California!

International travel is wonderful on many levels.  New sites, new scenes, new people, etc.   I assume that this is primarily due to culture shock and the experiencing of something new in a different environment that these” adventures” can take one on journeys ranging from the bizarre to the enlightening; complete with a comic or even tragic twist to them – most often with at least one tale of food poisoning.  Yet, I am convinced that there is (or should be) an adventure in almost anything you do and anywhere you go.  In fact, many can take place where one least expects it to happen and can provide valuable and insightful lessons.  This was the case for me going to...LOS ANGLES.

It was late 1994 and I was visiting my parents who were at that time living in Connecticut and my father was going to attend a business convention in Los Angles.  Well, I don’t know if any of you have been to Connecticut before, but in my mind it is an abnormality when it comes to statehood.   I mean, first of all the state a bit hard to spell as it isn’t pronounced that way [kon net I ket] vs. [kon neKt I cut] (that alone should tell you something of the overall social climate.)  Secondly, nothing goes on in Connecticut.  No one actually goes to Connecticut for vacation, do they?  If you visit the east coast, you go to New York for glamour and the occasional mugging, Boston for history and the random Irish bar brawl, New Hampshire for skiing and well…skiing (after all it IS New Hampshire), etc.   Connecticut’s “claim to fame” however is the changing of the color of the leaves in autumn, which, if remember correctly happens to EVERY STATE IN THE UNION.  As a general rule, I’m not sure if the annual breakdown of chlorophyll constitutes as a national treasure. 

Ok, sure, I know you thinking “but what about Yale University?  That’s in Connecticut” and to that I must ask you “Have you ever actually been to New Haven?”  The town where Yale is located is a slum.  It makes Detroit look like a Disney tourist attraction in comparison.  The state houses one of the most prestigious institutes for higher learning in the world and basically says “ahh…to hell with it.”  Personally, I think we could move the university to a more deserving state, close off the borders of Connecticut and turn it into a giant penal colony where the inmates would be forced to watch the colors change every fall.   In short, I could tell you more fun filled facts about New Jersey (“the garden state”) than I could about Connecticut (the “huh?” state).    

So when my father asked if I would like to go out to California with him, I leapt at the chance.  As though he needed to ask!  Of course I wanted to!  Los Angles, California!  The city of angles!  Hollywood!  Beverly Hills! Movie stars sipping lattes at Wolfgang Pucks newest restaurant.  A city where the average person could be walking down the street and be “discovered” like so many of our great American actors (at least according to the tabloids) –and the next one would be me.

My father left a day before I did and was going to fly out and meet him.  I was truly looking forward to going to the "Sunshine State" and getting out of cold and rainy Connecticut for a few days.  Ahhh….Los Angles.  I was almost giddy when I thought of Los Angles.  The “ideal “vacation”! I thought.  The sun, the fun, the beach, the ocean!  A place where women walk around in nothing but a bikini and sometimes nothing at all.  Where men with massive biceps and bodies, with perfect teeth and hair walk around emitting large masculinity and testosterone with their presence.   It was going to be Baywatch in the flesh.  So with four types of suntan lotion, my swimming suit and a suitcase full of shorts and short sleeved shirts I was ready to have some fun.

Now, to start with ….I saw nothing of what I described above.  Not even close.  Firstly, it was extremely overcast which made it considerably colder than I expected and had packed for.  Cold as in “I didn’t pack a parka for this sort of weather” cold.  Moreover, not only was the weather predicting rain for my entire stay, it was predicting some sort of massive tropical storm to hit the state.  But hey! This is California and I’m "daddy's little trooper"!  I was undeterred and decided that no bad weather would prohibit me from having a good time.  This will be great!  And so with sunshine in my heart and smog in my eyes I proceeded to do what I would have done in better weather.  Like swimming outdoors.

The hotel pool.  I don't know what my attraction is towards the water and why I always feel compelled to go to the pool at a hotel.  I think this stems from the fact that I never know when I will get a chance to go swimming again (sure as hell wasn’t going to be in Connecticut), the fact that you’ve paid for usage of the pool, and again, it was California – I must go in. 

