For Your Health (Part 9)

I've decided to write another entry to this compelling, interesting, and totally-worth-reading series that will no doubt become a viral sensation, viewed by hundreds of millions of people worldwide. 

Why? Because today, I experienced another "episode."

I'd been feeling shitty all morning...just achy, and "not quite right." I couldn't get comfortable. I couldn't really focus, and I was very conscious of my "breathing," which is always a bad sign.

All of a sudden (all of the sudden?) my body went numb. I experienced shortness of breath. My hands went "clammy," and I stood up from my chair, fully ready to face my imminent demise like a man. A man standing up in a cubicle.

As I stood up, I grabbed my bottle of Xanax and popped two pills (I'm only supposed to take one at a time, so please don't tell my doctor I took two -- he'd be SOOO PISSED). Then I went for a short walk around the building to calm my nerves.

I was still feeling crappy, but not "scary-gonna'-die-soon" crappy. I got back into the office, feeling a bit unsettled...maybe on the cusp of a relapse, but not quite going all the way there.

I thought lying down might help, but I haven't found any good "layin' spots" in this office building yet, and I can't go to my car to lay down (because it's a scooter, not a car).

After about 10 minutes of examining my options, everything chilled out. My heart stopped racing, my brain settled down, and a nice calm washed over my body.

This reaction pretty much confirms what I'd figured / hoped all along -- this shit is all in my head. I'm an anxious mess, for some reason...and all I needed was a little pharmacology to get me back on track.

Of course, I'm still exhausting every medical option -- I'm seeing a lovely Ear/Nose/Throat doctor at the moment, who is helping me address my "slowly fading voice," but when he examined me he did not see any nodules on my vocal cords (after gagging me with a goddamn mirror a couple of times), which is good. In my mind, nodules mean cancer...and if he didn't see 'em, they must not be there.

I'm also getting my wisdom teeth pulled in two weeks...so maybe that will help sort out whatever residual shittiness that's causing my head space.

Basically, I'm encouraged by all of this doctor-ing. I'm no longer convinced that I'm in the throes of some early stage cancer, or that I've been struck by some rare and fatal malady. Turn out I'm just an anxious guy with some teeth issues and weak vocal cords who probably just needs to start working out more, and eating better.

I can live with that.

The Luckiest

Hey.

So, I've been very lucky. I wanted to tell you all that. Not that I haven't worked hard and earned things, but I must say, as far as things that are "out of my hands," I've done pretty good.

Especially recently.

For instance, I was going to write a big ol' fat blog about today's court appearance. I contested a speeding ticket I received last September, and today was the scheduled court date.

I was going to write about my massive amount of research...I was going to attach a transcript of the court proceedings...I was going to link to the technical document and laws that I used to contest the ticket. I was going to expose my success or failure, for the world to see and learn from.

So, at court today, I arrived with two notebooks full of laws, cross examination questions, technical manuals, legal motions, appellate court case rulings, and medical documents. I was ready to battle my ass off, for the sake of "lulz," entertainment, and education (now that it's over I can say with confidence that I was totally going 56 MPH in a 40 MPH zone -- so this had nothing to do with "justice").

What happened?

The officer never showed up. Case dismissed. Bam.

I win.

I'd worked my ass off for dozens of hours on a case that never actually went to trial.

Cool.

Another example of luck. A couple of weeks ago, one of my coworkers came to me and asked if I'd filled out my NCAA Bracket. The building I work in does a yearly "March Madness" competition, with prizes for the top 5 finishers (there were 64 entries this year...ironically enough). I hadn't watched a lick of college basketball all season, but I decided to just take 5 minutes and throw a bracket down...using the "Tyler Method," which picks a couple of upsets at random, favors programs that I recognized as being "good" at one time, and ultimately selects the "favorite" to win it all.

What happened?

I finished in 2nd place, and got a $100 gift card. Here's my bracket: http://games.espn.go.com/tournament-challenge-bracket/en/entry?entryID=5495201 I picked Kentucky because they were the favorites, and Kansas because they were good when I paid attention to college basketball, and I didn't want to have all #1 seeds in the final 4.

Nice.

Another example -- I got sick in 2012. If I'd had these symptoms three years ago, I would have had no health insurance, and it would have been miserable. Every trip to the doctor's office would have been horribly expensive, and (now that I've racked up nearly a dozen office visits without a definite diagnosis) totally unproductive and wasteful.

I can just imagine myself...driving my wife crazy...thinking that I'm going to die because I couldn't afford preventative, diagnostic care. It would have been an awful, helpless feeling that I'm sure millions of people around the United States (I was going to say "world," but that wouldn't have been true, would it?) feel.

Luckily, I have a good job, which affords me the opportunity to receive good insurance. Consequently, I'm very lucky that this happened when it did, though it was completely out of my hands...

Which is another example. I lucked into this job...which is a tremendous job that I'd really like to keep for as long as possible. Don't get me wrong -- I was qualified for this job, and I worked my butt off to go from "temp" to "permanent employee," but landing this thing in the first place was pure, unadulterated luck. I could have wound up at an office with a terrible, overbearing boss...or surrounded by jag-offs. But I really like and respect my bosses, as well as the folks I work with. It was totally out of my hands...but I'm so grateful I wound up here.

Then, there's my boy. I've already covered the "health insurance" thing, which was another fortunate aspect of Henry's arrival...but there's more than that. There is so much that can go wrong while the child's in utero. There are so many little genes and alleles and hormones that can go haywire, and create medical problems that are out of a parent's hands. And after the child is born there are things like Croup or Colic or Whooping Cough or SIDS that are sometimes impossible to avoid.

But we dodged those bullets. I have friends that did not. I did nothing to deserve this healthy little boy that I have, but I am eternally grateful for it.

Lastly, there's my wife. I don't like getting too mushy about this stuff, because no one wants to read about how much someone loves their wife...but just to let you in on a little secret -- I do. I really really do love this woman so all-consumingly that it's really had to put into words sometimes. I wind up using really descriptive words, like "really" when I have to explain it...which makes me feel really incapable of writing good. She makes me tongue-tied, but with my fingers. Finger-tied.

But with Erika, I have to say, that I did not earn her affection; not consciously, at least. I've been infatuated with plenty of girls before Erika, convinced that they were "perfect for me," but none of them felt the same way about me...and the ones that did weren't really that "perfect for me" after all.

I got really lucky to find someone that just complements me so well, and even more lucky that she felt the same way about me. Plus, she's really pretty...which is hard to imagine for a dude that looks the way I do. It was the ultimate "luck-out."

Our first wedding dance was to the Ben Folds song "The Luckiest." Turns out, it's totally true.

I hope you understand -- I'm not saying these things to brag. I try not to brag in this humble little blog space, though if I do manage an accomplishment I'll give it an ol' mention here (I've been racking my brain, trying to figure out a humble way to boast of my NCAA bracket accomplishment, for instance...and this is how I decided to bring it up).

What I'm saying is, I've been incredibly lucky. It could have just as easily gone the other way for me, then I would have been able to claim that I've been incredibly unlucky. But I haven't been unlucky, and I'm very grateful for that.

For Your Health! (part 6)

My god...a six-part series about my health problems? How fucking boring am I?

Ugh.

Anyway, I just wanted to share this...which is a round-up of my "symptoms." I have an appointment with my new cardiologist on Wednesday, and hopefully I'll start getting some goddamn answers.

