From guest lectures with music legends to unexpected run-ins with Hollywood icons, this chapter captures the surreal blend of culture, celebrity, and inspiration that comes with studying in Los Angeles.

Disclaimer

• All characters and events in this chapter —even those based on real people—are entirely fictional.
• The following chapters contain coarse language and situations and due to its content it should not be read by anyone.

Chapter 22 “Guest lecturers and life outside school”

One sunny LA morning, as I strolled toward class, I casually skimmed through my emails. One subject line stopped me in my tracks: "Guest Lecture: Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails." A first-year who was studying for a joint degree (JDMBA) sent it to the Entertainment Club group.

My heart skipped a beat. Trent Reznor—the architect of industrial rock, the genius behind Nine Inch Nails—was coming to speak at the law school. For a moment, I felt like a kid on Christmas morning.

The impulse to sprint to Best Buy and buy every NIN album and piece of merchandise I could find tugged at me. What if I could get an autograph? But reason quickly intervened. The wiser move was to secure my spot at the lecture, to be in the same room as the man himself. I chose the latter.

I immediately texted Andy, one of my closest friends and a fellow NIN devotee. I knew he’d share my excitement. Reznor wasn’t just a musical pioneer; he was an Oscar-winning composer for The Social Network and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Meeting him was an opportunity neither of us could pass up.

When we arrived at the law school, there he was—Trent Reznor, standing outside the classroom, casually smoking a cigarette. Up close, he wasn’t as imposing as I had imagined, probably around 5'6", but his presence was magnetic.

Andy and I debated whether to ask for a photo or an autograph but decided against it. We didn’t want to risk drawing attention or being turned away. Instead, we slipped quietly into the classroom and took seats in the back, eager to imbibe whatever insights he had to offer.

Reznor answered questions with the same intensity he poured into his music. His insights into the future of the industry were razor-sharp. He foresaw the rise of streaming services and predicted the tectonic shifts that would reshape how artists connected with audiences. It felt less like a guest lecture and more like a prophecy.

When the class ended, Reznor was swarmed by students. I waited for my moment, heart pounding, and approached him.

"Would you mind if I took a photo with you?" I asked, half-expecting him to refuse.

To my surprise, he agreed. In that instant, I stood next to one of my idols—the man behind Mister Self-Destruct, whose music had soundtracked countless moments of my life. I didn’t have anything for him to sign, but the photo was enough.

I left the classroom in awe, buzzing with the realization that I’d just met one of the defining artists of my generation.

But Trent Reznor was just the beginning.

Los Angeles, as it turned out, was a playground for encounters with idols and celebrities.

I attended a lecture by the Dalai Lama, an experience as humbling as it was enlightening.

John Lithgow, the iconic star of Third Rock from the Sun, became a familiar face. Married to a UCLA professor, he often appeared at the campus library. We crossed paths several times, and each encounter left me more impressed by his warmth and intellect.

Music, though, was the common thread that wove through much of my LA experience.

At concerts, I found myself shoulder-to-shoulder with rock legends and icons. One night, I stood sipping a beer next to Zack de la Rocha from Rage Against the Machine, chatting casually as if we were old friends. On several occasions, in the smaller venues like Whiskey A Go Go or the Roxy, you could see the band hanging out before the show. Being LA there were always special guests. One moment you could see Slash at the table next to you and two minutes later he was on stage playing with Alice Cooper.

On another, I found myself in the same room as Natalie Portman and Gael García Bernal, watching as two of the most recognizable faces in Hollywood blended effortlessly into the crowd and letting them stand in front of me as they couldn´t see a thing behind my two meters.

My second year at Anderson became a marathon of concert-going. I averaged three to five shows a week, often choosing Arcade Fire or Metallica over MBA social events.

It was during one of those shows that I committed what some might consider a cardinal sin.

Halfway through a Chris Cornell set, I left. Not because I didn’t love the music, but because Brad Pitt was there, and I wanted to chat with him.

It’s absurd, I know—skipping Cornell for Pitt. But LA has a strange effect on you. Celebrity proximity blurs your sense of priorities. Besides, I have seen Chris several times before and I was able to talk to Tyler Durden for a bit.