So after checking in I quickly changed into my bathing suit and headed out poolside. “What luck!” there wasn't anyone else around I had the whole facility to myself (of course, with the weather the way it was I guess that shouldn't have come as too much of a surprise).  Time to take the plunge.  In case you have forgotten, let me remind you of the above paragraph and state that it was overcast and cold outside.  Let me go on to say that the pool wasn’t heated – after all, it’s California, why heat the pool?  Thus, the water in the pool achieved a scalding temperature of about 33 degrees Fahrenheit.   I’ve actually swam in the North Atlantic and can tell you from personal experience that THAT water was warmer than the pool water.  In fact, I would go so far as to wager that water from the Bearing Straits in snowy January would have been warmer.  What made it worse though was the pool was only 3 and half feet deep in the deep end!  Tell me, what sort of hotel only has a “wading pool” as the “swimming pool”?  I felt as though I was standing in the hotel fountain and half expected people to throw coins in or for someone to walk by and say “why don’t you use the indoor pool?  It would be a lot warmer” (alright, there wasn’t an indoor pool, but wouldn’t have that been ironic).  The point being is that instead of being able to dive in and get the initial shock over, I had to wade in relatively slowly and by the time that water level reaches up to a certain “level”...well, “swimming pool fun” changed from “fun times” to a definite "eye opening" borderline "religious" experience.

So why didn't I just get out of the water you might wonder?  By then my blood had congealed and my legs were numb.  Moreover – it was California! I figured I was already in this far, might as well go in all the way – all three and half feet.  Now the upside to this is when my father came back from a day at the conference and asked how the pool was, I told him “oh it’s great! You should go in”….and he did.  I figured this would be “ok” to do as I knew he couldn’t chase me as his legs would be numb as well.   The first lesson learned on this trip was I now know why ice cold showers are given to psychotics – just to slow ‘em down.

Enough with the hotel for now.  I was in California!  Since my dad was at the convention most of the time, he gave me the keys to the car he rented so I could go where I wanted.  There's plenty to see and do.  After all, it is a tourist Mecca.  The only problem is that one has to drive everywhere to see and do it.  Now, anyone who knows me knows that I'm not real excited about driving in general.  Yes, I can drive and do it “well,” but in all honesty driving has little appeal to me; especially in a new city when all I have is a poorly drawn map and an out of date tourist book.  I get confused, I get lost, and I get frustrated – not always in that order, but overall not a pleasant experience.  Thus, driving in California was bound to be more of a cultural learning experience than a simple tour of the city.   

To compound my anxiety of driving, I have always heard horror stories about the California freeways (especially near L.A.) and their maniac drivers and was prepared for the worst.  But having been there, seen driving and experience the roads, I can tell you that all the stories, tales and jokes…are all true and well founded.  Yes, they are awful drivers.  Yet, I don’t believe that this stems from poor training per se, but blame the city for the transport misdeeds and indiscretions of the locals.  I believe that the major (but not only) contributing factor to the poor ability of drivers, were the lack of signs – whether in the city or on the multi-lane freeway telling you where anything was and where the exits where.   In fact, L.A. has one of the most poorly marked freeways I've ever seen in the United States.  Thus, people will always be in the far left lane and need to cross what seem to be eight lanes of traffic to get to the right lane exit.   The initial exit sign was forever always well hidden behind over hanging branches, so by the time you noticed it, it would be too late, but not to worry, it will be followed by another well marked sign telling you that you just missed your exit.  I must have gotten lost about two to three times a day because the sign that was suppose to tell me where to exit was behind a tree!  One time I was lost for three hours, just driving around on the freeways around downtown L.A., which while was a lovely way to explore the city (that is, if you like to include panic, frustration, and cursing during your drive), was not the way that I wanted to.  This did, however provide a wonderful opportunity to observe and isolate the behavior pattern of the average Los Angles’ driver.

1) Check in all the mirrors and the blind spot for approaching vehicles.  Not for safety mind you, this is known as “scouting” for your next victim.

