Goin' Back to Cali

“The white zone is for the loading and unloading of passengers. There is no stopping in a red zone.” These were LITERALLY the first words I heard as I exited LAX with my wife Maryellen (aka “Bubba), as an official Californian for the first time (save for when I was born in Oakland that is). So of course, MY eternally silly mind flashes to a classic scene in “Airplane,” where two voices argue about abortion over the LAX p.a. system, starting off with that exact recording, while Ted Striker pleads his case with Elaine. Guess I really am in Hollywood now, and my mind is already adjusting to the cinematic mindset, even though I’m a musician, not an actor.

<> So, having been here almost four weeks now, I’m not a fish out of water per se, but I AM maybe a humpback on the back end of his first migration. More or less among his peers, but new to the surroundings nonetheless. Not yet comfortable, but not UN-comfortable. After several years of plotting, my wife and I decided to take the plunge finally, and we picked up shop, leaving the bright lights of New York City for the headlights and spotlights of Los Angeles. We barnstormed W. Hollywood in October, and found a cozy abode on a lovely side street. Soon after we got settled, it became glaringly apparent that there is a SIGNIFICANT Russian population in our ‘hood. Therefore, I have affectionately decided to refer to our area as “Little Minsk” going forward, doubly appropriate because of the surprisingly high number of strip joints and x-rated video stores nestled in our otherwise unassuming neck of the woods. <>

So far, the mental adjustment hasn’t been as dramatic as I’d anticipated. It’s different to be sure, but easier really. The pace is slower, almost to the point of annoyance, at least for now. My wife and I are definitely still on New York time, as our short tempers with the various service people we’ve dealt with would attest to. I imagine it will serve us well ultimately, reversing the life-shortening trend that Big Apple living had started. Given that I moved to New York in 1994, I’ll hopefully be back at the break even threshold of a standard male 76.2 year life expectancy by around 2018. <>

I wouldn’t say I’m out here with stars in my eyes. Quite the contrary, I’d say I have more, “C-List” stars in my eyes. I’d be much more geeked to come across say, Meeno Peluce, child star of all kinds of 70’s tripe I grew up on, than I would, Jennifer Garner. So far though, the closest thing I’ve had to a celebrity sighting is the car dealer, Pablo, who sounded exactly like Danny Bonaduce. I half expected him to go on a steroid induced tirade when we turned down his deal, but no dice. He just shook my hand and said, “No problem, Bro.” Still, just being in this environment, one can’t help but at least entertain the notion that most everyone you encounter is either ASPIRING to be Jennifer Garner, or WAS a Meeno Peluce. I drove past Beverly Hills the other day. I see four older gents kibbutzing on a bench. I’m thinking to myself, “for all I know, one of those guys is ‘Paulie’ from the Godfather. You know, the one ‘we won’t see no more’” except, maybe I just did see him. <>

Much to my surprise, L.A. is the friggin’ burger capital of the world (I thought East Orange, NJ staked that claim, but I was wrong). I expected a tofu stand or something on every corner. Instead, there’s burger chains I’ve never even heard of. Astroburger. Fatburger. Sonic. In n’ Out. Carl’s Jr. All of the nationwide chains of course, and a bunch more I’m already forgetting. There’s also donut shops galore. And while the health nuts abound as well, it seems it’s all or nothing for most folks out here. <>

I’ll spare the traffic cliché’s, other than to say, they’re all true. Sonofabitch it takes a while to get places here. But it’s all right, you know? What’s the rush? I told my mom the other day, “I swear no one works here. I see cars filling the roads constantly, yet my neighbors are always home, and no one seems to GET anywhere. I don’t know what anyone DOES here, save for the people serving me in the burger joints.” Interestingly, my older sister apparently felt the same way when she did a 2 year tour at ‘SC out here in the 90’s. <>

As expansive as Los Angeles is, I’ve found it remarkably easy to navigate. Much like New York, the city is cut by a modest number of significant parallel avenues. Everything else is a side street, akin to any numbered street in Manhattan. Couple that with the consistent backdrop of the hills, and the fact that you’re stopping every 9 seconds in traffic, leaving you nothing BUT time to ponder where you are, it’s very easy to know where you are at all times. I also owe a huge geographical debt to O.J., Boyz n’ the Hood, and all of the Death Row artists I was weened on in the 90’s as well. As I’ve been driving around, it’s ALL coming back to me, usually in song. Slauson swap meet, Crenshaw, the L.B.C., Rosecrans, Inglewood (always up to no good), Bundy drive, the 405, I owe it all to 90’s pop culture. <>

I don’t know what it means exactly, when I say I think I’m gonna fit in nicely here. I’m definitely not a typical L.A.er, and if I become one, I demand my east coast peeps take me out on site. That said, I think my laid back, schmoove, schmoove style will play well out here. Hell, I was cold chillin’ right out the womb, as that picture of your boy at the top of this blog, mackin’ in the velour robe will attest to. <>

So here we go…