So, as promised, here's the list of symptoms:

• Occasional (once every few days) episodes of chest pain, numbness, racing heartbeat, disorientation, and a feeling of dread (brought on by caffeine, alcohol, exercise, stress, awkward physical positions, dehydration, lack of food)
  
• Occasional headache, disorientation, and feeling of detachment
• Constant feeling of chest pressure
• Occasional chest pain
• Constant feeling of neck pressure / discomfort
• Occasional loss of appetite
• Frequent feeling of "shortness of breath", especially during an attack
• Occasional dry mouth
• General feeling of fatigue
• Occasional numbness in extremities
  

Now, those are some pretty awesome symptoms, if I do say so myself. Fairly comprehensive list.

Just so you know, I threw that whole thing into the WebMD symptom checker, and it spit out this list of 20 possibilities:

1. Coronary artery disease (I've been told I'm too young for this)
2. Heart rhythm disorder (my personal choice)
3. Generalized anxiety disorder (this would be my preferred disease, since it's easier to treat than the actual heart-related diseases)
4. Atrial fibrillation (just like #2, except more specific)
5. Panic attack (like #3, except more specific)
6. Heat exhaustion (in March? Nope. Next)
7. Supraventricular tachycardia (another heart rhythm disorder...this one is the specific one I singled out a month ago as the most likely, in my inexpert opinion)
8. Migraine Headache (unlikely...but my mom had them...but they don't explain the main issue regarding the chest)
9. Asthma (again, unlikely)
10. Allergic reaction (possible...but unlikely)
11. Aortic regurgitation (I would have picked this one, but I've had five different doctors give my heart a good stethescoping, and they heard nothing irregular -- plus, the echocardiogram that I had would have seen anything like this...but other than that, it looked like a pretty good fit)
12. Anemia; chronic (possible...but doesn't fit with all of the most apparent symptoms)
13. Acute stress reaction (like #3 and #5...it'd be nice if this was it)
14. Anemia; iron deficiency (I get far too much iron...so it's unlikely)
    
15. Excessive caffeine use (I've cut down to 10 oz. of coffee a day, so this is unlikely)
16. Muscle strain (possible, in addition to the other symptoms...but doesn't explain the heart stuff)
17. Pulmonary embolism (I liked this one for a while, but I don't have a cough, so it's unlikely)
18. Anemia (here's the generalized version of #12 and #14...but it's unlikely, since my blood work did not show anything anemic)
19. Tension headache (nope)
20. Acute sinusitis (again, nope)

So there we have it. Nothing terribly scary on the list (I consider "cancer" to be the only really scary thing), but nothing super definitive.

Well, hopefully I'll be able to get some stinking answers on Wednesday, and I won't have to waste all this time recklessly speculating.

For Your Health! (part 5)

I'm frustratingly healthy.

I don't know how else to put it.

I finally got a chance to speak with my doctor to go over the lab results from my physical. Other than a general "you ought to exercise more," I passed the screening with flying colors.

Good news, right?

At any other time in my life, I'd have been thrilled. I'ma live forever, damn you. My blood is pure. My urine is fantastically clean. My heart, lungs, thyroid, liver, kidneys, and pancreas are squeezing out fluids and enzymes at the appropriate levels.

However, I still don't feel good...which makes the "healthy" results more frustrating than freeing.

My chest doesn't feel good. Admittedly, it's better than it's been in a few weeks. My paroxysmal arrhytmetic tachycardial events (I just made that phrase up) have been few and far between. I get occasional headaches, and moments of disorientation...but I don't know if those are unrelated.

It's gotten to the point that, any time I see a random "rare" disease mentioned in the news, I look it up to see if it fits the symptoms I have. Probably not a healthy exercise.

Anyhow, I related my chest-pain concerns to the doctor, and he finally gave me a referral to a cardiologist. Now...if this frigging cardiologist can't find anything, then the total number of doctors that have had a peek under my hood and have found nothing wrong would stand at 5. That's almost a century-worth of experience and education. At that point, I think it'd be time to give one of them "headshrinkers" a call...because, frankly, if I am actually healthy, I'm sure as hell tired of feeling "not healthy."

For Your Health! (part 3)

What a difference a doctor makes, eh?

Hey gang. Well, good news and bad news. The good news is, the new doctor seems much more competent than the old guy. Good listener, patient, and he seems to be interested in putting me through a battery of tests (which is all I ever wanted).

The bad news is that this won't happen until Monday...which gives me another weekend of undiagnosed anxiety.

Which is okay, really. I haven't had an "episode" since last Wednesday, and I feel better than I have in quite some time. Still not great, unfortunately -- I've had some trouble sleeping, and I think I've convinced myself that if I sleep on my side my symptoms worsen (this is very likely psychosomatic).

But I feel like my health is in much better hands now. I'll keep you all posted.

For Your Health! (part 2)

So...I got nothing.

Scratch that. I do have a new "primary care provider."

But as far a "knowledge of the stupid thing that's making you fear that you're dying," I got nothing.

I saw the cardiologist on Friday, as planned. I filled out all the damn paperwork and waited for a long time (I didn't get into the office until forty-five minutes after my appointment).

Reminded me of this:



Anyhow, eventually I was called into a room, my blood pressure was taken, and my EK was G'd. Once again (unfortunately?), I passed both with flying colors.

After another 10 minute wait, the Doc arrived. He was a young-ish (for a doctor), and I noticed that we were wearing the same style of shoes.


These.

Maybe it was casual Friday? I don't know. Didn't really bother me...I just thought it was notable.

And he asked me the very general, "So, what's going on with you?"

I gave him a brief history of my symptoms (first attack on an airplane, several more since then, went to the emergency room, constant chest pain and tightness). He asked if I had a family history (I do), and if I was a smoker (I'm not). Then we started talking about Henry, and what I do for a living.

This whole thing took about 5 minutes, after which he stood up and said, "Okay, Tyler, come with me."

I thought, okay...cool. More test. Let's smoke this sucker out.

But, no. He sat me in front of a receptionist, and had her schedule me for a test next week, and a follow-up in two weeks. He shook my hand, made some kind of lame joke about being a Somali Pirate (I'd mentioned that I work in anti-piracy enforcement...harr harr...), and sped away from me.

So lamely, I filled out the sheets, collected my things, and went on my way...totally undiagnosed, and fairly certain that I was going to keel over before I could make it to my test next week.

Walking back to my car, I wondered if there were things that I could have told him that would have made him take me more seriously. Like, how I almost passed out when I was going for a jog? Or how my chest hurt constantly? Or how I had attacks even when I was at rest? Or how I was having trouble sleeping? Maybe he could have given me advice (lay off the caffeine, and slow down on the exercise) or something...but I got nothing. Nothing but a promise of "further testing."

This bugged me all the way home. Do I just need to start lying to these guys to get them to take me seriously? Why are they so stingy with the medical tests? Don't you want to rule things out first?

I mean, I'm new to all of this stuff. I only had a handful of physical exams after I graduated from college, and I've never had anything approaching "serious symptoms" of a disease before. I've never really had to deal with health insurance or hospital bureaucracy...so I don't know if I'm doing it right or not.

All I want is for someone to tell me either:

A) You're healthy, don't worry about these symptoms you've been experiencing, because they'll go away.

B) You've got something wrong with you -- here's what we can do to fix it.

