L.A. Stories- Look, Don't Touch (and other facts of LAife)

Today, on the road, someone drove over a branch of kumquats and sent them exploding across the 1-70 in a burst of projectile fruit. It was colorful and citrusy- the kind of fruit-splosion a vitamin-C-deficient Michael Bay would arrange.
However, this is not the most amazing debris I've seen on an L.A. commute:
Last week, I was on the 101 when I noticed that the road was... shimmering. Not just a sheen, or even a Charlie Sheen- there were distinct dazzling points of vibrant red and silver light, appearing with more and more frequency.
Since only the night before, I'd been writing commercials for an eye disease clinic, I panicked and ran through my list of cataract and glaucoma symptoms. I did the cartoon-patented double-fisted eye rub. I blinked really hard- no change. In fact, the sparkles had increased in number- I was driving through a maelstrom of radiance.
Time stopped for a moment- "this is what it's like to live in a glitter snow-globe..."
Gradually, over the next 1/2 mile, the sparkles dissipated, leaving stunned drivers to wonder and marvel at the miracle on the 101. I still don't know what it was- although I think it must've had something to do with Universal Studios Hollywood- I've worked enough parades to recognize Mylar confetti when I see it, but the sheer amount was breathtaking.
The reason this is important (other than the fact that it's awesome,) is that it's pretty much the only free thing I've received since moving to Los Angeles. Anything else that's sparkly or fun about this city has cost me- dearly.
Parking my car on the street cost me a keyying.
Jay's job in NY cost me my hair.
Horror Nights cost me my jeans.
Grinchmas cost me the skin on my face.
My health insurance was taken away.
Hell, we'd been stolen from before we unpacked what was left of our mangled furniture.

Most of the LA experience reminds me of the time my parents took me to England, and we went to see the famous Crown Jewels. There they were, an arm's length away, behind Lucite cases, laser security and tasseled, velvet-clad guards: crowns, scepters, little important-looking sphere-thingees- amazing treasures to behold. These glimmering royal accessories were so physically close to me, and yet a universe away. Look, Don't Touch- these are tools of a trade I'll never be part of. This is for a life I'll never have access to. I can look, but I can never be part of what these shining trophies represent.

And that's exactly how LA is.

Drive down Sunset Boulevard, and gaze into the windows at the Cavalli store. Take a peek down Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills at the shoppers in their Prada heels with their billion-dollar bags. Look into the ivy-shrouded windows at the mansions in the hills, and you'll feel it: a profound sense of disconnection. Here is a life you'll never be part of. Look, Don't Touch.

The most singular example that stands out in my mind is the vista from Mulholland Drive. Peering down at the twinkling lights of the city below should serve as some source of inspiration- but instead, it is a condensed view of everything I can't be part of. Downtown LA might as well be covered in a giant Lucite case with laser alarms- it's a life you have to be born into, and at times it seems like I've got a better chance at becoming English Royalty than Hollywood Royalty.

This ache is felt most intensely when the glitter-life is swirling around me, but it sneaks up at other times, too. I miss not worrying about money so much- dinner and a movie used to be no problem. Now, the price is just too high. I find myself getting angry over nickle-and-dime stuff that never would've bothered me before. I get feral about food, especially...

I once paid a friend in groceries to take me to the airport- he took all my perishable food from my fridge before dropping me off at LAX. I adore this friend, and yet, as he loaded MY milk and MY chicken into his trunk, some caveman part of me longed to lunge at him- I wanted to pounce on him like a wildcat and take my food back. It's MINE! MY FOOD!

There was a point over the holidays when I walked past two guys grilling a steak in the courtyard of my apartment building. I strode past, tall and uncaring, unlocked my door, walked inside, turned around, locked my door, then broke down and wept like a baby in my hallway.
I wanted a steak too.

It wasn't fair- They get steak and shoes and mansions and jobs in the industry. Why is there a Lucite barrier between me and everything my heart has ever beat for?
Welcome to LA.
Look, Don't Touch.

That is why free roadside sparkles are so special- everyone can enjoy them.