The Oddities of Los Angeles, Continued & Concluded, by Matt Shirley

The Oddities of Los Angeles, Continued & Concluded, by Matt Shirley

The following is the conclusion to my first FlipCollective piece, which delved into some of the peculiar characteristics unique to Los Angeles. That article can be found here.

Step-by-step instructions on how to ride a dog can be found here.

In LA, There Is In-N-Out Burger, and It Is Delicious.

I wanted to hate it, I really did. It was my Catcher in the Rye of fast food establishments. I said to myself, “Since everyone likes this so much, I really want it to be shitty.” My need for disliking In-N-Out grew upon entering the place. I found its attempt to replicate a 1950’s diner to be off-putting, all of the workers wandering around with these stupid paper hats on their heads, trying to convince me that after work they were going to go to the Friday night sock hop instead of exchanging the hamburgers they smuggled out in their cargo shorts for marijuana. And it killed me to find out that the whole company is run by Mormons. Mormons!—who rank just behind ‘NFL defensive ends’ and just ahead of ‘chickens’ on the list of groups whose intelligence I respect. But then I ordered a double-double. And then I sat down and ate that double-double. And then, even surrounded by this lunacy, all I could think was: goddamn they make a delicious hamburger.

In LA, Black People Ride Skateboards. And Occasionally Wear Sweater Vests.

Where I’m from, black people don’t ride skateboards. Black people also don’t wear sweater vests. White people ride skateboards and wear sweater vests. But I cannot tell you how many times I’ve seen a young black male ride his skateboard home from Westchester High, or spied a black guy at a trendy bar, drinking a vodka tonic and sporting a sweater vest. I’m not sure why, but these sights are always disconcerting to me. I think it might be because, in the back of mind, I think that maybe everyone is playing a trick on me and that Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out at any moment with a gaggle of cameramen and start roughhousing with me like we are old friends. More likely, it’s because I’m not used to this kind of blatant breakage of stereotypes. I have no data to back this up, but I’m pretty sure that if a 17-year-old black kid were to don a sweater-vest and ride a skateboard to school in Kansas City, he would be physically assaulted on sight. Or at least be the subject of enough verbal abuse to prompt him to go home and change. But in LA, I haven’t witnessed even one (skateboarding related) assault. I don’t mean to make it seem like black people shouldn’t wear sweater vests and ride skateboards, I’m just saying that they do here, and that, to me, it’s weird.

In LA, There Are Eurasians.

When Californians find out I’m from Kansas, they often ask if living in LA results in culture shock. My answer is a staunch and defensive “no”—defensive probably because I want to fend off any ideas of small-town ignorance the questioner might be forming. Usually at this point, the person and I get into a tangential argument about Kansas City vs. LA, where I argue the side that every big city is pretty much the same, and she says that LA is inherently culturally unique. Eventually the person calls me a pompous ass, and I call her a dumb c-word, she cries, and we both go home feeling terrible about ourselves. But defensiveness aside, there is a bit of truth in the culture shock idea. In Kansas City we have black people and we have Mexicans. We even have our fair share of Africans. But the thing I noticed upon my arrival was, Jesus there are a lot of Eurasians in Los Angeles. Russians, Vietnamese, Indians, Bhutanese, Brits, Chinese, Iranians, Japanese, Germans, Afghanistan…ese? LA has them all. Kansas City, not so much. I think it’s a fair assessment to say that Kansas City has just enough Eurasians to fill all possible vacancies in the fields of “Chinese Food Restaurateur” and “Soccer Coach”. Not a Eurasian less, not a Eurasian more.

In LA, There’s a Bizzaro Little Ethiopia

Every time as I hit the Little Ethiopia sign on Fairfax Avenue, I expect to find a different world, where the streets suddenly turn to dirt and are crowded with bicycle traffic. In my vision, as I wait for the malnourished cows driven by similarly malnourished men to cross the street, a young boy in a brightly colored shirt taps on my window and shows me the notches he added to his Kill Belt during last night’s civil war. (I do realize that these are conflicting African cultures but I’ve never been there so my imagination wins.) But instead, Fairfax keeps on going, boringly paved, and I fail to see even one person of Ethiopian descent, little or otherwise.

One must admit that it is all a little confusing. It would be like if I started a city called Caucasiantown and then filled it with just piles of door knobs and Alaskan Malamutes. Then a sign, propped up by one of the piles, would say: “Caucasiantown: What? This is perfectly appropriate.”

It’s true that there are Ethiopian restaurants visible along this strip of Los Angeles real estate, but since I’ve had Ethiopian food before, I haven’t been in them to see if this is where all the Ethiopians are hiding.

In LA, They Are Behind the Times.

The Case:

Recently, I met a 24 year old girl who had never heard of Flipcup. You read that correctly: It’s not that she has never played Flipcup, it’s that she has never heard of Flipcup. This person, a California native, is not a social retard, or a devout Christian, or allergic to gluten. She went to college, likes to drink, and seems to enjoys socializing. Then how could this person have never heard of Flipcup, you ask? What in the hell is wrong with her, you exclaim? The only answer lies in geography. She’s only lived in California, and California is behind the times.

Granted, I’ve only given you one example—one person who hasn’t heard of one drinking game that people play all the time around the country. Well she also hadn’t heard of the drinking card game commonly known as Kings (or King’s cup, or Ring of Fire, or Circle of Death).

The Rebuttal(s):

Maybe people in California don’t like drinking games. Maybe they don’t have a Midwestern genetic predisposition for binge drinking.

But those are stupid things to say. Show me a person who doesn’t like drinking games, and I will show you a person who doesn’t like fun.

And I have more evidence: on three seperate occasions, I was told be three young Californians that they don’t have a Facebook account. Which is fine if they are anti-social-networking, my grandmother, or live in the year 1999. But none of these were the case. “No I don’t have Facebook,” they said, and then continued, unsure of themselves, “But I do have Myspace?” Myspace? Myspace?! I’m no sociologist but I think Myspace is currently about as relevant as the pilot episode of ‘Pimp My Ride.’ Having a Myspace account and not a Facebook account is like copulating with Barbara Bush while a willing Jessica Biel is sitting naked at your computer, 3 feet away, playing Farmville, on Facebook.

The Verdict:

I was right. Just like I always am. Case closed.