2) Wait for an unsuspecting vehicle to get extremely close and then "cut him off" and think “that will teach the bastard”.  This maneuver is often accompanied by a laugh or at least maniacal giggle upon completion.

3) Give others an obscene gesture of choice and push the gas pedal.

4) Try to achieve speeds that test pilots reach on the salt plains of Utah and go far beyond the speeds that the make of the car was actually designed for.  If they are able to obtain a point where the G-forces are ready to rip the doors off your car I believe that then the State actually nominates them for a state congressional medal.  I understand that I don’t drive notoriously fast, but people were flying past me as though they were in the “O.J. Simpson Road Rally”

6) Slam on the brakes to come to a screeching halt and spend an hour in a traffic jam that resembles a parking lot then scream and blow the horn with full determination that this will assist the situation.

Again, this doesn't excuse the driving behavior of Californians, but one has to know this in order to be able to effectively function in a chaotic environment.  Remember: information is power and there is a quiz later on, I hope you’re taking notes.  This brings me to lesson two: how to drive in Los Angles.

Having often thought of myself as relatively “adaptable;” a social chameleon if you will - what I soon discovered through acute observation that if you follow these eight steps on how to drive in the L.A. area, you should be fine.

1) Roll down your windows and try to look "cool." Yes, yes, I know you’re thinking “but Jason, you ARE cool there is no need to pretend” and this is only a reference for the less than average cool.

2) Find the Mexican station on the radio that plays “SALSA 24 HOURS A DAY!” and play it loud enough to make your ears bleed.  In fact, if you get out of the car and go into a store and you can’t hear your music, then you are playing it too softly.

3) Drive carefully and cheerfully as you're on the freeway; dancing in your seat to music that can only be described as "Mexican Polka."  By bouncing in your seat, you can sometime achieve the “low rider” effect.

4) Be prepared to discover that your upcoming exit is in the far left lane while you are four lanes over in the far right lane.

5) Let out an Apache war cry/obscenity that would wake the dead and cut across four lanes in one consecutive movement in less than three seconds; regardless of the cars behind you and in those lanes.

6) Prepare yourself for the entourage of vulgar gestures and the verbal onslaught of multicultural references to your birth right that will ensue.

7) Realize that you've gotten off at the wrong exit anyhow.

8) Hope that no one is following you.

Once I became accustomed to this, I found driving in and around Los Angles to only be slightly less horrific than I initially imagined.  One particular incident I remember was when I was trying to find a place to pull off and take a photo of the "HOLLYWOOD" sign.  Ironically you can see it wonderfully from the highway (where I'm sure many people including the authorities would frown upon my decision to stop on the middle of the freeway and take a photo from there), but you can't get a good shot of it from anywhere else.  I drove and drove until I realized I was completely lost and about thirty miles from where I wanted to be.  Eventually I made it to the base of the hill were the sign is located and if I had more time I would have gone up (you have to hike up), but I was running out of time.  I still didn't get a photo of the sign.

I did make it to Beverly Hills and Rodeo Drive I am proud to say and having done so I can state the third lesson learned from this trip: rich or poor it's nice to have money and the more of it – the better.  Yes, money can’t buy you happiness nor can you take it with you, but it can lessen the blow (unless you’re addicted to cocaine then in that case it can “increase the blow”.)   There were socks in the store windows that had a higher value than the car!  It was very…unique.  Without a doubt Beverly Hills is one of the most ostentatious and obscenely wealthy places I've ever seen; to the point of gaudy.  Not only is Rodeo Drive much smaller than I imagined, it was far less glamorous than I thought it would be (damn you Julia Roberts!).   Yet, aside from the prices of things (i.e. needing to take out a second mortgage for a pair cufflinks), what really shocked me were the women on Rodeo Drive. I don't mean the tourists, but the actual residents who shopped and worked there.

