High above the hoi polloi (more or less)
The other day, I set my sights on the top of the hill that overlooks our neighborhood. The hill sits at the base of the Santa Susana Mountains. The walk is nearly four miles, and you gain about 900 feet in elevation. But those facts were only revealed to me after the walk.
What I knew going in was that there's a ritzy housing development at the top of the hill. Our Congressman lives there!
So, OK, I guess I wanted to see where our local honcho, Brad "the big cheese" Sherman, lives.
Also, I'm something of a true crime junkie, and there was a triple-murder there last year. The victims were drug dealers. Make of it what you will that the people who can afford these multi-million dollar homes are either slinging bullshit, or selling good shit.
Something else. A few years ago, the largest natural gas leak in American history happened nearby. Neighbors of the Congressman and the deceased drug dealer continue to experience health issues. But this is nothing new around these parts. In the 1950s, there was a meltdown about ten miles away at a nuclear missile facility. Don't worry, though, the meltdown didn't stop Hollywood from shooting hundreds of Westerns that used the irradiated hills as backdrop.
Point is, there's a limit on the extent to which money, power, and fame can insulate you from humanity's never-ending assault on the Earth. Eventually, the chickens come home to roost, even if home is an apocalypse bunker in New Zealand. Those shelters sound like a great way to escape a doomed planet, until you realize the fatal flaw of every apocalypse bunker, namely that it's located on Earth.
Still, as Mel Brook's once said, it's good to be the king.
And that really is true.
At the top of the hill, I discover sidewalks wide enough for four people to walk side-by-side. The shade is abundant, thanks to sloping hillsides and tall, mature trees that were plucked out of the soil at some tree farm and trucked hundreds of miles to their final destination. Cracks, pot-holes, and other obstructions that are commonplace on Los Angeles sidewalks don't exist at the top of the hill. Neither do homeless people, litter, or advertisements. It's a walker's paradise!
Maybe that explains why I see so many people wearing t-shirts, tank tops, and hats that say they're #blessed. They must be blessed to live in a place where they can look down on the world.
And so what if the price is as high as the mountain itself? So, what if we nuked the ground beneath their feet, and gassed the air in their lungs?
It's a killer view.