So I decided to get a new doctor. Actually, I'd decided that a long time ago, but I only put in the request after the New Year. My old doctor seemed to cater mostly to geriatric patients. His support staff was irritating, and while his bedside manner was fine...it seemed to me that any time I came in with a concern, he seemed unfazed because of my "youth."

Don't know how the new guy is (I'm seeing him for the first time on Wednesday), but it will be interesting to get a second opinion on things. Part of the conditions of the switch are that, any and all "referrals" made from my old Primary Care Provider are "Null and void."

Which means no more "Dr. Sketchers." Even if that means I'll have to wait even longer for tests and test results...I'm totally fine with that too.

So I'll keep you all posted. Lots of stuff happening...but no real news, as of yet.

For Your Health! (part 1)

Some good advice:



So I'll give some background on my health, an issue that is ongoing. This will either serve as a cool "cautionary tale," an entertaining anecdote about me overreacting to a health scare. Either way, I think it'll be good reading.

Here's the scoop: I've not been feeling well for a while now...dating back to, probably, somewhere in early 2011. There was nothing specific about my ill health -- it felt like a string of colds, punctuated with bouts of "a bad cold." It felt like I was always "kind of sick" in one way or the other, for several months.

I did regular check-ups with my doctor (well...one regular check-up sometime in 2011) as well as several "Hey-is-this-normal-to-be-feeling-like-this" visits. Every time I got a clean bill of health, the worst critique being "you ought to lose a little weight."

And honestly, the constant sickness has never been really debilitating. More like a persistent, irritating cold that came and went. I honestly don't know whether or not this has contributed in any way to my current condition, or if it's just a coincidence. I just thought I should put that out there, just in case.

But I'm relatively young, and relatively active. I don't have any unhealthy habits, and my family has a pretty good history of longevity. Even if I was concerned (as my multiple unscheduled visits to my doctor will attest), I never thought it was anything serious.

Until things got serious.

When I was flying back to Los Angeles after visiting Seattle for Christmas, something happened. Something really shitty.

It's hard to explain, but I felt an odd sensation in my chest (kind of a gripping, or a bump, or thump, or something) followed by a very rapid heart beat, an inability to catch my breath, and a sense that I was probably going to die. Soon.

I took some deep breaths, tried to get comfortable, and kept telling myself, "Calm the fuck down." I wondered what a plane did if a passenger went into cardiac arrest on a flight.

Eventually, my heart stopped racing, and the pain went away. Not entirely, of course, but close enough.

I didn't quite know what to think of that...but it was in the back of my mind. I assumed that I just freaked out, and something to do with the altitude screwed with my biology.

When I was home alone in Los Angeles (my wife was in Idaho with her family) it happened again.

"Shit," I thought. "I'm going to die alone. Fuck."

Eventually, that second spell went away too...but I decided that I needed to get it looked at. So I threw on a jacket and went to the emergency room.

"Chest pain" and "shortness of breath" are a pretty quick ticket inside the ER, and I was promptly processed, tested, x-rayed, and shown to my room.

After a while, I started to feel better...which made me feel a little stupid. The staff was very nice, but the doctor came in and assured me that everything came back clean. In the end, he hinted that I might want to consider seeing a psychologist, and told me to follow up with my doctor within two days.

I looked up "Panic Attacks" when I got home, read the symptoms, and just started laughing. It was describing my "spell" exactly.

"Whew," I probably didn't say.

So I did a bunch of research on panic attacks. It's not a life-threatening condition, but it does require treatment. I figured I'd just go ahead and take care of it after the New Year.

And the New Year came and went without a relapse. I didn't have any more episodes, and I figured that it must have been an overreaction.

A couple of days after we returned from our New Years trip in Idaho, I got another one. This one woke me up.

"Fuck," I probably said. "I can't be panicked when I sleep. Why did this happened?"

So I Googled it. Yep. No problem. Panic attacks "can occur at any time, even during sleep."

Once again, I was placated. I slept again, Googled more ways to fight my panic attacks, and put "doctor's appointment" on my to-do list.

I had one or two more attacks. They were irritating, but I was able to function fine. I convinced myself that I just needed to "zen" my way through an attack.

Last weekend, my wife and I were given a rare "Child-free Weekend Day," and we used the time to go out to breakfast and take a walk.

I felt shitty the whole time...not because of the exquisite company, but because something was just not right inside of me. I couldn't put my finger on it...but stuff just felt off, and there was this vague, continuous, dull pressure (and sometime pain) in the center of my chest that would just not go away, and I couldn't get comfortable.

I let it go, and resolved to see my doctor first thing on Monday. Things seemed to be ramping up, and it stopped fitting the profile of "panic attacks" in my head.

Ironically, this dawning realization made me panic a little bit.

Last Sunday (the 22nd) I started my annual training for the Glendale Downtown Dash. Since tearing my calf muscle back in November, I'd been horribly inactive. The thought of training and running was daunting...but I thought it'd be a good way to start to try to eventually sort of possibly maybe somehow get back into shape.

My run started off pretty good. I was pushing our jogging stroller, and Henry seemed to be enjoying himself (I was worried that he'd find running as boring as I do).

About seven minutes into this, it happened again...oh boy did it happen.

Wham!

My heart fell like a stone (or cinched up like a trash bag, or seized like an FBI), and my body went numb. I tried to breathe, but I could only pant. I looked behind me -- there was another running group back there, and I was hoping that one of them knew CPR in case my little ticker stopped ticking.

My heart started racing...which I suppose is better than "stopping" altogether. I started walking slowly...taking deep breaths, and trying to not pass out. Eventually, my heart returned to its normal pace, but that pain in my chest lingered.

I got back to car and called my doctor's office, and spoke to the "on-call" physician. I explained my symptoms, and he assured me that it probably wasn't my heart, because I was too young, or something. I asked him if I should go to the emergency room, and he said I probably didn't need to.

I tried to "sell" my symptoms to him, even fibbing at times to make them appear worse...but he did not seem concerned. My confidence in his ability to diagnose the issue was pretty low.

I thanked him and hung up the phone.

I was wrecked with dread for the entire rest of the day, and on through the evening. I tried to savor every moment with my wife, child, and friends...just in case that moment happened to be my last.

Needless to say, I did not sleep well.

The chest pain was still there on Monday morning. It was more dull and abstract, but it was there none-the-less.

I got an early appointment with my doctor. I described my symptoms, and he assured me that I'm outside of the "heart attack" range ("I've never seen a 32 year old have a heart attack," is my paraphrase of his reassurance).

However, he said it did sound a lot like an arrhythmia. This is a broad diagnosis that ranges from "relatively minor and treatable," to "dangerous and deadly," though my doctor seemed to think it was "atrial" than "ventricular" (atrial is generally preferable...from what I've read).

Personally, I'm rooting for paroxysmal supraventricular tachycardia, because it's got a cool-sounding name, a handy acronym (PSVT), I can control it myself using a cool thing called the Valsalva Maneuver, it's treatable, and it's "generally not life threatening." But I'm also okay with "There's nothing wrong with you at all LOL!"

My doctor told me that I'd have a referral to a cardiologist in the mail "ASAP."

Ah...the glories of the HMO.

Today I finally got my referral, and have an appointment for tomorrow at 9. I hope I do well.

Of course, this could either be the conclusion, or just the beginning (hence, the open-ended "part 1" in the title). Arrhythmia could be the disease, or just a symptom. I could have a little flutter that can be controlled, or I could require a heart transplant (which means I'm in the right place -- our local hospital, Cedars-Sinai, is ranked first nationally).

