 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Or, a few things I've learned about the left coast after one month of residency: 1. An "exclusive" club on the Sunset Strip offers pretty much the same atmosphere as a less exclusive, run-of-the-mill club anywhere else: same bad music, same bad dancing, same overpriced drinks, same ex-frat boys pissing in the sinks. The "premium" here is (maybe) a pool, bigger tits, and firmer abs. 2. The number of palm trees in a neighborhood is directly proportional to the size of its average incomes. 3. In 'N Out Burger is just as good as Donny said it was. 4. If you dig classic one-screen theaters like I do, LA is the place for you. Many still have their original neon facades (or convincing replicas). The Mann Village and Mann Bruin here in Westwood still part the curtains at the beginning of every feature. 5. Mexican food isn't remarkably better out here, despite the fact that we stole the place from right under Santa Ana's mustache. You can get a glass of horchata just about anywhere, though. Hooray for horchata. 6. UCLA has one of the prettiest campuses in academia, but you wouldn't know if from their promotional materials. 7. Southeastern California is a preview of post-apocalyptic America: nothing but a vast swath of nothing. While trekking over from the East Coast, I almost ran out of gas somewhere between the Arizona border and Barstow. I swear to God, the first concern that ran through my head wasn't dehydration or having to hitch a ride with a sketchy trucker, but running into some mutant with a gimp on a leash driving a dune buggy. 8. Remember the little French girl from Saving Private Ryan? You know, the one who Vin Diesel saves and then wails on her father for being such a cowardly surrender monkey and leaving her to zee Germans? She isn't actually French. 9. Driving in LA is intense, but not Boston intense. While New England driving is a Hobbesian free-for-all wherein it's every douchebag for himself, LA driving is simply a cosmic test of willpower. LA drivers are just way too into their little urbanite bubbles to notice that they're holding up traffic. As such, a little assertiveness goes a long way. I still (almost) run into the occasional Hobbesian douchebag, but I'm pretty sure they're just other East Coast transplants. 10. The new primetime TV trend for 2007: rookie cop shows. You read it here first, folks. Current Music: Nekromantix - "Gargoyles Over Copenhagen"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
It was the spring of 2008, and for reasons unknown I was attending my ten-year high school reunion. Since none of my friends had decided to show up, I was wandering around the hotel in a tasteful pinstripe jacket, white gloves, and my favorite bolo tie meditating on the sheer pointlessness of coming when I ran into none other than: Peter Jennings. Turns out that not only was Peter Jennings alive, but he was organizing the event (note: I did not graduate with Peter Jennings, as he was already an established primetime TV journalism superstar by then). After some small talk in which I managed to dodge the inevitable "so what have you been up to?" question, he invited me to go on a booze run with him. Suddenly, we were standing in the old town Buehler's (Ohio folks may recognize this place) surrounded by various former classmates with shopping carts. At least half of my graduating class must have been involved in the operation. However, this didn't seem like overkill since the managment at Buehler's had been kind enough to remove all solid food items from their shelves and replace them with alcohol and cocktail ingredients. As we directed our legion of hooch gophers like cops standing in so much traffic, Peter turned to me and asked, "Thom, which would you rather exclusively drink at the party: beer, root beer, or Pinot Grigio?" "Pete," I said, "is that all you're getting? I guess I'd drink the beer, but then I could mix something into the root beer." "Like what?" he said with a laugh. He was wearing a floral print apron now, for some reason. "Well, vodka is the universal cocktail solvent. I suppose Southern Comfort might work, too." Suddenly, one of my former classmates began filling his cart with 80 proof bottles of SoCo. With a cry, I slapped a bottle out of his hand. "The fuck, man!" I said, "Put those back. We are not throwing a fucking sorority ball." Grabbing a conveniently available broom to sweep up the broken glass, I turned back to my mate, Peter: "And why Pinot Grigio? That's a little specific compared to the other two, isn't it?" He shrugged. "I'd rather have Chablis, myself." After that we got to talking about our careers. Feeling bold, I asked him what professional route he would have taken had he not ended up a primetime TV journalism superstar. Turns out we both had dreams of becoming chefs. Then I woke up and fixed myself a bowl of Banana Nut Crunch. And a beer. Additional note: I did graduate with a kid named Jennings. As I recall, he was kind of a prick. Current Mood:  awake
Current Music: Megadeth - "Holy Wars...The Punishment Due"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
tpugh's journal
Previous
excited
exhausted
</a>
</a>
content
amused
indescribable
curious
