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Los Angeles Times Valley Edition | Glendale News-Press | 2004 September 4
Looking forward to new digs
BY PATRICK AZADIAN
On the Proposed Americana Town Center in Glendale, California
My immediate family as well as my ancestors are used to relocation. We have been displaced against our will so many times, there is an instinctive urge to unwillingly move when times get tough. If the relocation does not take place in the predetermined timeframe, something just feels terribly wrong.
I was displaced at a young age. My parents planned my deportation. Of course, I am quite happy with the outcome for many reasons. First and foremost, I avoided having to take frequent shelters with the rest of my youthful cousins, while Iraqi missiles were raining down on my birthplace. Second, I was lucky to avoid the draft into an army, which considered walking on enemy mines as a privilege and a gateway to heaven. And last but not least, I did not have to flee to the West via Pakistan or Turkey and was spared a diet of stale bananas and Bubble Up. The moral of my tangential story is that I am happy I was displaced, but I cannot take any credit for it. Thank you parents, thank you America.
I feel another relocation coming my way soon. Whereas my predecessors were deported from their homes by the Byzantines, Persians, and ultimately the Turks, my future is now in the hands of other forces. They are known as the Carusader Armies, named after their Kaiser, Caruso I. On their way to the well-fortified gates of Glendale, they have successfully annexed vast territories from Calabasas to West Los Angeles.
GG As it's common with most invaders, the Carusaders have demolished the existing structures in the aftermath of their incursions, but unlike their prototypes, they have rebuilt the vanquished territories to not only benefit themselves, but also the native populations. After winning a few decisive battles, the Carusader Armies are now camped in Glendale. If they win the ultimate confrontation, my modest republic will be relocated. I will be breaking with tradition; the move will be done willingly.
The Carusaders have already caused the displacement of some natives. The Brazilian tribes of Gauchos Village just to the north of my tiny realm have been uprooted to a vast and lush territory further north. There is no reason why the village, with the guidance of King Kevin, should not prosper in the new location. There will be more of the Brazilian all-you-can-eat barbecue, a larger area to serve guests, and hopefully a more steady flow of live Brazilian music and samba dancers.
There are quite a few things I will not miss about the present geography of my sparsely populated domain. For beginners, the eradication of the ruins of the pedestrian civilizations of Pappy's and Pep Boys will be a welcome sight. I don't have to qualify my location to visitors any more by saying: "The area looks bad from the outside, but my office is real nice."
There is yet another mental exercise I will not miss. I will enjoy the absence of all the rhetorical "what if" questions regarding development. My futile inquiries will finally come to an end. "What if we had the vision of transforming the fire station into an interesting retail or entertainment center?" or "What if the charming brick buildings on Orange could be turned into an Old Town Pasadena-style shopping center?"
"And what if the older buildings on Brand would get a face lift and reveal their true colors?" No more "what ifs."
What I also won't miss are all the newly established fiefdoms by the recently migrated tribes, in the form of cigar shops, mom-and-pop coffee houses, and the only-open-day-a-week "antique" stores. It would have been nice if these well-meaning, yet naive, entrepreneurs were advised by their established relatives against investing, and losing, their lifetime savings in dead-end businesses. I even know the cigar craze is over, and you don't need an MBA to realize that competing with the Green Mermaid Empire is a risky proposition. Put your money in an S&P 500 index fund, or just buy a gas station, like everyone else.
What the small population of my republic will not miss most is the familiar smells generated by our seasonal neighbors. Wandering tribes make temporary shelter at the rooftop of our building next to my window overlooking the long abandoned fire station. It is not the scenery I have a problem with; on the contrary, it has a certain New York feel to it. What is not welcome, however, is the fact that on many occasions the rooftop becomes a washroom for the wanderers. Despite my empathy for the less fortunate, it has become impossible to enjoy a healthy breath of fresh air by keeping the windows open.
A couple of weeks ago, I invited one of my loyal army generals, Susan, to help me conquer a project. She posed one condition in exchange for her cooperation: "You will not keep the windows open. I am going to see my boyfriend afterward, I don't want to stink like urine." I put the resolution to a vote at my republic's parliament; it passed unanimously. Two for, zero against. Windows remained closed, project conquered.
Good riddance, dilapidation. Welcome, development.
Copyright 2004 Glendale News Press
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