A Devil in the City of Angels:
A New Yorker's Journey to Los Angeles
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| Be proud, California... |
Ever since I heard "California Sun" by
the Ramones, I pictured California (particularly Los Angeles) as a sprawling Mecca
of surfboards, dune buggies, burger joints, and bikini chicks. I wanted to trek
out there on a mission to surf, skate, and score babes. Some of my early
college choices were based there, but, alas, I stayed hunkered down on the East
Coast several more years before I finally made the journey out west.
Of course, the first time I visited California, I
went to the San Fran/Bay area. I packed shorts and tank tops, expecting
the sun to blare down on me for the entire week.
Nope. I froze my nuts off. I then
realized that my view of California was completely off, at least for Northern
Cali. As a native New Yorker, I judged and measured the Bay Area against
my home turf: great landscape, crappy roads, and good seafood. Aside from
being where my wife hailed from and it being the current home of a childhood
friend, I liked Northern Cali: a beautiful place, but I'd never live there.
Deep inside, I felt that the dream of California,
my perfect vision, lay in Los Angeles. I thought of this city as my
mistress to my hometown, so different, yet so seductive. At 38 years old,
my understanding of Los Angeles would grow beyond my childhood Beach Blanket
Bingo wet dreams. It still held a mystique I yearned to uncover and see
first hand. Thus, when I was afforded the opportunity to go out there for
business, I silently squealed with glee.
Dreams are dreams, and expectations are to no
fault, except to those that hold them. I was no exception. I liken
the experience to hooking up with the hot girl at the party and then waking up next
to her the following morning: no make-up, no pretense, just raw "this is
who I am".
And it with with those thoughts, I am compelled to
make the following comparisons between both cities, based on my short stay, but
also fueled by my knack to pick up on the minor details most folks overlook.
Theme Song: Newman vs. Sinatra
Your city ain't shit unless you have a theme song. New York and Los Angeles are no exception, except they each have well known, more than most, melodies that pay homage to their respective metropolis. But this is no contest.
Oh, Randy Newman, you have dropped the ball on this
one. You may have won our hearts with "Short People" and that
saccharine crap from the Toy Story movies, but your ode to L.A. sucks.
It's dated 80's synth, pop-rock poop. You can't hide behind your claims
of satire when it is used in ad campaigns and at the end of sporting
events. It's lame. Trees, mountains, homeless people, and
rich movie stars do not a theme song make.
"New York, New York", on the other hand,
is a timeless, classy tune crooned by Hoboken legend Frank Sinatra. Sure,
Frank isn't from New York, but we consider New Jersey to be our bastard
cousin. We may pick on the red-headed little bugger, but it's still
family. And this track is perfect. The pace of class and drive of
overcoming the odds is synonymous with the Big Apple and all the crap that we
face on the daily grind we call "survival". I also assert that
if Sinatra was still alive, he would dick-whip Randy Newman in a fight.
Ah, L.A., you'd have been better off clinging to
"City of Angels" by The Distillers. It captures the grit and
grime of your city with a flair for utter cool. Very awesome and catchy.
Plus, it has a female singer who doesn't seem to channel her voice from her
ovaries.
Punk rock anthem, you say? A-ha! I counter back with "New York. New York" by Manitoba's Wild Kingdom. Check and MATE!
The winner: Old Blue Eyes and Handsome Dick Manitoba.
Rock n' Roll scene
O.K., I brought rock n' roll into the mix. We can band for band, but we won't. I'll just bring up The Ramones and stop listening to you altogether. So let's talk about the rock n' roll scene.
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| Check out our new album: Bromance, Tattoos, and Irony |
| Alas, CBGB's, I knew thee well.... |
In L.A., hair metal and hard rock lives well.
Aside from the rock and metal stations (of which I listened to religiously out
there, almost ejaculating at the DJ's exclamation of "Mandatory
Metallica" followed by choice cuts from "Ride the Lightning" and
"Kill'em All"). Punks, emo, thrash, glam, hard rock...it's all there.
They have given us so many iconic bands (you literally could stop at Guns n'
Roses). They rock and they rock well. All day. All night.
They still have all the classic clubs: the
Troubadour, Whiskey-a-go-go, and the Viper Room. There are certified rock shops
where you can purchase platform boots, studded velvet army jackets, and chains
to dangle in your rock star fantasies. I was in heaven. In NY, all
we have are those crap stores run by Middle Eastern dudes peddling bongs (calm
down, no racial connection there. Go to St. Marks Place and tell me I'm
wrong before you become an ethnic crusader). I knew NY was done for when I was
in Rock Town on Hollywood Boulevard and saw Sacred Reich's "Surf
Nicaragua" shirt for sale right next to S.O.D. shirts that haven't
surfaced in NYC since I was 14.