Either way, there are lots of treatments available, and since heart disease is so bad (it's the leading cause of death in the US) there has been a crap-load of research, and many new innovative treatments.

Which is my way of saying, I'm in good hands...and I even have insurance this time! If this had happened three years ago, I would have been screwed. FIGURATIVELY! (I'm trying to start using that in the way that people misuse "literally"...as you can see, it's not going well so far).

I'll keep you posted. I know that I've obsessed with death a bit in this space...so I'll try my damnedest to keep things positive. But you know me. I write what I'm feeling...and if I receive shitty news, you can expect things to get very uncomfortable in this blog space. Sorry, but that's how it goes.

So enjoy! And thanks for reading!

(part 2 here)

More Ruminations on Death and Dying

Warning: This post is going to get a little macabre, and probably pretty self-indulgent. I apologize, but it's my damn blog, so I do what I want with it.

Also, Erika...you probably shouldn't read this. Just trust me.

I'm sitting at my desk. It's 1:45 PM, and I've just finished my Lean Cuisine -- Chicken in Peanut Sauce. I'm watching an episode of Grey's Anatomy, hunched over my keyboard with my feet folded underneath my chair.

I've had a pretty bad headache all day, probably from stress or dehydration. I take two Tylenol every couple of hours, and that's helped me get through the day.

I cough involuntarily, and notice that my heart is racing. I lean back in my chair and take a couple of deep breaths. My heart is still racing. I loosen my belt and take a drink of water. Something clicks in my head, and I hear a buzzing noise and the pain in my head goes from "irritating" to "debilitating." Suddenly I can't focus on the screen in front of me, and I try to just focus on breathing as I slump back in my chair. Sounds are echoing in my head, distantly.

I try to lift my hand to the phone, but my arm won't move. I'm still breathing, but I can't see anything -- my field of view is now just a blurry dot in the center of my vision. I need to make noise, so I try. I moan, grunt, sigh, anything to catch my coworkers' attention. Hopefully they'll see my unconscious body and come to my aid. Shouldn't be long -- people walk by my cubicle all the time.

I have a lot of thoughts racing through my head. Is this a panic attack? Am I having a stroke? Is this going to cost a lot of money? Will my brain ever work the same?

Will I survive?

Unfortunately, I've had a brain aneurysm.

My coworkers find me and I'm taken to the hospital, which is just a couple of blocks away. I survive the trip, and live on life support for a couple of days, but I'm essentially a vegetable. Eventually, after the family has a chance to gather, my life support is terminated.

In a couple of days I've gone from a normal, seemingly healthy 32 year old man with all kinds of silly notions and opinions, to a boring old corpse.

This is my greatest fear, and also my biggest obsession. Consequently, it's probably a source of quite a bit of tension for me, as I've self-diagnosed myself with "stroke-like symptoms" probably a half-dozen times this year.

Dying scares me, and I think rightly so. Self-preservation is hard-wired into every single living thing, thanks to evolution. But then again, fear of death for a healthy individual is (as far as I know) just for us humans.

But I think about death a lot, and it bums me out.

For example: a road I take every day was closed this morning. I figured there must have been an accident or something. So I got to work and found this article: http://abclocal.go.com/kabc/story?section=news/local/los_angeles&id=8440070

This fatal accident happened about 2 hours before I cruise down that road for my commute. I drive a scooter. If this had been me, it would have been very bad.

Sometimes dying makes sense -- old people die all the time. Dumb people die all the time. Sometimes people get struck with genetic diseases, or get cancer for whatever reason. People take years to die, or can die in just a couple of months after ignoring symptoms.

But sometimes dying is just totally unfair.

For instance, there's this article from the Seattle Times about a couple that was sitting in their Hyundai, waiting at a stoplight. As they were sitting in their car, probably listening to the radio, or talking about inane stuff, an SUV came barreling down the street and smacked into them, going about 80 miles per hour. The Hyundai caught fire, and the couple, doing nothing at all to put their lives in danger, died together.

http://o.seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2016772748_lakecitycrash16m.html

Stuff like this is just not fair. They weren't driving fast. They weren't drunk or doing drugs. They were sitting in a stopped car, and they met an unimaginable fate.

So what do I do when I see this? Usually I gasp in horror and think about how it could have happened to me, or to someone I love. Then I look for names.

Kristopher Martin was one of the people killed in the Hyundai.

I want to see Kristopher's face.

There's a picture of him in the article. Looked like a nice enough guy...probably vegetarian, shopped at Trader Joe's. Probably liked hiking. I've known a lot of guys like Kristopher.

He was also in a band called "Touch My Hand for Tenderness." I wondered if there were any clips of the band on YouTube. There were.



Typical Seattle Indie band kind of feel. On the YouTube channel, they've listed their genre of music as "Adventurous Creative Ineptitude." Self-deprecating; I love. I also love that they're basically playing on a patio, with a bunch of people walking around between the camera and the band. Kristopher's playing guitar, and he's also the lead singer. He wasn't a very great singer, but he was a pretty decent musician. He looked really tall, too.

After a little time poking around, I feel like I knew Kris pretty well. I probably wouldn't have been friends with the guy, but I could have had a pretty good conversation with the guy.

I couldn't find much about his girlfriend, but then again, I didn't look very hard. She seemed like a nice, quiet, academic type.


But I felt a compulsion to get to know this people...which is basically why I have this blog.

I'm not going to last forever. Hell, I might go tomorrow...and I honestly don't know what my obituary would look like. It wouldn't be very impressive -- it'll be tragic, sure, because of the wife and infant son and my young age and all that...but as far as "achievements," it's not like I built the Hoover Dam or anything like that. I'm just a guy who lived for a while, procreated, then all the sudden wasn't there any more. Nothing legendary or epic about my life to merit any more than a passing mention in the newspapers, depending on the details of my demise.

But I'd like to have some kind a legacy. Not some major "honorary award" kind of legacy, but just something where people who knew me could come and go, "Oh yeah...that guy. Huh." And people who didn't know me could come and go, "Oh, this guy was fascinated with his own death. That's ironic."

Basically, this blog is my legacy.

Because, as you might know, I've been doing a lot of family genealogy. The last couple of generations are pretty well fleshed out, as I've got photographs, family stories, and personal experiences with these people. I've written down what I can, because that's the kind of flavor later generations will enjoy. But you go back 100 years in my family tree all I have are the occasional black and white photo, and a lot of handwritten census bureau information. I don't know those people, and I wish to hell that I did.

So, ultimately, I'd just like people to know me...if they're curious. I'm sure there are other folks out there who feel some sense of obligation to honor the recently deceased...especially those that met sudden ends, under tragic circumstances. I'd like to give those folks the opportunity to know me, should I meet with some kind of untimely demise. And if I don't, then I'm totally fine with that, and instead this can just be a place to funnel the delusions of a man who thought his life was worthy of some kind of public scrutiny.

Injured...

Quick update time: I've been taking Karate (technically Hapkido) lessons for the last three months.

Okay, up to date now? Good.

So today I went to my usual 6:45 PM lesson at the Team Karate Centers in Woodland Hills. I was running late, so I came in at the end of the stretching (this would prove crucial).

