LA Stage Blog - Beta

I keep trying to restrain myself from “going rogue” here at Bitter Lemons.  In the wake of what happened last night, it’s been difficult.  But I think this falls under the category of “theatricality” so I figure I’m in the neighborhood of what this site is all about.

So.  Know how I can tell the world has changed since the election of Barack Obama to President of the United States?

Empty newspaper boxes.

It’s always been a reliable barometer for me.  OJ Simpson Found Innocent.  Papers flying out of boxes.  Later used to line bird cages and to kindle fires.  US Invades Iraq.  Papers vanishing on the stands.  Happy New Year New Millenium.  Papers gone.

Being a bit of a historian (aren’t all writers historians at heart?) I always try and grab those “snapshot in time” NY Times and LA Times headlines and hide them away for my future grandhchildren.  My grandparents did the same thing and now we, his grandchildren, are privy to these amazing, crumpled, browning headlines about the A Bomb Dropping, A Man Walking on the Moon, World War II Ending and JFK Being Assassinated.  I feel it’s an obligation to the next generation.  Besides, it’s cool to leaf through those papers and see what the weather was, the local news, the fashions, prices of clothes and all that intersting stuff.

So this morning. Got a bit of a late start and went searching for a paper.  Corner box.  Empty.  Corner liquor store.  Empty.  Neighborhood Newsstand.  Nothing.  Barnes & Noble.  Nada.  Starbucks.  Sorry.

I started to get nervous.  Went into work.  Sweated it out.

Lunch time I set out another hunting party. Went from 26th and Olympic in Santa Monica all the way to 2nd Street, zig zagged up and down Santa Monica, Wilshire, Colorado, Arizona, California.  Empty, empty, empty!

Now I really started freakin’.

I re-worked my strategy (or tactics, can’t remember which is which?  Damn you, John McCain!).  I chose minor, less occupied streets and started moving slowly up and down them, glancing into newspaper boxes.  Like coffins that had regurgitated their corpses.  Nothing!

I found more, even-less populated roads, places where animal rapists and homicidal Nader lovers would never fear to dwell and I cruised those God-forsaken inlets searching desperately for that lone box that everyone missed.  Hoping.  Praying.  Cursing.  Swearing.  NOTHING!

Every newspaper box, stand, coffee shop and liquor store was sold out!

And then it hit me.  What a glorious metaphor I’ve stumbled upon.  What an oddly powerful symbol of the day after.  The day we became an Obamanation.  This simple desire we have to hold onto that feeling from last night.  To let in linger.  To keep the glow from fading.

Empty Newspaper Boxes.

I surrender.

But if anyone can spare an LA Times or a NY Times, I still would really appreciate it.  I’ve got a son coming Jan. 30th, 2009.  An Obama Baby.  I was hoping to store it away for him.  So if you find an extra copy lying around - hit me with an e-mail, will ya?  I’ll send you my address.

Relentlessly yours,
Colin