I wish I started Adios Mafia
in L.A. I think they would appreciate the East Coast swagger and grime
that are lost on my fellow city dwellers. And I think the crowds are much more
receptive and interactive with the bands. Here, in NY, they look at you
like you're in a fishbowl and they're waiting for you to take a poop.
The winner: Los Angeles. Rock n' roll is not
dead. Thank you.
The People
So let me get the stereotypes out of the way. New Yorkers are always grumpy and in a rush, yet they have hearts of gold, steel resolve, and balls the size industrial, abstract art sculptures. Plus, we're rude, violent, and drive like assholes. Californians are flakey, granola munching, narcissists that live a glamorous life of indulgence and fantasy we only could hope for. Plus, they're stuck up, violent, and drive like assholes. This is tough, so I'm going to be as objective as I possibly can.
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| Here's me in my hotel room in L.A. |
First thing I noticed about L.A. is how fit
everyone is. By NY standards, I'm chubby, at worst. I got a spare
tire; I can admit that. But when I started to stroll the city streets of L.A.,
I felt like Walter Hudson. I guess the year-round nice weather makes the
inhabitants more inclined to work out. Aside from the plethora of L.A.
Fitness, this city is strewn with Crossfit gyms for as far as the eye can
see. It's like a religion out there and it makes everyone shredded and
muscular. Not to say the L.A. doesn't have their fair share of the
overweight, but they are on average the most physically fit people I've seen.
And they don't have a fatty-size drink limit on their foods like we do.
WTF?
So they're more fit than NY'ers, but are they as
tough and gritty? No. L.A. is a sprawling city with hills and trees in
the background. NY is a grey cage of drab buildings that overpower and
challenge your psyche for sanity. We're crammed in, pissed off, and willing
to tear your heart out if you cut us in line. I cut somebody in line at a
CVS in L.A., just to see what would happen (and, yeah, because I can be a
dick). All I got was a "Hey, guy. What are you
doing?". I tried to hold in my laughter as he protested, "That's
not right. I WILL get the manager." My conscience got the
better of me and I profusely apologized, claiming I was just out of it because
of the jet-lag time difference. He accepted my apology, but he attempted to
lightly scold me for my error. Once I told him, "Look, buddy, I said I was
sorry. You're in front of me now, get over it and let it be." in my
thick NY accent, he literally cringed. I felt bad, as I didn't think our
West Coast counterparts were so sensitive. I was wrong. And he was
scared.
People in L.A. were genuinely nice, at least the
ones I met. I expected them to be plastic and haughty. Not
so. Although there is a sense of entitlement (I am a citizen of Los
Angeles and you will respect me), I can't say I met many assholes out there.
However, they were flakes and seemed to have their heads parked between their
butt cheeks. It was like everyone had brain-fry after going on a 3-day
MDMA bender, like they were lost in a fog of uncertainty or thinking about
their next workout. Even the gangbangers seem to drift off mid-threat
(ex. Hey...fucker. You don't know....who you fucking with, eh...fucker...).
In contrast, NY'ers are focused on their next errand or on not getting
stabbed. That's why we're in a rush. We got shit to do and we don't
want to die in the midst of carrying it out.
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| What the fuck do you mean you're out of Newport lights? I left my house for this shit?! |
Why the difference? I can think of two major factors. First, the weather. L.A. does not have the grueling winters of NY which harden us into miserable bastards. I'm sure if it was sunny and in the low 80s with little humidty, NY'ers would shed those pounds and contemplate their next physical activity. But no. After we shovel our car out of the snow embankment, we look forward to some alcohol and fried foods to comfort us in our time of misery. When it's o degrees out with a rain and a windchill that would make Frosty's balls shrivel up, we don't want to be outside for more than 30 seconds. Relax, Buffalo and Chicago. We know that you guys get hit harder in the winter, but you're not real cities. Let the adults have a discussion here.