After a few warm-up roundhouse kicks, me and my fellow orange belts started doing some "power kick" drills with a partner. The first one was the front kick. I ripped off about ten of those without a problem. The next drill was the switch front kick, where you quickly switch your feet then kick with your off-foot.

My first kick was great. But on the second one, right after I switched my stance, someone whacked me in the back of my calf with a staff or stick or something.

I was a little irritated so I whipped around to face my attacker. No one was there.

Oh. Shit.

I took a seat on the mat. Ow. Owowowowow. First thing I thought was: Achilles tendon. I remember hearing horror stories in my football days of guys rupturing their Achilles tendons, and having it bunched up in a little ball in their heel.

I felt my Achilles. Still there. The pain was focused on the meaty part of my calf, well out of the way of my Achilles.

Speaking of pain. Yeah. It was not going away. It wasn't getting any worse, but it was kind of just this low, aching rumble. I knew I had myself a classic "bad injury."

Someone fetched some ice for me, and I sat on the mat...lamely holding the plastic bag of ice on my injured calf muscle while I tried to wrap my head around this. I've never had any kind of crippling injury before, after about 20 years of competitive sports in my youth, so this was a new thing for me. Images of emergency rooms, surgeries, pain meds, and medical bills swam through my head.

I told my Sensei that I was done for the night. He told me to take three days off and get some rest. I nodded, bid him goodnight, hobbled to my car, and threaded my way through a clogged 405 freeway.

When I got home, Google calmed me down a bit. From my good friends at Foot Education: "Calf (Gastrocnemius) muscle tears commonly occur in middle-aged recreational athletes while performing actions that require sudden changes in direction."

Recreational athlete? Yep. Middle aged. Yep. Change in direction? Uh huh. Looks like I got me a torn calf muscle. I remember when I was young and limber and invincible...ah well. Crap like this is just going to start happening to me now, I guess.

Bummer.

So, the good news is: no surgery (probably). Bad news is: crutches, pain, immobility, and a terrible inability to render parental assistance. I guess it could be worse...

Coming to Los Angeles Part 4: I'm Here! Now What?

So you did it, huh? You moved. You actually moved. I can't believe you actually frigging did it...

Idiot.

Ha ha. You're screwed now. LOL!

Good luck earning back all of that money you used to move here.

You won't last a year.

Probably won't even last six months.

But hey, if you do make longer, be prepared for several years of obscurity and failure.

I hope you like appearing in "self-produced low budget web videos" for the rest of your career!

Also, it's a good idea to prepare excuses to friends and relatives as to why you haven't "made it" yet.

Here are some popular ones:

"I don't have an agent, so..."

"I have an agent, but he's really crappy and he never gets me auditions, so..."

"I'm not in the union, so..."

"I joined the union too early and I can't compete with lower-paid non-union actors, so..."

"I'm not pretty enough, so..."

"I'm not skinny enough, so..."

"It's not what you know, it's who you know, so..."

"My boss threatened to fire me if I went to that audition, so..."

"I don't have any credits, and I can't get any credits because I don't have any credits (CATCH-22!), so..."

"I've just been really unlucky, so..."

"There aren't any roles for people my age/type/build/hair color/gender/ethnicity/species, so..."

"I need new headshots, but I can't afford them, so..."

And so on. You can use one of mine, or make your own! It's fun!

But that reminds me, have you seen my latest web video? It's hilarious!!! It's got a 25% funny on "Funny Or Die"!!!!

Crazy Train - watch more funny videos

Ugh. Okay. Sorry. Enough with the bitterness and negativity. We're here to have fun and build up your confidence, right?

Right?

Anyhow, I was totally kidding anyway. You're definitely going to make it here...because you have spunk. Talent. You've got star power, kid, and you will "make it" where others have failed.

It's your destiny.

But first things first -- once you've unpacked, set up your internet/cable, and thrown your own "Welcome Me to Los Angeles" BBQ/Housewarming, just take a week to do some LA stuff.

If you're on a budget (aren't we all), you should spend that first week doing some free/cheap stuff. Don't worry -- there's no rush. The "industry" isn't going anywhere.

Here's some budget-friendly ideas for your "Los Angeles Honeymoon" period. Check out Griffith Park (and the Observatory). Go down to the Santa Monica Pier. Check out the Walk of Fame. Experience the crowds of interesting people at the Venice Boardwalk. Buy a hot dog at Pinks. Eat at In-and-Out. Take pictures of the Hollywood sign (you can hike up behind the sign if you're up to it...I've done this about a half-dozen times). Walk around at The Grove. Get intimidated by the rich folks on Rodeo Drive. Drive around and locate some famous filming locations from your favorite TV shows and movies. Shoot an "I MOVED TO LA!!!" video about your adventure, featuring all of the neat places you went and post it to YouTube.

Then post the link here, so I can watch it. I promise I'll watch in a dimly lit room, late at night, with a few days' worth of stubble, wearing sweatpants, and eating a Snickers bar.

What fun!

Once you've got that out of your system, and you're now in love with Los Angeles (no one wants to hear you complain about Los Angeles, so please don't do that)...you can get down to the nitty-gritty of "breaking into the acting business."

But where to start?

Well...I'll tell you. Step one is the subject of my next blog entry: Marketing Materials.

Until then, here's another great web video I wrote, produced, and directed!!!

Parenthood

I'm going to try to not talk about parenthood too much here. I mean...I think it's inevitable that I'll talk about it, because it's kinda' the "big thing" going on in my life right now. Plus, whenever I say "I'm not going to be that guy," I typically renege on my promise almost immediately (for instance, I said I wouldn't change my Facebook profile picture to my child's face...and I would up breaking that oath about 10 hours after my child was born).

But, while I have the time, I just wanted to say a few words about being a dad. Or, at least, being a new dad...because I have no idea what it's like to be a long-term dad (obviously).

Strange. My kid might read this some day. Henry, if you're reading this: Hi! I'm going to say stuff about you! How exciting!

Here goes.

Well, first off, I'm going to talk about what hasn't changed, for me.

I thought, in my weird brain, that there was going to be some kind of shift. Like, all the sudden my priorities would change, and I would start sacrificing everything for my child. His desires would fill every waking moment, and seeing him happy would be the only thing that would make me (in turn) happy.

That didn't happen. I mean, for example, video games. I thought I'd swear off video games forever, and spend all of my time doting over my child's delicious, growing brain. But, in reality, I'm pretty sure I played a few video games while we were still at the hospital, as he was sleeping in his little hospital bassinet a few feet away. And my video gaming has continued unabated since that time. I just can't get away from it, apparently, which must mean I'm not sacrificing too much time...

I also am not sacrificing my own happiness to make my kid happy...and I don't think I will do that, or could do that. I feel like that's not fair to him -- for me to put all of that pressure on him to live the successful, happy life that his dad gave up when he was born. Happy parents make happy babies. That's my theory, at least.

This is not to say that I won't sacrifice. I mean...that's kinda' inevitable, right? For instance, it'll probably be a couple of years before we're able to get back to Europe. And dates with my wife (one my favorite things) will have to be at "infant-friendly" locations for at least a couple of years. Pretty much, any time I want to do something, I can't just plan it, then do it. I'll have to consider, "Well, what about Henry?"

But that fundamental shift in thought from "me" to "only him" hasn't happened. Henry's happiness does not consume my every waking moment...like I thought it would. I mean, that might happen at some point...but I don't know. I don't think it will.

Who knows?

Anyway, so what what has changed?

