Being a recent transplant from L-A, Maine, to L.A., Calif., I’ve learned a few things since my move:

1. Never take the 110 freeway. Ever. In fact, if you can avoid the freeways at all, you’re better off. But, if you must, never try to get on the freeway downtown, because you’ll be stuck in cranky, over-heated gridlock for hours.

2. Ignoring proper traffic etiquette is the only way you’ll ever make it to your destination on time. This undoubtedly means cutting people off and turning left more than a few seconds after the light turns red, because, well, God help you if you sit through the light a second time. The car behind you will ram you.

3. Things do cost more, but (more often than not) you do get what you pay for.

Seven months ago, when I quit my sensible and beloved job as design director at the Sun Journal, sold my things and took a train to Los Angeles, I left many heads-a-scratching in Lewiston-Auburn. My decision wasn’t logical, especially in this economy, and to many the diehard Mainer it just seemed silly.

Girl leaves small-town America for the glitz and glamor of Los Angeles — no new story there. But unlike many of my predecessors, I didn’t come to Los Angeles to get famous. I came here because the city called to me. The energy and pulse that reverberated in me after a short visit here a year ago fueled an entire series of new paintings. When I got back to Maine and painted like a fiend, all I could think was that I wanted that energy and drive to create — I wanted it back and I wanted it full-time.

So, here I am.

The thing I love about L.A. is that while there are a great many of the tourist attractions such as Rodeo Drive and Universal Studios, L.A. is basically just endless small towns strung together. It’s one community after another, each with its own specific identity. For instance, one block away is Little Ethiopia, and if I go a mile down the road, I’ll find every sign in Hebrew and every deli of the Kosher variety.

There’s a dive right down the street called The Kibitz Room, which I frequent. It’s a perfect cross section of L.A. — behind the bar is Danny Boy, a charming, crusty old bartender who is straight from a great book (and fondly reminds me of one particular crusty, charming old favorite editor I worked with at the Sun Journal). There’s a crazy singer on stage, complete with a lazy eye, velvet jumper and a sparkly cape, and the patrons range from artistic youth, business suits coming straight from the office, families who just walked over from Canter’s Deli next door, down to the lonely fellow sitting at the bar, drowning himself in whatever is on tap that night.

That’s the charm L.A. holds for me. (The diversity. Not the drunks.) Los Angeles isn’t the movie business and it isn’t the shimmery lights. It’s not the celebrities, and it’s certainly not the tourist attractions. At the basic core is the people, each one like a wholly unique color on the vibrant tapestry that is L.A.

I can’t disagree with everything Elliot Epstein wrote last week in his negative column about Los Angeles. The water situation is horrendous; the fact people still water their lawns at all boggles my mind. The public transportation system leaves much to be desired, while at the same time being a beast of its own. (I’ve often compared riding the L.A. bus system to a contact sport.) And to be honest, the Lewiston-Auburn bus system has just as many problems as the Los Angeles bus system does — they are just of a different nature.

At its core, Los Angeles isn’t all that different than Lewiston-Auburn to me. What, at first glance, seems like rampant crime and a concrete jungle, through different eyes can be seen as the same of the usual, only on a bigger scale. To me, L.A. is still L-A, everything is just on a bigger scale: tax, service, entertainment, wages, and of course, crime. It all just comes with the territory.

L.A. is a city of dreams, filled with the passionate people who dream of dreams. L.A. is not for the faint of heart or the impatient; you have to have the patience of a saint and the passion of a sinner. But, if you have the qualities that this place sings out for, then you will be rewarded a thousand times over by the sheer, electric energy this city reins in.

L-A, Maine might be my home, but Los Angeles is now my heart.

Christine Crockett, now of Los Angeles, Calif., is a Lewiston native and the former design director at the Sun Journal. E-mail: [email protected].