I am new to Los Angeles. If my time in LA were a human fetus, and to be fair, it’s not, it would be fully-grown and ready to burst forth from a non-literal vagina by now. And like this metaphorical newborn, I am sometimes dazzled by my surroundings, I’m surprisingly dependant on other human beings, and I’m constantly rediscovering the merits of boobs. While my time in Los Angeles has been scant, it has been sufficient for me to recognize some glaring dissimilarities between here and other places I have lived. The following is a list of 5 of the most conspicuous differences.
1. In LA, Hipster Is Default.
While the house parties depicted in the numerous teenage, coming-of-age, buddy comedy, love story-ish, movies like “Can’t Hardly Wait” or “10 Things I Hate About You” are quite unrealistic, they do generally manage to correctly portray the default clothing of the typical teenage American whitey. Khaki shorts, skirts, polo shirts, and tight sweaters are the norm in both realms—fictional and real life. That is to say, the 2000 kids at the fictional parties with hot tubs and live bands and 12:1 girl-to-guy ratios are wearing the same thing as the 8 non-fiction kids drinking Keystone and playing Guitar Hero in the ‘cool parents’’ basement. However, the default at Los Angeles private schools is a different story. Here, the typical youth might sport tight black jeans, a messenger bag, and a weird summer scarf thing. In LA, hipster reigns.
Which is all fine and dandy, except for two things: 1) In attempting to be different, all these “unique” people actually end up looking pretty similar (which is tragically ironic) and 2) Hipsters are ugly, and ugly people bum me out. Now I don’t feel qualified to discuss the boy hipsters, because for all I know, they could be pulling in the ladies ball over dick. But to the girl hipsters—the ones with stupid glasses, sun-phobic skin, and self-made clothing—I have advice: Comb your hair, apply some makeup, and put on a goddamn skirt for once. How are you going to get pregnant whilst still a teenager, like an American, looking like that?!
2. In LA, There Is Caguama Beer.
Caguama beer, or turtle beer as it is affectionately known in my household, is cheap Mexican beer. But unlike its colleagues in the cheap Mexican beer game, it doesn’t taste like Mexican dirt mixed with Mexican antifreeze mixed with Mexican whiz. Caguama is especially tasty, from my experience, when consumed via a red solo cup that has either recently become the resting place for a ping pong ball or is about to be flipped. But perhaps Caguama’s best quality is that visitors don’t know how cheap it actually is. Sure they notice that they are drinking from a can, which might give them a clue that they aren’t exactly drinking a fine, imported Hefeweizen, but humans are the best as tricking themselves. They want to believe that I am serving them something more expensive than Busch Light because they want to believe that I like them more than I do. With Caguama, they can think that I like them at a $1.25 per can rate, but really, it’s more like $0.55.
3. In LA, Mexicans Rule the Fast Food World.
The following statement is 100% true: I have never seen a non-Mexican person working at a fast-food restaurant in Los Angeles. Never. Not one. From this statement I think we can only generalize in one way: Mexicans are unparalleled in their culinary range. Chipotle burritos, Subway sandwiches, Panda Express orange chicken, Pizza Hut pizza, McDonald’s double cheeseburgers; All 100% made by Mexicans, all 100% delicious. To these dynamos of LA fast food I say “Kudos!” Or for my Hispanic readers: “¡Kudos!”
4. In LA, There Are Earthquakes.
I like to describe experiencing an earthquake by saying that it’s like being the drunkest you’ve ever been for 11 seconds (or however long an earthquake lasts, my seismology skills are bad). Coming from a state that can safely be characterized as ‘steady’, it is difficult to get used to the fact that the ground might shift below me at any moment and said shift might kill me dead. On one hand, that kind of sucks, but on the other, if you don’t die, and your property isn’t damaged beyond repair, earthquakes can actually be kind of fun. What interests me about earthquakes is not that they’re capable of dealing deathblows or are enjoyable to ride out, but rather that people seem so preoccupied with preparing for them. Where I worked this summer, we had an ‘earthquake disaster drill’ twice monthly. This was stupid. You shouldn’t have earthquake disaster drills because you can’t prepare for earthquakes. It takes most of the duration of an earthquake for an average person to figure out what in the hell is going on, and in the case of stupid people like myself, the realization that an earthquake is occurring doesn’t hit until well after the earth is done quaking. What this means is that if a girder is going to fall from the building I’m in and sever my spinal cord, I’m fucked, regardless of the amount of preparedness I exhibit. They should put that in the earthquake preparedness video:
Start of video.