Quite a bit, of course. The biggest thing is, I've never really needed to be so mindful of something so helpless before. And he is -- he's so helpless. All he can do is fuss and cry. He can't feed himself, he can't entertain himself, he can't even talk. It's mentally exhausting caring for him sometimes, and I really look forward to those moments when he falls asleep...just so I can relax.

I mean...I feel ashamed admitting that...because in my head I'm supposed to love every second he's awake, so I can play with him and grow that lovely little brain of his. But that "asleep time" is so very, very nice. Whenever he's awake, I'm stressing about how to take care of him...but when he's asleep, I just look at him and think, "Goddamn...what an awesome kid."

Of course, I mean, I love him when he's awake. For instance, last Saturday I spent a good 30 minutes, just hovering above him saying "buh buh buh buh buh buh buh" and "muh muh muh muh muh muh muh" over and over. His smile just absolutely melts my cruddy little heart, and any time he tries to speak, or any time he makes a noise that isn't crying or straining, it's just fantastic.

It's hard work, though. And, inevitably, after he's had spent 30 minutes of gibberish-talking to daddy he'll want to do something else...and if he's not entertained he starts fussing. And if he's not scheduled to eat for another 2 hours, I have to find some way to entertain him until I can bring the bottle out (or hand him off to mommy). So I try walking around with him...or laying him on his play mat...or putting him in his swinging chair...or his bouncy chair...or singing to him...

Oftentimes these things will work for about 10 minutes before it's "fussy-time" again.

So when I say that I love him the most when he's sleeping...I'm not saying that I wish he'd sleep through this first year and he'd then wake up at the end totally ready to walk, talk, and laugh (although...now that you mention it...).

Because I love lots things about him now. Awake things. I love how he's grown from this squalling little pooping and peeing flesh sack, to a little clumsy person I can interact with. I love when he falls asleep on my chest after his late-night feeding. I love how he wobbles when I stand him on his feet. I love all the strange cooing noises he's started making. I love his little goofy, dimpled smiles. I love his fat little knees, his soft feet, and his big ol' double chin. I love the smell of his hair. I love how he holds onto my fingers when I put them in his hands. I love how amazed he is at everything. I love how, when he's startled, he splays his arms out to the side. I love his little sighs and grunts. I love taking him up in my arms. I love watching his eyelids droop right before he falls asleep. I love how his head bobs gently when I hold him in the "seated" position. I love his enormous blue eyes.

I don't love how mushy that last paragraph was. Blech. Sorry Henry...hopefully you skipped forward to the next paragraph once you saw what I was doing there.

So yeah...that's parenthood for me. I do kind of wish that he were already about 3 years old or so...because it seems like this first part is just taking forever. But I'll probably look back one day and realize (like every parent does, apparently) that they just "grow up to fast."

I just hope I'm doing it right. I mean, I'm not fishing for encouragement or anything...because I sure think I'm doing it right. I just hope I'm not wrong.


My boy.

Baby Terminology

Wife and I have come up with some terminology that we use in the caring of our son. Thought you might enjoy it -- here's the list:

- Bean (proper noun): Henry Sebastian Rhoades' primary nickname. "Who's my little Bean?"

- Num nums (noun/verb): the partaking of breast milk. "You ready for num nums, buddy?"

- Back-burp (verb): the process of bringing Bean's knees up to his chest to get him to squeeze out a fart or two or fifteen. "I tried to back-burp him for a bit, but nothing came out. Maybe he's still hungry?"

- Boy stuff (noun): the cool stuff that dad and Bean do when mom needs a break -- usually involves Bean sleeping while dad watches TV. "Go ahead and take your bath. We're going to hang out on the couch and do boy stuff."

- Sneak attack (noun): when Bean pees during a diaper change. "I had to change his onesie too -- there was a sneak attack while I was putting stuff on his diaper rash."

- Burples (noun/verb): both the act of burping the Bean, as well as the resulting burp. "You need burples, Bud?"

- Squirkles (noun): nickname given to Bean when he's not quite asleep, and not quite awake. The nickname reflects the weird noises he makes at that time. "What's up, Squirkles? You going to stay awake for num nums?"

- Bean-o-potamus (noun): nickname given to Bean when there's no rush, he's not crying, and his parents are in good spirits. "Would you mind holding Bean-o-potamus while I go get dinner ready?"

- Beanamus Maximus (noun): nickname given to Bean when he's in a seated position -- often shortened to Beanamus. "All right Beanamus Maximus, it's time to take you for a walk."

- Gurgles (noun): nickname given to Bean just after he's just finished eating, before being burped. "Was those some good num nums, Gurgles?"

- Goebbles (noun): variation of the nickname Gurgles -- used when Bean expresses some form of anti-Semitic behavior. "Hey Goebbles, stop writing your manifesto and go to sleep."

- Bud (noun): nickname given to Bean when asking him a question. "Hey Bud -- you crap your pants again?"

- Punchy (adjective): word used to describe Bean's cheeks, which are lovely, angelic and round. "Lookin' punchy today, Beanamus."

- Gunk (noun): the yellow crap that collects in the corner of Bean's eyes. "I'm going to wet a cotton ball to clean up the gunk."

- Fussing (verb): what Bean does when he's not sleeping -- normally involves grunts, flailing, and (occasionally) crying. "I put him in his crib at ten, but he was fussing, so I got him out and fed him again."

- Binky (noun): the one pacifier that Bean likes, with the white shield -- if we ever misplaced it, we'd be lost, "Maybe try his binky, see if he falls back asleep?"

- Boppy (noun): the u-shaped pillow that is used during num nums, as well as any time Bean is uncomfortable just lying flat on his back. "Can you hand me the boppy? I'm going to feed him again."

- Diapy (noun): diaper. Pronounced: die-pee. "Hey Bud, you need a new diapy?"

Success?

This year's tax return was quite a shock, for a number of reasons. The first (and most important) being that, for the first time since I was a teenager, I owed money. Not just "money," but a substantial amount of money.

So I decided, after consulting with a few "entertainment biz" colleagues, to see if an "accountant" could improve my numbers at all.

I assembled all of my 2010 receipts...laboriously went through my checking account statement...and printed out about 100 pages worth of tax document information from the current and previous year. I was planning on writing off as much as I legally could.

I brought it to the accountant...who was a very unconventional, borderline slovenly older gentleman dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He spent about 10 minutes looking at my assembled tax documents:

"I see that you put all of your deductions on your Schedule C."

"Yep." I guess that's the name of the document the HR Block software used.

"Makes sense. That's the only was you're going to get any money back."

He continued flipping through my documents, looking a little nervous. "So, Tyler, are you familiar with the hobby loss rule?"

"Um...no."

"Basically, it's an IRS law that says if you lose money on your business in three of five years, it's considered a hobby, not a job."

"Oh."

Awesome. So this meant I probably wasn't going to do much better on my tax return (shortly after the hobby loss discussion, he said, "I'm going to be brutally honest with you; I can't help you. I'm not going to take your money, but I suggest you just eat the cost.").

But not only that, it also meant that I'm not sure I can call myself a professional actor any more; technically. I mean, I'll still do it...because it sounds cool. but according to the IRS, I currently have a very expensive "acting hobby."

Don't worry -- you haven't stumbled upon a "Woe is me!!! I'm not famooose yet!" blog entry that every actor with a blog posts a minimum of once a year.

