Good to See You, Johnny
Beautiful Burbank
Last week, my husband said we had to get rid of some pots. They were the non-stick kind, probably from Target. Standard issue for bachelors attempting to “cook” (boil rice) for the first time, which was exactly why he bought them. According to the Internet, these types of pots are made almost exclusively from carcinogens, which makes donating them tantamount to manslaughter. As a person with a large amount of time and guilt on my hands, that meant finding out how to safely dispose of them. The answer resided in a shining city over the hill: Burbank.
Every time I go to Burbank I think about Will Ferrell as Robert Goulet on Conan saying “It’s great to be back in beautiful Burbank, Johnny!” because my brain is broken. But it fits, because Burbank represents what I imagine Los Angeles once was: a place where the livability of the suburbs and the glamour of the city rolled into one glorious utopian promise. A place where cars were a solution and not a luxury! Housing developments were exciting and not depressing! You could work in the entertainment industry and own a house! Like living in a model railroad.
The diorama element extends to its public works, which include a Busytown-style recycling center that accepts hard-to-dispose of items (like cancer pans). It’s a shockingly well-organized facility, the gate manned by an extremely helpful woman in braces who appeared to be no older than fourteen. I expected to be turned away and told I couldn’t actually dispose of what I brought but when I exited my car another helpful employee directed me to the correct bin and…that was that. I was shocked, having budgeted in a few more hours of time for the project. Imagine if all public services were functional! How would we fill our days?
That question haunted me as I still had an afternoon free. I could avail myself of Burbank’s other delights. But what to choose?
Wandering IKEA was always an option, but I didn’t have that kind of stamina at the moment. A visit to In-N-Out was also on the table, but I wasn’t really hungry. I could go to the big public library to get some work done but I didn’t have my computer and ew work. Perhaps the gorgeous, enormous public pool? After school hours. I wasn’t ready to be around that many teens.
In the end, I visited one of Burbank’s thrift stores: another local specialty. Magnolia Street (what a name) is chock-full of them in addition to some higher-end vintage stores and places that re-sell old movie costumes. I didn’t need anything in particular but it was fun to wander and I saw a gorgeous craftsman-style wooden secretary desk that I hope has found a happy home.
I headed back over the hills (or around them, I guess, due to the particular geography of I-5). It was rush hour at that point and the highway was clogged with trucks, playing their crucial part in the endless supply chain that insures the survival of suburban America. A culture that allows you to keep the world both at arms length and at your fingertips. The dream still lives in beautiful Burbank, Johnny!