Los Angeles
What I did on my summer vacation
According to your vitriolic comments, hate mail, and multiple, repeated vandalizations of my house, Chazzy’s World readers were upset that I took last week off.
But I was busy. I was in Los Angeles, sent by New World Order Ethics Czar Tom Hanks and Undersecretaries Marie Kondo and Liz Cheney, on a fact-finding reconnoiter of the area. What follows is my unabridged report:
It is 89 degrees today. I can report that it is actually “dry heat” and that it actually makes a difference. My silver-infused, antimicrobial, sweat-wicking, odor-destroying, hip-hugging, testicle-cradling performance underpants are bone dry. I left my Gold Bond Medicated Extra Strength Body Powder in my Dopp kit.
I am studying the locals. Walking past me: a sun-dried, vine-ripened man in his 60s with sandals and a ZZ Top/Chabad Lubavitch beard; several 5’5” men wearing vintage flannel baseball hats, picking at their fingers and woefully bony on a diet of soy and chicken (a fearful bird); the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, dressed like a haunted doll and climbing into a G-Wagon with a man in John Varvatos white jeans.
I am well-caffeinated here. This is the proving ground for milks, creams, and foams made from agricultural waste byproducts. My cup is made from recycled tampons, which costs extra. While I drank, I spotted the lead actress from Nvidia’s new drama, The Sensitive Afro-Latina, and the guy who gets maced by Reese Witherspoon while barking and humping the couch in that commercial for dog PrEP. (I hear he is a talented improviser!)
Angelenos are bicoastal and bisexual. They are polyamorous and allergic to polyester. They are particular and inhaling particulates. They work a lot and work out a lot. They are posting and PostMating. They are on their phones. They are relaxed and always in a hurry. They do not drink much because it mixes badly with their antidepressants. They do not drink much because it mixes badly with driving. Atwater Village is cool now. I hate my boss, but she’s kind of a genius. The hard water is fucking up my hair. I heard Lyft is cheaper. What SPF do you use?
What sticks out is the cars. Of course -- it’s LA. It’s cliché to say it. It’s hack! But God damn, the cars.
Mike wants to know if the food is good. It’s excellent -- there are communities from every country in the U.N. -- but you need to be willing to drive to it.
Benner wants to know if LA is expensive. No more so than New York, I don’t think. But the rideshare apps are. Rent is cheaper, but probably not once you add a car payment, insurance, and gas, which is five dollars.
Grandma wants to know if the homelessness is as bad as they say on television. Are there really tent camps everywhere? Sort of, but it’s easy to ignore from the car.
You miss other things, too, while you’re driving: The bridges marked “Los Angeles River” spanning bone-dry Us of bleached concrete. The signs, more common as you increase in altitude and property value, prohibiting grilling and smoking (and other forms of toxic masculinity.) The lone person waiting for a bus, sat on a bare metal bench and completely exposed to the sun, cooking by both conduction and convection.
Everyone is begging me to move here. I would if I had to. For a job. If I moved here I would probably get a job. I could take “meetings.” I could be in a “room.” I could get “credits.” I probably should. But the cars! But the fire!
Back home, New York is flooding. So is Rhineland-Palatinate and Zhengzhou and Artvin, Turkey. In the Democratic Republic of the Congo, they think they overestimated how many bonobos are still alive. In Tibet, they found ancient, unclassifiable viruses buried in 15,000 year old glacial ice, which is melting. In Oregon, they are observing “extreme fire behavior.” In Washington, Exxon executives are having lunch with Joe Manchin. In Florida, someone is moving a dead goliath grouper, poisoned by red tide, with a backhoe. In Connecticut, my dad is not supposed to feed the birds anymore because something is killing them.
Maybe I will move to Los Angeles next year. But it’s hard to think that far ahead.