On the contrary...I've never wanted, nor expected fame and fortune. I mean, my goal from the moment I moved to Los Angeles was to be a "working actor." It hasn't happened yet, but that's why it's a "goal," not an "expectation." If it never happens...then so be it. I tried, like hundreds of thousands that have come before me, and I didn't quite get there. It's totally fine, and I'm prepared for it.

But ideally, of course, I'd like to be a working actor. I'm trying, sure, but I definitely could be doing more. I think that's one of the great fallacies that actors buy into -- the "I've worked my ass off, and I have nothing to show for it" whine. Not everyone works their ass off as much as they should/could/say they do. It's a lie that actors tell themselves to excuse their lack of success. Most "actors" have day jobs that consume too much of their time...or they watch television...or play video games...or take on a non-acting hobby of some kind...and time gets wasted.

Then again, only crazy people are actually thinking about how to improve their acting careers every waking hour...and crazy people are generally pretty terrible actors (in spite of what you may have heard).

Another lie actors tell themselves is: "It's just a matter of time" (I tell this lie to myself all the time, in an effort to stay positive). I mean...that's true for some people, but for a lot of people it's just another excuse for the inevitable depressing career examination. For most folks, no matter how hard they try, no matter how much effort the into it, and no matter how long they try, they're probably not going to reach the level of success they desire/deserve.

Success is a funny thing. I've been around quite a bit of success...which is what prompted this blog entry, I suppose. I've worked with two Tony winners (one also has a Pulitzer, the other owns a Peabody), an American Idol Runner-Up, six actors that are currently (or will soon be) appearing on Broadway, and countless others with Broadway credits, legitimate film and television credits, and popular voice-over credits (including the voice of Portal's GlaDOS).

If you couldn't tell, I love name dropping.

The point is (is there a point?) I've seen success happen. For the most part, when I knew these people they weren't successful working actors; they were struggling local actors who became successful through hard work, talent, perseverance, and good fortune.

And of course, success was richly deserved by each person.

Now, if I were the jealous type, I'd be pretty disheartened by all of this. "Why not me???" an annoying person might moan. But I'm not that guy (for the most part). I'm proud of all of them, and honored to have known them before they hit it big. I consider them friends, and I think they'd consider me likewise.

But what about my "career?" Personally, I don't think my time has passed, to be delusionally frank (it's just a matter of time!!!), and I don't think I'll ever give up on it. When I look back at my silly little life, even if I don't ultimately become a success in the entertainment industry, I can always be proud of the fact that I moved to Los Angeles, tried to achieve all of my dreams, and came pretty damn close.

So I'll keep trying...because nothing's stopping me, really. There will be some months where I'm working very hard, and doing a lot. There will be other months where I'm just sorta' sitting on my ass, doing nothing. But I don't see myself ever really stopping. If it's a job, or just a hobby, I don't think I'll ever stop acting.

And if success happens; cool. If not...well damn; at least I tried.

Coming to Los Angeles Part 3: Living in Los Angeles

"Hi, Tyler," you sneer, "where should I live?"

The truth is...if you want to be "available" for the acting stuff, you could live pretty much anywhere you like, as long as you can get to downtown Los Angeles in about two hours, during rush hour (ask Google Maps what that means). Ask anyone who lives outside of town -- they will all say: "Aw, the commute's not that bad." And, in spite of what you've heard about the evils of Los Angeles traffic...generally, it isn't that bad.


"But Tyler," you simper, "I hear there's lots of crime happening in Los Angeles. Should I be worried?"

Good question. Crime is bad, and if you're really concerned, you'll probably want to live in an area with a low crime rate (and if you want to drive yourself berserk with a bunch of terrifying interactive maps and statistics, go here: http://projects.latimes.com/mapping-la/crime/).

But the truth of the matter is, no matter where you are -- from Inglewood to Brentwood, from Compton to Calabasas, from Watts to Westwood -- people have to live. There are no "war zones" in Los Angeles, in spite of how scary it might look on the outside, and in spite of the looming specter of "gangs" and "drugz."

The neighborhood that looks like "the ghetto," is probably full of families who are just going about their day-to-day business. I guarantee you it's safer than it looks. Our first year, we lived in Silver Lake, which is one of the nicest areas east of Hollywood...but whenever we had visitors, we would be inundated with sirens and police helicopters. We knew we were safe, but to the outsider, it can seem quite scary.

On the other hand, I had a friend who moved to Los Angeles and lived in a very upscale apartment in Westwood (one of the nicest areas west of Hollywood). On her first night in the city, a SWAT team was called in to arrest one of the tenants of her building.

But generally, things are safer than they seem. Having said that, though...no one wants to live in a bad neighborhood. It sucks. It's loud, irritating, and scary (especially at night). It's not necessarily "dangerous," but all the same, it may sound like common sense, but I'm going to say it anyway: the better the neighborhood, the better the neighbor.

So, a general guideline? Stay north of the 10 (except for Culver City), west of the 110 (except for Pasadena), south of the 118 (unless you love really long commutes), and east of Malibu (if you can afford to live in the 'Bu, then more power to you...but you might want to use all that goddamn money you have to live a little closer to the action). That ought to put you in a good-ish area, close enough to all of the actor-type places you'll need to get to.


"Hey Tyler," you bleat, "why do you keep calling freeways 'The [freeway number]?'"

Good question. That's just how they do it here. Don't ask me. I spent most of my life traveling on "405", "99" and "I-5". Now every freeway has a "the" in front of it. I personally don't care for it...but when in Rome, right?

Los Angeles is divided up into three main areas -- The Valley (San Fernando Valley), Hollywood (The area just south of the Hollywood Hills, to just north of the 10) and "Everywhere else" (if you live outside of one of those two areas, you'll have to say the name, then possibly explain where it is using well-known areas -- for instance, I live in Tujunga, which is north of Glendale and La Crescenta, and just south of Sunland...which is how I describe it to everyone who asks).


"So, Tyler," you squeal, "what's the best place to live?"

Good question. It totally depends on your situation. Generally, if you want to be near the places that you need to be at as an actor, Hollywood is probably the best place to live. Most of the commercial audition studios (I'll discuss those later) are in the Hollywood area, and the majority of the casting offices are around there too. Of course, not everyone wants to live in Hollywood, because it's really expensive, and really crowded. It's like living in Manhattan, but without any viable means of public transportation. So if you're into that, then by all means...

But from what I can tell, no one actually lives in Hollywood. No one. Trust me, I've looked. It's too expensive, and crowded (did I say that already? I can't remember...). But if you find a place, and you like being pestered all the time, then go for it.

But other than that, the places that are famous for being full of rich folks (Beverly Hills, Brentwood, Bel Air, Westwood, anywhere in the Hollywood Hills) are, of course, going to be good places to live. Also, any neighborhood with a large gay population (West Hollywood and Silver Lake) is likewise going to be a great place to live.

So, what are some other choices, for you people that can't afford $3,000 a month in rent?

Personally, like all people in the Los Angeles area, I'm completely biased toward the places that I've lived. So I'd recommend you live there too.

I loved living in Silver Lake. It's a lovely, well-located area that's away from the throbbing beat of Hollywood and Downtown Los Angeles, you can get pretty much anywhere in 15 minutes -- including places up in the valley (no need for freeways, though those are all easy enough to get to).