Titles.
Music.
Voice of kindly old man: “If an earthquake happens, and you are meant to die, then you’re going to die. Deal with it.”
End of video.
5. In LA, Sometimes You See Celebrities.
I don’t see a lot of celebrities, because celebrities don’t live in tiny apartment complexes near the airport. But when I do see one, I am struck by a few thoughts:
1) Seeing celebrities in person is always a bit of a letdown. In your mind you build them up to be these stately figures—commanding the attention of the room, towering over lesser foes, inducing orgasm from 30 yards. But then you meet them and they are about a foot and a half shorter and 60 pounds lighter than you expected. (Except that midget chap from “Elf”. He was about as tall as I thought he’d be.) Sure it was cool to see Clive Owen and Zach Braff breathing the same air as I, drinking drinks delivered by the same waitress, but the attention of the room wasn’t commanded, nobody did any towering, and I probably would have had to actually touch them to achieve full sexual release.
2) It is very difficult to pick a celebrity out of a crowd. One evening, I was at a nightclub with some friends. As the night progressed, we were informed that in attendance on that fateful evening was one Ja Rule. Since I was somewhat bored and since I like a good celebrity sighting as much as the next guy, I went on a search to find Mr. Rule. After a couple laps of disappointing reconnaissance I realized the following: it is really fucking hard to pick Ja Rule out at a crowded nightclub.
I could narrow it down to all of the black males, but after that I was pretty much lost. He’s like a black Waldo. My friends and I found some candidates to argue about but I wasn’t even convinced that the rapper in question was even there. The real problem here was context. We are so used to seeing celebrities around certain context clues—clues that help to trigger some imagery that might allow us to determine who the hell we are looking at—that we fail to identify celebrity without them. The only thing that gives away these decontextualized celebrities are the throngs of people that sometimes surround them. Or, in this case, the fact that Mr. Rule and his compatriot, Mr. The Game, were both given microphones so as they could properly dash headlong into black rapper stereotypes. And I think everyone there would agree when I say they knocked those stereotypes right out of the park. Bejeweled watches? Single. High and drunk as shit? Double. Oversized white tees? Triple. Mispronouncing words? Home run!
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I haven’t had much experience with spotting celebrities, but from the little experience I do have, you’re right on about them being hard to pick out in a crowd. I once brushed shoulders with Luke Wilson as he walked past me going the opposite direction. I didn’t even know it was him until my friend said something. That may have had something to do with the buxom blond he was with, and the fact that I was preoccupied with her cleavage, but still.
My sister just moved to LA too (well, 8 months ago). She works for a production studio, so I used to hear about all the celebrities coming through. Now, it’s just another day at work. I’ll have to ask her about this cheap beer you speak of. I can totally get behind beer that’s cheap but doesn’t taste like it.
Oh, here’s my least favorite part about LA: I went to visit my sister and see some other family members. My sister and I planned a whole weekend….Then, it started to rain. EVERYONE cancelled on us. Everyone stayed home for days because of RAIN. WHY, LA, WHY? (We eventually drove to Vegas instead.)
Matt, your nine month development as an embryo inside LA’s gentle, nurturing uterus has truly prepared you for a glorious emergence into “la la land,” as we Orange Countyans call it. For some reason, I feel obligated to defend a few things here…
Does your idea of LA include Metro-LA? If so, as you personally experienced, in some parts of “the metro,” you might find white people scanning your grocery items and in many instances, also serving you fast food. Said places are: In n Out Burger, Starbucks, In n Out Burger and… In n Out Burger. And seriously, please don’t tell me that you’ve yet to experience the “In n Out” experience because I will be inclined to call you un-American. Well, un-Californian.
