Los Angeles should be its own country.
For all of the strange things I’ve seen in my life, all of the oddities and eccentricities and peculiarities, I know I haven’t scratched the surface of the bizarre corners of humanity. And there is no place on earth that illustrates this point more than the City of Angels.
This past weekend, I was walking down Melrose Avenue. Within one block, I had walked past a well-to-do couple, a group of dirt-bag teens, two prostitutes and several homeless people (whom I avoided giving money to by claiming I “owed a lot of people a lot of money”).
It was a tumultuous walk to say the least. Los Angeles was throwing social boomerangs at me left and right, and I was struggling to keep up with the pace.
As such, returning to Tempe was a welcome respite from the LA crazy-train. There’s something comforting about returning to your hometown, especially after a few days spent in a far larger and unpredictable city. I find the repetitive strip malls and exclusively one- or two-story buildings to be a lesson in continuity ... and in that continuity, serenity reigns.
Because of this contentment with urban mediocrity, I feel a strange need to defend Tempe wherever I go. I’ve got my work cut out for me, too; if anything can be said of this fair city, it’s not exactly swelling with civic pride. Informally asking around downtown, most residents either think negatively of Tempe, or don’t think about it at all. Some were even surprised they didn’t actually live in Phoenix (to be fair, that person may have been homeless).
Now I’ll admit Tempe does have its downsides. Mill Avenue is rapidly becoming a place where small-town money meets big-city rage on a typical weekend, Tempe Marketplace continues to not have an Olive Garden, and I’m still unclear on why Tempe Town Lake exists.
Yet looking beyond these flaws and logical discrepancies, I like Tempe for one simple reason; it doesn’t try to impress me. Tempe is what it is and doesn’t really give a crap about what you or anybody else thinks. Tempe is straightforward, predictable and decidedly unglamorous.
It’s the urban equivalent of a middle-aged man who insists on wearing a fanny pack because it’s “practical.”
So, while Los Angeles fashionistas may scorn the practical tastes of we Tempesians, I take comfort in the fact that in our city’s mediocrity, we know we’re not fooling anyone. Our fair streets may not have fancy boutiques or a booming arts community or anything to do past 10 p.m. that doesn’t involve drinking or fighting, but it’s got something that the big cities don’t: collective, defensive apathy.
Alex is sullenly walking down Apache Boulevard but can be reached at apetruse@asu.edu
