My dear friend, David Schoffman, lives in a city that discourages walking. If you're traveling by foot in Los Angeles, unless you're with a dog, you look suspicious . The idea of a pedestrian's "right-of-way" is a form of automotive noblesse oblige and should never be taken for granted.
Walking at night presents a series of hazards of even greater complexity and the innocent flâneur is often mistaken for a tramp.
As a European I find this all very strange.
Many people believe that the cultivation of true friendship is nearly impossible in L.A. because most personal relationships are predicated upon mutual self-interest. Some attribute this to the culture of Hollywood but I think it's because of all the driving.
Think about it.
Cars are like sovereign nations vying for position, power and prestige.
In Los Angeles, people behave like their cars and see human interaction as an iteration of traffic. I won't get in your way so long as you agree not to get in my way and if we both exceed the speed limit at approximately the same rate, together we can advance our cause toward mutual satisfaction.
My eccentric colleague David, however, insists on
strolling and likewise expects more from his acquaintances than mercenary social arbitrage. He doesn't care if people like him, he just doesn't like being seen as a professional asset.
You see, deserving or not, Schoffman is a distinguished artistic eminence. He's something of a southern Californian doyen whose range of endeavors puts him into contact with the powerful and the pretty. As a result, everyone wants to be his buddy.
He wants nothing of that.
Though occasionally he'll make an exception.
Dahlia Danton with David Schoffman. Date unknown |
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