THE THIRTY MILE ZONE*

by Phil Brody

Dear LA . . .
This is not a love letter. In fact, lets call it a death threat. Thats right, City of Lost Angels, I will kill you one day. This I promise. I hate you that much . . .

BLAH

* In the entertainment industry, the Thirty Mile Zone (TMZ) represents the center of Hollywood. The term, coined in the 1960s, represents the area within a 30-mile radius from the intersection of West Beverly and North La Cienega Boulevard and is utilized by movie and TV execs to determine per diem rates and driving distances for crew members.

Dear LA . . .
This is not a love letter. In fact, lets call it a death threat. Thats right, City of Lost Angels, I will kill you one day. This I promise. I hate you that much. You are an elitist, inconsiderate, self-absorbed pig of a city who abuses its children. Truth be told, no one likes you and everyone talks about you behind your back. You are always congested. Most of us are allergic to your every ber. Every week spent here is a roller coaster ridedramatic ups making it hard to stie whitened smiles, and then downthe impossible to escape woe-is-me daze I refer to as bLAh. Oh, LA, f**k you very much. Your velvet ropes instill a grass-is-always-greener attitude from the get-go. I should resent you for thatand I dowhenever Im on the wrong side of the ropes. And can you please tell me why-in-the-hell you insist upon valets, even in strip malls? Ive been parking my own car since I was sixteen. Im pretty sure I can do it here, too. Youre crazy, La-La Landpsychotic at times. Youre lazy and sprawling. Youre clingy and intrusive. You talk on the phone too much. With that smoggy cologne you incessantly wear, everyone sees you coming from miles away. Yet, it seems youre proud of that. Your tantrumsmeasured on the Richter Scalewill be the death of me someday. This is a true story. Which is why I aim to kill you one day.

Of course, that day will be sunny and 75. This writer will rise before the sun and begin stringing letters into words into sentences into paragraphs. I will break to hike in a canyon close to home. Then Ill write some more. Thats pretty much my lot in life here on the Left Coast. This starving artist struggles, but truth told, its better than where I was beforebefore there was an us. Tinseltown, it was you who beckoned me. I was in a bad placegood city, but a bad placeand you sang, sail to me, sail to me, let me enfold you. You whispered, Use that bad place you're in, write what you know. If its good, tell you what, well nd producers to produce, directors to direct, actors to act, editors to edit the stories you spin. So I began to move in the left direction until there you were, smoggy cologne and all. At rst, I put up with all your sh*t because I recognized you provide unique opportunity. Plus, this quest of mine must be carried out within the thirty-mile zone. Those are the rulesunwritten, but resolute. Then, months dissolved into years and you began to make me laughoften, and often at myself. This is why I remain. LA, you harden me. You dare me. You threaten to kill me. Thank you for that. It took writing you this for me to realize those resilient enough to have celebrated anniversaries within this battle zone are survivors. And whatever happens in The End, I know I will be better for the time spent here with others in the same leaky boat. Way it is. To any new sh, welcome to the suck. To those living in bLAh, I got this round. Oh, and LA . . . I lied when I said this was not a love letter. It is, and always will be. Nonetheless, watch your back.
Phil Brody is a writer living in bLAh. emailphilbrody@gmail.com