free to any and all to read or leave.

So we’ll see where this goes, or if I can maintain it. I’ve taken down all the writing and work archives, as it’s been too long since I’ve painted anything and don’t really feel like hosting shit from ten years ago. I guess it was good while it lasted.