Why I Will Miss South Central

I hate to say it and wreck the street cred I've been working so hard to acquire, but I think I'm finally over the novelty of living in South Central. I've been here over a year and a half, which was about a year and a half longer than anyone expected. Sometimes I love it here still. Like when I see the Liberty Tax dancers on the street corners dressed like Statues of Liberty, skipping, twirling, waving, never without a smile. Sometimes I hate it, like when I get accosted in the drive-through at McDonald's by people asking me for money. Then there are the times at the laundromat when I'm simultaneously frightened and amused by the colorful characters that stop by to do the laundry or sell pirated DVDs and/or tamales.

This is what happens at 10pm on a Thursday night.

My neighbors set old Christmas trees on fire

in the middle of the street. Classy.

I hear the most hilarious phrases from passersby (as my door is exactly two feet from the sidewalk and there's no insulation). Which while loud and irritating, is also great fodder for comedy. One such conversation I overheard part of the other night around 11pm. My friend Eric has been crashing at my place for the past few weeks until he moves into his new apartment. Since it was Friday night and he is not an old fuddy duddy like me, he was on his way to a sexy party that didn't even start until I was pleasantly tucked away in bed. (I also had to work the next morning, so that also explains why I was not going to the sexy party.) I woke up just as he was locking the door to this conversation:

Ext. South Central Neighborhood - Night

A stylish young black man locks the door to the heavy iron screen door on an olive green and red tile apartment building. ERIC (25), is somewhat of a hipster, but not the obnoxious kind so we can forgive him for this association. He also likes boys. Like, a lot. That's important to the story. Two young ghetto girls dressed like hookers approach him.

GHETTO GIRL 1

You locking up?

ERIC

Um, yeah.

GHETTO GIRL 2

Where you going?

ERIC

To a friend's house.

(Ed. Note, Wisely not

mentioning the sexy party)

Eric starts walking towards the bus stop. The girls follow him, wobbling a bit in their high heels, obviously intoxicated. (Ed. note. This was all I heard. Meanwhile I was panicking, thinking he had been talking to my landlady. I'm probably not allowed to have guests for this long, since she pays the water bill. But I went back to sleep shortly after my panic attack. What follows is the story Eric told me later on.)

GHETTO GIRL 2

What's your name?

ERIC

Eric.

GHETTO GIRL 1

My name's Janae, but everyone

calls me Little Vicious.

GHETTO GIRL 2

And everyone calls me Baby Vicious.

Eric tries not to snicker under his breath and keeps walking.

LITTLE VICIOUS

You cute. I would totally

fuck you.

ERIC

Uh...

BABY VICIOUS

Oooh gurl, me too. I

would lay it on you.

ERIC

That's nice. No thanks, though.

LITTLE VICIOUS

What's the matter? Do you

like boys or something?

ERIC

Is it that obvious?

BABY VICIOUS

That's ok. We like other

girls sometimes.

LITTLE VICIOUS

Yeah, we even have gay

friends.

BABY VICIOUS takes out her cell phone to show Eric pictures of their gay friend.

BABY VICIOUS

Yeah he's cute too. I

would totally lay it on

him if he weren't gay.

LITTLE VICIOUS

We could call him, and

hook you two up if you want.

ERIC

That's ok. I actually have

to go. Nice talking to you.

BABY and LITTLE VICIOUS

Bye Eric, sexy!

A shiny old school cadillac pulls up to the sidewalk blaring a repetitive bassline so loud it shakes the foundation of the olive green apartment building. Baby and Little Vicious squeal and teeter over to the car. Eric walks faster. He may be African American, but he's afraid of black people.

That story makes me so happy for some reason. I get hit on all the time here also. But in the five years since I've known Eric, I've never heard him being so brazenly propositioned by females. He's just so out of his element here in the ghetto. We both are, I suppose. But that's not the reason I've decided to move. I'm a big girl now, and I think I deserve a big girl apartment. One that has a separate bedroom and living space. An apartment in which I can actually fit a whole couch instead of just my big blue comfy chair. Somewhere I can have friends over, or flying spaghetti monster-willing, an actual party without having strangers sitting on my bed. It would also be nice to not have people be afraid to come visit me like my sister-in-law who was genuinely nervous to bring my then six-month-old nephew to visit. I would love to have a place that has an actual heater and air conditioner so it's not miserable six months out of the year. Somewhere with a full size refrigerator that isn't just barely bigger than my microwave. Ideally it will be somewhere with my own washer and dryer, and an easy parking situation for both me and any guests I might have. I don't want to have to commute longer than 10 minutes to work. That's the big thing. And I also don't want roommates. Overall, I don't think it's too much to ask for. I just wish moving wasn't such a pain. Let the apartment hunt begin!

So long, South Central. It's been real. Real what, I don't know. But real nonetheless.

Competition

I can be a pretty competitive person, especially when it comes to middle school dodgeball, trivia-based board games, and chugging contests of any kind. But right now, I'm feeling the strain of competing against thousands upon thousands of others in the Los Angeles job market right now. Someone must be getting these jobs that I keep applying to. Someone who is more intelligent, more creative, more outgoing, and more experienced than me. Even jobs classified as 'entry-level' are being filled by people with ten years or more in that specific field. It's incredibly frustrating.

I found a television writing fellowship for ABC that sounds absolutely ideal for my situation. The opportunity to learn from real writers and potentially be hired by one of the biggest networks in America is absolutely incredible. The salary is outrageously good too. It doesn't start until next year and I wouldn't even find out until November if I got in. The deadline is July 1st, and already I'm starting to panic. I have plenty of time, and I know I could probably knock out a decent spec script of a sitcom by then. But knowing that there are only eight spots and who knows how many hundreds of applicants is making my head explode.

My confidence isn't too high after being turned down by a different ABC internship last Spring, and not even receiving a big fat "NO" from an NBC writing program in the Fall. I'm really hoping that in both cases it was because I screwed up on some logistical detail, forgetting to sign something, misreading directions, that sort of thing. But of course there's that voice in the back of my mind that says "You're just not good enough." It also tells me to set fire to things, but that's a whole separate batch of neuroses.

Hopefully I've gotten better over the past year. I've been collaborating on a feature script with a friend, in addition to writing random things on my own. Nothing really worth mentioning, but the practice has been beneficial. I hope. Anyway, I feel exactly like I did when I attempted to apply to the USC screenwriting program and had a nervous breakdown before I could even finish the application. The competition is fierce and brutal and painful and all manner of unpleasant synonyms for bad. Especially when what you're being judged on is creativity, which is completely subjective to begin with. It's like giving birth to a baby you think is beautiful, then sending it off to be ripped apart by pageant judges who blame you for producing such a piece of crap child. (Too much?)

I think I'm a decent writer. But I don't think I'm good enough to beat out hundreds of others who have dedicated their lives to writing and have a greater natural skill to boot. I'm not looking for sympathy or ego-boosters. I'm just saying that it's overwhelming to have a way to attain your dream dangling right in front of your face, and to know there's only the most infinitesimal chance it could be yours. All I can do is write the best script I can and hope to god everyone else applying comes down with mono. Or leprosy. Leprosy would be better. They can't type if their fingers fall off...