I believe you mentioned seeing Ja Rule at “Guys and Dolls” in mid-town. Cheers to the “black waldo” remark, hilarious. At a place like “Guys and Dolls,” you really only have to sort through two things: black guys and big-boobed dolls. So naturally, I can see how the distraction of the natural (or ironically, the unnaturally silicon infested) environment could hinder your ability to locate Mr. Rule.
Here’s the thing about California Earthquake drills in schools: While it’s true you can’t predict them, practicing for such an event has proven itself worthwhile to me in many instances. California kids generally know what to do when the ground below you begins to shift: Get under something steady if you can’t make it to a door frame or even better, outside. During our recent “bigger” earthquake (Chino Hills, last November I believe), I witnessed the difference between a “trained” Californian and a barbaric non-Californian during this shake. I find that out-of-towners tend to spend the entire 8-10 seconds (your seismic guestimate was close I’d say) completely freeze-framed and saying things like “oh my god, oh my god, an earthquake, oh my god, it’s an earthquake, oh my god, JESUS it’s an earthquake, holy mother of pearl it’s a freaking earthquake.”
First of all, thank you Captain Obvious. Yes, this is indeed an earthquake, and if it were to be one of those ultimate deathblow distributing earthquakes, you’re dead and I’m safely under the coffee table texting my mom. (By the way, no mention of common water-cooler conversation in southern California being about when we’ll have “the big one?”) When you head south into Huntington Harbour (my apartment), scattered about the street corners there are “Now entering Tsunami Zone” and “Tsunami evacuation route” signs. I feel that THESE are slightly more useless than earthquake drills. I mean, if a very large, destructive sea wave produced by a submarine earthquake or volcanic eruption is barreling towards me at approximately 475 miles per hour, I don’t imagine I’ll remember which way the arrow was pointing on that evacuation route sign, nor will I remember that I was indeed warned that I had entered a Tsunami zone.
Very good article, Matt! Excited for more.
You know Matt, I’ve never been to LA, but contrary to this quote by Kristin “Get under something steady if you can’t make it to a door frame or even better, outside.” you do not go outside of a building in an earthquake.
Most people are killed by falling debris from buildings when they go outside. Unless you’re in some open meadow (and how many of those are there) you stay inside if you’re in downtown LA. Just a tip.
Well, Art, in the city, you’re probably right. In the suburbs (where I live), when not surrounded by other large buildings, you’re safer outside. There are lots of other open areas in LA where that is true also. At least that’s what most of us believe…
Kristin makes a good point about the fast food loophole that is In N Out. The franchise is owned by Mormons, after all. And Mormons: not so into unwhites.
i go to in n out quite often and there are nothing but marias and fransicos at my local franchise. just because its owned by mormons doesnt mean they dislike good workers.
Well Kristin, is it not true that most houses these days are being built with safeguards for said earthquakes, thereby nullifying the whole “going outside” argument. At least, that’s what I hear from people I know who live in LA.
Matt’s article is starting to look like Facebook. Yes, I’m sure all houses in CA are being built with safeguards, however, those don’t protect you from your 6 foot tall Grandfather clock or the entire contents of that little cabinet above fridge where you keep the vases and china and other heavy, glass things from crashing on you. It’s the things we keep in our houses that I fear.. whereas outside, you just have to watch out for the trees. (in the burbs).
I saw Ja Rule on rodeo drive when I lived in LA. A short guy, I never would have spotted him if it wasn’t for his two 6’5 body guards. That and ,although not very pc, thuggish looking black dudes stick out in that particular neighborhood.
In n out has great burgers, the fries are worthless to me though. Tommy burger with chili cheese everything, thats tasty, probably turns your heart into a time bomb though.
No way you don’t know this, but Amoeba records is numero uno.
“Where I worked this summer, we had an ‘earthquake disaster drill’ twice monthly. This was stupid. You shouldn’t have earthquake disaster drills because you can’t prepare for earthquakes.”
Um, word?
Hey, Caguama Beer is not Mexican, it’s Salvadorian! I bought case of cans at Ralphs, and while I find it refreshing with an OK taste, I also find it too light for my taste. It has a lower alcohol content than what I consider decent beer.
Have you ever been to an “In ‘n Out”? It looks like everybody working there is blonde and either pale- or pink-faced.