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| You know he's hiding a boner... |
The second reason is the subway, or as like I like
to call it "the International Cattle-car Jamboree of Piss and
Vomit". Everyone in Cali either drives or takes the bus. It's
not their fault. They're on a fault line and any REAL subway system would
be a claustrophobic nightmare of impending burial. L.A. doesn't get to
enjoy the experience of being pressed into a car with other NY'ers like Spam
"meat", mashed into a inundating horror of strange body
smells/fluids, shitty music blasting on ear buds, bed-bugs, and weirdoes that
may or may not flash you their cocks after they grope you. Oh, you also have to
deal with the very real fact that you may get stabbed. That's not the best
part. If you're lucky, the train conductor maybe drunk or on crack as he
drives the train full of warring gang factions. So forgive us if we come across
as being curt, gruff, and anything-less-than-pleasant. Ride the 6 train
from St. Lawrence to 14th St during rush hour and then tell me how many
unicorns you feel like painting...if you survive.
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| Sure it's small for $2400 a month, but the view of the Hudson is worth it... |
Did I mention Guidos? I really missed my
goombahs when I was in L.A., the only greasy, chain-wearing Neanderthals I saw
in L.A. were Armenians. No Irocs, hair gel, or freestyle music. I was
sad.
Edge: New York. We put up with some terrible shit on a daily basis and we are stronger and more resilient for it...like cockroaches.
Driving and Traffic
Dear L.A. drivers: please stop staring off into the
mountains or playing Candy Crush on your phone while on the highway. You
have a turn signal. Please use it. And please do not observe the
speed limit to "keep me in check" as I will tailgate you and try to
send you off into a fiery ditch. Please, "drive" or get the
fuck out the way.
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| Sleep....sleep...sleep... |
There. I cannot and will not be objective
about L.A. drivers. I almost don't blame them for meandering through the
streets at slow speeds. Everything blinks, even the stop signs. Why
do your stop signs blink? Because they can? Is the bright red hexagon
not obvious enough? You're a car culture that goes nowhere and drives like it.
Why are you horrified by my sudden 3-point turn? Have you never seen a
3-lane change executed with precision? If you can turn on red and have
your blinker on, why are you still sitting there? And why, when I honk my
horn, do you look at me as if I have a ski-mask on and my dong hanging
out? I don't get it.
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| How do you misuse so much space?! |
OK, in NY, we are impatient and tend to honk the
nano-second a light turns green. Yes, we pass one another just to get to the red light first. But, dammnit, we drive with purpose and passion. How
they hell do you have a traffic jam on an 8-lane highway? It's
inconceivable. There are so many highways and lanes, yet no one goes
anywhere. And all of the streets leading to such major conduits are
jammed for miles. It literally took me 48 minutes to travel 4 miles
during rush hour. Even the Cross Bronx (I-95) and the L.I.E. are nowhere
near as bad. Sure, we sit in bumper-to-bumper traffic, but we get though
it.
Maybe it's because know how to drive. We're
looking for any crack or crevice to ram our car through to get ahead and keep
the traffic moving. I got somewhere to go and so does the next guy.
Don't jam me up and I'll return the favor. Not in L.A. You'll cram
into a lane just to "teach people a lesson" and keep other drivers at
bay. Your construction is also the worst. Lanes are closed or stopped
with no truck or workers there. It's like you did it just because. Except
in Queens. I know not of what goes on
there, as cars slow to a crawl because there is a curve in the highway.
Queens also holds the high distinction of making any GPS directions utterly
useless because Queens once, briefly, contemplated designing a series of
streets that were organized and promptly said, "Fuck that."
You let transit buses and trucks bully you on the
road. That doesn't fly in NY. I've witnessed a Honda Civic hatchback
cut-off a bus and dodge a Mack truck all in the span of 30 seconds. The
drivers never flinched, merely flicking each other the bird and yelling
obscenities. And that's another thing. Man up when some one gives
you the finger or curses at you. Just do it back or smile. Don't look so
mortified. In my 20s, I was a real jerk on the road and had hand-signs
and words for everybody. In my 30s, I've stopped all that. However,
when someone does flip me off or calls me "a motherless cocksucker",
I return the favor or smile at them and say "thanks". I don't
go to my therapist or run them down (as much as the latter option intrigues
me). I let it go because driving in NY is stressful. Plus, I've
been such a dick in the past, I probably deserve it.
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| Yeah, that's a fleet of gyspy cabs in the distance...let's go back to Jersey. |
Edge: New York (except Queens). We drive like our lives are on the line because they are.
Pedestrians
There is a stark difference between NY pedestrians
and L.A. pedestrians crossing the street.
In NYC, we know the risks and are not in the
business of giving a fuck.
In L.A., I must have terrified an average of 15
pedestrians per day with my driving. Why? Because I am a NY'er that
drives like he is still in NY. I pull up on corners to get a clear view
of what's coming down the cross streets before I make my turns and block the
box. In NY, we have no parking at the corners, so I can see easily.
