LOS ANGELES: The City of Angels, gang banging, movie stars, sun shine, broken dreams, fruits, nuts, tree-hugs, glamour, glitz, weed, luxury, lifestyle and beauty.
LA isn’t a city, but the region in which several cities converge. In 32 hours I bounced from LAX to West LA, Santa Monica, Venice, Malibu, West LA again, Beverly Hills, Yorba Linda, Newport, back to Yorba, and Woodlawn. Then, 5-hours south, 120 miles, to Silicon Beach.
I ate 4x / day, watched world cup 2x / day.
“There’s nothing wrong with LA, I just couldn’t take it any more.” -My Cousin.
As I sat in the roofless mustang, stop-and-go highway driving, I contemplated LA. Ruthless! If you’re a nobody… but more than that.
Los Angeles has some of the same superficial arrogance as Dubai (8/11 article). Not everywhere, but at large was a tone of entitlement. Especially towards the service industry.
The Hollywood scene is like being a medium size fish in an undefined size pool of people trying to make it big…. or at all. There is no room for the lazy. Know people, network out of your league, and pray to science, if being a career caterer ain’t for you.
Venice has all the cool freaks I like to hang around. Not with, but near enough to be cool by marginally less insane association. The beaches sprawled wide. The women trotted fierce. Fit, but not a lot of smiles. Lustrous, like diamonds in the dirt.
Then to Malibu for a fancy dinner. The Sicilian service was very Italian and the delicious food-art was filling.
After pastrami in Yorba with family, whisky in Newport with sorority and breakfast in Woodlawn with business, I was on the 405 South. Nirvana up, pedal down and the devil ignoring the lost angel that bangs at his door. Objects in the mirror may be larger than they appear. And I left the wicked minx, Los Angeles, for her’ cool, coy, cousin, San Diego.