Today is Easter. Unsurprisingly, I woke up late and missed morning mass. Thankfully there is an evening prayer I can go to. I don’t attend church religiously, but I don’t mind going occasionally. I’m not really sure what an evening prayer entails, but it doesn’t matter. I’m meeting someone special there.

The church is beautiful. It is also empty. I follow a voice to a tiny side chapel. A priest is reading a prayer in front of about six people. I have, of course, arrived late. My entrance is not subtle as I awkwardly make my way to a chair in the front. Apparently evening prayer is not a widely attended event, even on Easter. Towards the end of the service the priest starts reading the prayers of the people. Basically, they read aloud the names of people living and dead that you/ the church collectively, is supposed to say a prayer for. I listen for his name, though I know he passed before I was born, too long ago for it to be read. I am surprised. People with HIV/AIDS are mentioned twice, once for those living with it, once for those who have died from it. I wonder at the impact the disease had on this church’s community, its psyche. The impact it still has. This is my Uncle Christopher’s church, and though his name is not read specifically, he is one of the many who has died of AIDS. The priest pauses for a moment of silence, and I spend some time with my uncle. My version of Easter.

After the service I wander around a bit looking for a plaque I have been told is there with my namesake on it. I can’t find it, but I don’t want to go home yet. I walk a few blocks away from this serene church and reach Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. The streets are packed as always. I enter a huge souvenir warehouse blasting today’s latest hits and buy a bright pink, sparkly Hollywood shot glass, which I find amusing. After a bit more meandering I grab some coffee and retreat into the lobby of The Roosevelt. Uncle Chris used to work here, managing talent. Sitting down on a large couch, I try to make sense of my past and present, and this strange city that has somehow managed to weave itself into both.

Most, if not all, of the previous blog posts grapple with the dichotomies that we are finding in LA. Fake vs. real. Luck vs. hard work. Success vs. failure. Business vs. art. Old vs. new. Acceptance vs. Intolerance. Calm, beautiful church vs. sparkly pink shot glass. Personal reflection vs. good ol fashion consumerism. Long standing communities still recovering from tragedies vs. tourists, coming and going, yet still a permanent Hollywood presence. Whiplash is a word we have been using a lot to describe our experiences here. It is not necessarily a bad thing. It is exhausting, but it certainly makes you think. The whiplashes of the day and week have given me a lot to mull over as I continue to try and make sense of this city professionally as well as personally.