Not in L.A. I have to block the pedestrian crossing so I can make sure a
truck carrying organic onions doesn’t cream me. On one such occasion, I blocked
a crosswalk. I saw a group of teenagers coming down the block, and I mean
they were at the OTHER end of the block. 2 had bikes, one carrying the
skateboards, and another was armed with pubescent angst. I was stuck at
that point because of the cross traffic. Cool. I'll wait it out and
listen to some "Mandatory" Metallica. Eventually, these youths
made it to the crosswalk and glared at me. To add to this, one of them
started to lecture me about traffic rules. Really? What the hell is
with L.A. denizens and their need to lecture people? This is where that
soft and fuzzy "let's talk about our feelings" gets you. I really
must have pissed on their cornflakes by making them walk around my car, as they
had the entire length of the block to notice me. Perhaps, in that time,
they were honing their points for their oncoming traffic lecture. Well,
unbeknownst to them, NYC fury is immediate and scathing. My retort was
quick and fierce. Before he could finish his third sentence, I snapped
out, "Hey, why don't you shut the fuck up before kick you off the fucking
planet, you little turd." Ghost white and silence.
Sure, I was wrong. I could have just made a
face. But I guess I was tired of the lecturing going on in that city. I
wasn't trying to impede their journey. But I sure as hell wasn't in the
mood to be given the finer points of vehicle operation by an acne-ridden kid on
a bike. Regardless, I'll take full responsibility for my rampant asshole-ism
here.
That incident was highly indicative of the L.A.
pedestrian attitude: I am pedestrian, yield and hear me roar. As soon as
the light changes, and I mean AS SOON as it changes, they barrel into the
street, nary a glance at any car that may be hurtling towards them. Are
they not aware of the hunks of death metal careening through the streets driven
by humans, the most backwards and stupid species on the planet? Are they
that ignorant and blissful? Oh no, that's right, because most of them are
texting or Googling the nearest Fro-Yo-Smoothie shop that offers gluten-free
alternatives.
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| And not a single fuck was given that day or ever. |
Maybe, like most NY'ers, I'm jaded and
cynical. I assume each and every time I cross a street, a car can (and
will) pop out at any moment and strike me down. I assume that drivers
have designated a point value to my person and are attempting to break a
personal high score. You know how I learned to cross the street?
When I was six, I ran out onto Norman Ave and almost got flattened by a
truck. The driver freaked out, screeched to a halt, clutching his chest,
while I stood there like a moron about to piss his pants. I freaked out
when he started yelling at me, running all the way back to my babysitter's
house. And you know what I learned? If I don't look when I am crossing, I
will die. End of story.
In NYC, we know that we shouldn't be crossing and
take the risk anyways. Because we got shit to do and don't want to die
while doing it. We dodge and juke our way through cars, regardless of
crosswalk signals. And we're better off for it (except in Queens...).
In Manhattan, it is common for a car to become enveloped by pedestrians if it
is not fast enough to make a turn or get through an intersection. Very
rarely does the driver catch any flack (except by the White Knight Samaratin or
traffic cop), and NEVER does the driver get lectured. Ever.
Edge: New York. Once again, our mindset is on survival. You can keep your lectures, dweebs.
Food
I can fly through this pretty easy...
Most L.A. street food (and by most, I am gauging at
95%) is a taco wagon. Nary a hot dog vendor to be found. Most of
the little restaurants are also Mexican. We get it. You have a lot of
Mexicans and they like Mexican food, and so do the gringos. But we have
lots of Mexicans, too. We also have Greek joints, Chinese take-out, bar food,
Halal, Indian, Turkish, Thai, and a whole host of restaurants that offer one
thing you do not have, Los Angeles: VARIETY.
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| Are they even aware of what they're advertising? |
Don't get me started on what you call Italian
food. Olive Garden is not Italian food. Let's talk about that
doughy abortion you call pizza, or more annoyingly "'za". Just
because you make a circular piece of dough with cheese and some tomato
byproduct does not give you the right to call it pizza. You lose.
And you should be sent to Detroit to think about what you have done.
Please, get a respectable ice cream shop and stop "going
out for yogurt". You're gross and nasty. Stop it. Right now.
Eat ice cream or give up desserts completely. I decree it.