We’ve heard all the jokes and know the stereotypes, but seriously Beverly Hills can best be described as vortex of plastic surgery gone wild.  It was like walking through a psychedelic dream of Salvador Dali or Andy Warhol, where I was mingling with the denizens of a living wax museum that decided to install a solarium.  Now, I’m not against plastic surgery as a practice.  Indeed there is a time and place for it – after an accident, a little bit to better one’s self-esteem, or to stave off the aging process for a short time.  Comedienne Phyllis Diller is a classic example of plastic surgery done well.  But there is point that a person must stop.  Otherwise it becomes twisted and used for evil!  (a la Michael Jackson and Joan Rivers)  From what I understand, plastic surgery is like tattoos: once you get one/start, you become addicted to it and you want more.  Of course, the difference is that a tattoo can be hidden and eventually removed if necessary.  It doesn’t disfigure the body; especially if it is botched up (remember actress Jennifer Grey (she was so cute in Dirty Dancing, why tamper with the nose?! Or again…Joan Rivers).  On Rodeo Drive with the sun beaming down, there is a blinding glare that hits you in the face;  reflected from their skin with a plastic shine.  Women with their faces pulled back so tight, their eyes a bit darker and sullen, creaseless smiles, it appeared that they had been trapped in a wind tunnel most of their natural life.  And that was just the face!  When you refer to other body “enhancements” (or “expansions” “intensifications” “reinforcements” if you will), it was stupefying to horrific.  Parts of the body twisted, turned, pulled back, pulled up, pulled over, inflated, sucked out, and inverted to such proportions that one could not help but to stare like a traffic accident gawker.   Mind you I'm not an experienced professional, but I've been to the beach before!  I know what the real ones look like and these were not those!  Don't misunderstand me, I not against breasts and backsides augmentation per se, but all this surgery combined with liposuction misaligned bodies; simply knocks everything out of proportion AND with a plastic and artificial look to it.  It’s like vacuumed, plastic wrapped hot dogs and deviled eggs.   They would look much better if they took a little more care of themselves – healthy diet, exercise, etc.  Yes, I know there is the argument about if you have the money and it makes you feel better, so what the hell.  Of course, I would argue that it would be far better to spend that same money on a good therapist to help get over any insecurities that you have, wouldn’t it?  Shouldn’t there be some law applied for plastic surgery like three letters from trained mental practitioners before the actual doing.

So there it was – my Los Angles.  Nothing of what I expected.  Nothing – at all.  There was no “Baywatch.”  No “Julia Roberts hanging out on the corner” (although I did see a slightly overweight, middle aged man dressed in a similar outfit to the one she had on in “Pretty Woman” hanging out on a corner). No Arnold Schwarzenegger was not driving his hummer around.  Instead, it was the sad realization that I had gleefully swallowed all the Californian propaganda that their PR machine had been fed me over the years.  What I did learn though, was that Los Angles is almost like a modern city state.  They could mint their own coinage, raise their own flag and declare that they’ve seceded from the Union and it wouldn’t surprise me.  It is a unique microcosm; completely unfettered by the Federal and State governments.

This isn’t to say that Los Angles was a “bad experience.”   On the contrary, I thoroughly enjoyed my time there.  I saw wonderful and truly beautiful works of art at the Los Angles museum, examined the wonders of and at the La Brea Tar Pits, experienced and interacted with the multicultural diversity of the different sections of L.A. (little Tokyo, Chinatown, outskirts of Watts, as well as the Hispanic population all over), went to the beach (Venice Beach and Long shore), saw the tourists sights (Hollywood, Mann's Chinese Theater with all the foot and hand prints, Sunset Boulevard, Melrose Boulevard, etc.), passed Universal and Paramount Studios (by accident when I was lost), walked the Hollywood walk of fame, saw Frederick's of Hollywood lingerie, encountered how "the other half" live (Beverly Hill and Rodeo Drive), and caught a cold from continuous swimming in the hotel pool (you would have thought I would have learned not to go back in after the first time wouldn't you?).  Thus, all in all a lovely place to visit (preferably when the weather is better). 

 Yes, all and all California was a nice little adventure and as they say in the movies "that's a wrap!"