Silver Lake is next to Atwater Village and Glendale, and the same rules apply to those places. Some areas of Glendale may appear to be a little scary, but they're not. The only real scary place around Glendale is "Glassell Park." Actually, now that I think about it, any area with the word "Park" in it is one to avoid.

As for "the valley," the closer to the Hollywood Hills you can get, the better the living situation. Burbank is, of course, quite lovely...and quite expensive. Same goes for Studio City, Toluca Lake, and Sherman Oaks.

For the budget-minded (you poor non-rich bastards), the southern part of North Hollywood is still good (but definitely check out the neighborhood before you move...in and around the Arts District is best). Valley Village and Sherman Village are both good (much like "Park" is a warning sign, "Village" is generally a good thing).

Once you get too far north, and/or too far west in the valley, you start to run into problems. Van Nuys gets crappy very quickly. Same goes for Northridge, Granada Hills, Chatsworth, North Hills, Reseda, Porter Ranch, and Winnetka. I honestly don't know a lot about these areas, and the quality varies greatly (I'm sure there are nice areas there too) but in general, I'd be very careful in selecting a house/apartment in the area.

Avoid Sun Valley, Pacoima, and San Fernando. Those places just give me the willies...don't know why. You might find something nice...but just be very careful.

As for the area south of the Hollywood Hills, you're pretty much good anywhere you go, so long as you're north of the 10 freeway (except for MacArthur Park and Downtown, which tend to get very skeevy).

If none of these do you any good, you can go to the "farther out" places that are still relatively clean and acceptable. I hear Eagle Rock is nice, but every time I go there, I secretly hate it. Same with Culver City -- it looks fine, and I like the idea...but for some reason it's always seems either overcrowded, or dirty, or too far out, or...I don't know. I just don't like it.

Pasadena/Altadena (really the same place) is nice, but it's a drive, and it can be expensive (especially the closer you are to downtown Pasadena). La Crescenta/Montrose (actually they are the same place) is also quite nice, but it's very expensive for as far out as it is.

[edit] After receiving some feedback from a dear friend and blog contributor, apparently Echo Park is becoming a nice place to live, I quote: "still affordable and more gentrified everyday." Apparently, now there is even an organic smoothie shop, the existence of which I think might trump the "every area with the word 'park' in it is a bad area. Personally, I have my doubts. I ran around the little pond in Echo Park one time, and it smelled vaguely of (what I hope was dog or goose) feces. But I wouldn't hold the quality of the park against the rest of the neighborhood, which (from what I recall) looked quite lovely.

As for the rest? Hell, I don't know...maybe they're little diamonds in the rough, and you'll be the first one to colonize the "Next Silver Lake" (which is supposedly Eagle Rock...so maybe you'll be looking for the "Next Eagle Rock"). You'll move here and be like, "Wow, Huntington Park is a fantastic place to live, even though it has the word 'Park' in the name!!!" Or "Everyone's moving to Panorama City!!! CATCH THE WAVE!!!!!!"

Best advice -- visit the place you want to live at night. If you get panhandled in front of your house, or if you get mugged or shot, odds are you're in a bad place.


"Well, Tyler," you grumble, "is there anything else I need to know?"

Good question. I don't think so. If there is, I haven't thought of it, so it's probably not that important. Odds are, if you live in an apartment, your next-door neighbor is going to play his/her music way too loud. It's a fact of life -- the dumber the person, the louder they like their music (by the way, if you are that next door neighbor that plays their music way too loud, then I hate you; no one else wants to hear your music, so put headphones on, or turn it down you egocentric jag-off).

As for laws, security deposits, pets, scams, and all of that other boring stuff? I don't know, really...I haven't had any problems, and I don't know anyone who's had serious problems with that stuff. Most folks here like their landlords, and if they don't, they probably live in a crappy neighborhood. Caveat emptor...

Finding places to look at can be a challenge, especially if you're on a budget, or you have special needs. We mainly used Craigslist, but it can be helpful to just drive around neighborhoods you like, and look for "For Rent" signs. It can be a little time-consuming, as well as gas-consuming, but it's a great way to get a lay of the land while you're visiting, looking for a place to live.


"Dude, Tyler," you croon, in a velvety tone that immediately commands respect and admiration, "I will ONLY live in the 'parks'. Affordable, diverse, safe (unless you are in a gang) and really great food and music. And as the gentrification wave spreads east the new hotspot is gonna be Highland Park- mark my words."

Good question. Perhaps I've been a bit unfair to the "______ Park" areas of Los Angeles...so I should explain, and perhaps reiterate some things.

First, the reiteration -- every neighborhood is livable. You can tell it's livable, because people live there. Many people. And the vast majority of them are good, honest, decent human beings who have their own stuff to worry about...meaning they'll leave you alone (if you want them to).

Also, I should point out, that if you're a young, pretty, skinny Caucasian female (you know, the ones that the media likes talking about), then you could easily walk by yourself at night, through the worst neighborhoods in Los Angeles, every night, for 365 days straight, and nothing bad would happen to you. I can almost guarantee that you'd be totally fine...and other than a few catcalls, some panhandling, and maybe a little intimidation, you'd be left completely alone.

But...

The real issue is: "How much are you willing to put up with to live in an affordable/centrally located neighborhood." Yes, most of these affordable areas are quite culturally rich, with people from all walks of life, making for a variable tapestry of human experience. You'll get to know the guy who runs the local bodega. You'll be familiar (even possibly friendly) with the homeless people that frequent your street corners. You'll get to experience trying to communicate with shopkeepers that don't speak your language. You'll be buying all kinds of non-FDA approved groceries with not a lick of English on the package. Fruit will come fresher. Stores will be intimate, and family-owned. You'll feel like you're a part of the neighborhood, more so than you would living somewhere "nicer." It can be, honestly, a very enriching experience.

But, on the down side living there can be loud, and intrusive...especially if you choose to live in an apartment complex (which you probably will). Most of your neighbors will be great...but the bad ones will be just horrible. You'll have to get used to hearing domestic disputes. Babies crying. Sirens. Low-flying helicopters. Loud cars. Dogs barking. You'll see lots of garbage in the streets. Stray cats. Rats. Broken glass. You'll experience uncaring landlords, and probably be living in old, run-down properties.

For some people, it's totally worth it. They can put on headphones. Turn up the TV. Patch up holes in the drywall. Get used to the smell of mold. And (generally) shut out the outside world (or learn to love it / live with it). It's entirely possible, because the outside world will absolutely leave you alone if you want it to.

People who don't mind this are the people who stayed in Youth Hostels when they visited Europe (instead of private rooms), or the people who lived in a house with eight other people in college. They're not bothered by the little inconveniences in life.

I envy those people, because I'm not one of them (and my wife even less so). I like quiet nights on the couch, and silence when I go to bed. I don't want to listen to the couple next door screaming at each other in Spanish (or Russian, or Armenian). I don't want my neighbor to be arrested by a SWAT team one night. I don't want to be bitten when I'm walking with my wife and a pit bull escapes from his enclosure. I could never tolerate the smell of garbage. And (like I mentioned earlier) I don't want to hear someone else's music. Ever.

So that's my take on that. If you're a quiet, unassuming suburban kid (like myself), you'll probably want to spend a little more to live in a nicer neighborhood. If you're urban, or in love with everything urban, then by all means...get thee to a _____ Park.

It's your call.


"Yo, Tyler," you speak using your mouth organ, "can I stay with you while I look for a place?"

Good question. No.