What is with the food trucks? Sure, NYC has
our fair share now, but L.A. started it. Ugh. Do I really
need artisan French fries...oops, I mean frites with vinaigrette mustard
and guacamole? Sounds good in theory, but not when some sweaty dude slaps
it together in the back of a truck crammed in a parking lot with several other
"artisan" food caterers. (On a side note: NYC, will you stop
with all those goddamn cupcake trucks? Seriously. Do we need that
many cupcakes?)
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| Proof that God exists and he LOVES us! |
Yet, you shine in one major and important food
offering: the burger. You have the burger game on lockdown. Yes, we have
5 Guys and Shake Shack, but neither can light the flatulence of the most
amazing burger of all: In-n-Out Burger. It is mandatory that when I land
in California, I immediately get a double-double animal style with animal
fires. And if you don't know what that is, I hate you. And if
you're a vegan, go away before I cook you and eat you. These burgers are
so fresh and juicy. I make it a point to taunt all who know of its
awesomeness with videos, pictures, and texts because I am an asshole. Did
I mention that there's a secret menu? Oh, sweet baby Harry, that is
awesome. And the workers are always congenial, not that hood-rat attitude
you get from that angry girl behind the bulletproof glass at White Castle.
Edge: TIE! NYC got the pizza, L.A. has the burger. Touchee`, my West Coast compadres.
Times Square vs. Hollywood Boulevard
Shitty tourist trap vs. shitty tourist trap.
Who will win?
Hmm, both have crappy vendors selling crappy
merchandise. Both are jammed with waddling tourists and annoyed
locals. Both are inhabited by poorly costumed characters pretending to be
the real deal while preying on waddling tourists (however, in NYC, only
recently has there been a crackdown on these characters after Elmo attacked a
2-year-old).
Times Square: taller buildings, more theme
restaurants, big name shopping, and a militarized police presence.
Hollywood Blvd: Shorter buildings, nicer
weather, Hollywood walk of fame, and cholos.
Edge: You decide. But only do so after
looking at the following picture I took while on Hollywood Boulevard.
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| Hollywood Boulevard: Home of the Free Baby |
The Homeless
I've saved the weirdest for last. I though
NYC had the market shut down in this department. We’ve got homeless
guys with bricks and needles and pretending to be Jimi Hendrix. But we
are nowhere near the critical level of L.A.
I heard of the shantytowns beneath the highways and
the roving bands of transients. I saw not. I witnessed some dude
strolling with a shopping cart in his pajamas. And not a single person
looked askew at him. And he had bedroom slippers on. I had to give
it to him because his PJ's were crisp and clean. His sack of belongings?
Not so much. Otherwise, he looked like he strolled out of bed and ran
away from home, just in adult form.
No one referred to me as "big man", as in
"Hey, big man, you got a quarter?". I rather enjoyed that,
especially in L.A. where I felt as corpulent as John Goodman. Generally,
the people that approached me for change or cigarettes (alas, they were fooled
by my electronic EON smoke) were polite and nowhere near the aggressive stature
of NYC homeless.
The clincher that blew my mind occurred one morning
at a bus stop. An old guy was arguing with the bus stop. He was
gesturing and shoving his finger at the posted route schedule attached to the
pole. He was animated and angry, throwing his hands up and even
threatening to kick the bus stop's ass. Why? Because of the Civil
War. According to this man, the Civil War was fought between Angels and
Devils. It was the apocalypse and we are in the afterlife, hell to be
exact, as the devils won the war. Satan was the president according to
his understanding. Making it more perplexing was the fact that he was
African-American. I'm not saying that he should have been on the North's
side of the war, and I'm not here to argue the merits of this conflict versus
the economic and political stimuli that really drove the war. But another
guy did. And this gentleman was also of the African-American
persuasion. He said to the homeless man, "Brotha, if they didn't win
the war, you'd still be a slave." The homeless man's response was
thus: "I'm not black. I'm a DRAGON!". He then began to flap his
arms and pretended to fly.
I wanted to go back home and pull the covers over
my head.
In the end...
I'm a Native New Yorker, born and bred. For better or worse, I wear that with pride. I may seem like I believe NYC is the center of the universe. We're not. We're pretty damn close, but we're not. We have plenty of faults. They're just faults that I have learned to live with and love.
As for L.A., I will gladly go back to you r city because you are one of a kind. I was intrigued and know that I have only scratched the surface of what you have to offer. You're pretty kick-ass in ways I never thought of. Let's do it again.
For those of you wishing to come to NYC, I say, "Welcome!" But you seriously need to watch this video first....
Nick Marv is a lovable New Yorker that promises to not be a jimolk in your city when he visits. .
