Road Trip

So, Bubba and I have stretched out a couple of times recently, taking in two notorious regions, both the complete opposite of each other. Last Friday, we had to do a little shopping, so we set out to the Century City Mall, just west of Beverly Hills. It's sad to admit, but after working in the corporate offices of first Liz Claiborne, and now Estee Lauder over the last 10 years, I get a little bit of a kick out of coming across the malls I've encountered on various sales reports and whatnot over the years. "Hey, it's Century City Mall!" I don't know what that says about me. I don't WANT to know what that says about me. Anyway, we got done quickly enough, so feeling adventurous, we figured we'd keep heading west.

One of the hidden challenges of moving from New York to L.A. is going from NEVER being behind the wheel to ALWAYS being behind the wheel. Over the years, I'd still drive enough from time to time to keep my chops up, but for all intents and purposes, Bubba hadn't been driving for years. So she took the helm, allowing me the opportunity to soak in the splendor in those moments I wasn't gripped with fear. We shoot on up the PCH (Pacific Coast Highway) like Chuck Berry, playin' our radio with no particular place to go.

We drove maybe 30-40 minutes, right up the coast. Past the Jimmy Buffet looking night spots, the seafood shacks, and of course, past the multi-million dollar residences. A lot of the houses themselves seemed at least, relatively unspectacular. Certainly not enough to warrant their hefty pricetags, but I guess that zip code and all the cache that go with it, costs. I don't know if it's the post-9/11 paranoia talking, or just a general New York cynicism, but all I could think about as I looked at these places was, "This is just a mudslide waiting to happen! How do these people sleep at night? It's a FOREGONE conclusion that sooner or later, an earthquake, a hard rain, a severe ocean storm, SOMETHING is going to fell these houses. Especially the ones built on stilts." Sure enough, like 2 days later, a wicked fire, possibly started by something as small as a tossed roadside cigarrette butt, completely took out 6 houses, including Suzanne Sommers'. Let it be known that when my ship comes in, you shan't see Chez Scuba out on the PCH.

Our second lil' trip took us in the completely opposite direction, out to what they call Simi Valley. From where we are in W. Hollywood, it's about maybe 8 miles over, another 20 minutes up the 405 like O.J., past Brentwood, the San Fernando Valley, and Van Nuys, and then another 15 miles further west on the Ronald Reagan Freeway (the 118). It's a lovely drive really. Once you get over the hills, the backdrop becomes a magnificent mountain vista. The 118, leading up to Simi Valley, is really quite different than anything I'd seen. It's literally like driving to Mars. The hills are just short of a Martian red, and the terrain is very rocky and sparce. Then you come upon a town on the downside of the mountain, nestled in the crook of some hills, and I swear, it's the living embodiement of all of the film strips they'd show us in grade school about the future, and people living on Mars. Just a bizarre little space community. The landscape is fantastic, but it really strikes me as a surreal place to love. It truly felt otherwordly.

We get to Simi Valley and I start cracking up because even though it's completely different than anywhere I've ever been, it's also EXACTLY the same. From the highway I see a Bed, Bath and Beyond, a Denny's, a Home Deopt, and any other chain store you can think of. The only difference is, they've slapped some kind of Tex-Mex, southwestern style roofs on the buildings. Other than that, it's Anytown, USA. What was that phrase from "Buckaroo Banzai," "wherever you go, there you are." Truer words were never spoken. 3000 miles away and it's like I never left home.

One side note. I don't aim for this to be a particularly political column, but I have to comment on one aspect that I encountered. All I previously knew about Simi Valley was that it was where they held the trials for the cops in the Rodney King case. Now I REALLY know why everyone was so pissed. I did a little research, and found that the population there is 1% black, and SIX percent American Indian. I've never heard of anywhere in America where American Indians outnumber ANYONE, short of an Indian reservation. Of course, my real point has nothing to do with American Indians, merely the insanity of moving such a racially charged set of trials to a place that was SO non-black. The powers that be got what they deserved with all of the subswquent mayhem that was caused for invoking such a jackass tactic. I know this isn't exactly timely, but hey, I just moved here and saw it with my own eyes.