There are over 9.8 million people living in Los Angeles County. Over 3.8 million of them reside in Los Angeles proper.
It is the second most populous city in the United States.
It is the largest city in California.
And our average commute time, based on the census bureau, is about 30 minutes, which I don’t believe for one heat-wave-hot second, but w-evs. I didn’t fill out my census report card, so I guess I forfeited my say-so.
We’re too full. We’re on the verge of bankruptcy. And too many people—who don’t know why, or what, or up from down, or really anything at all (self included)—live here, in this land of golden opportunists. Sorry, opportunity.
And the kids, well they just keep on coming.
Despite the shortcomings, the crude litany of unmet expectations, the fault lines, the tails between legs, and amalgamation of assholes at Soho House, LA continues to pull the numbers. It retains an appeal that overrides natural selection.
So here’s a short, learned-it-from-experience tropism on not being a donkey/surviving…
Hello, new friend. Congratulations. You’ve decided, against all data, to move to L.A.—City of Angels, home of the Dodgers, smoggy skylines, bumper-to-bumper traffic, and perpetual adolescents.
I’m sure whatever your motives, your dreams, your endeavors—you are the rare bird that will actually “make it,” whatever that means. Not judging.
Please don’t complain about traffic, as you are part of the problem.
Never refer to you job as a “gig.”
When turning left, stop being such a scared little turtle bitch and pull out into the intersection.
Script-writing. Don’t do it. And if you must, don’t do it in a coffee shop.
There are like, a handful of people in this whole town who actually call shots. And they don’t hang out at Barney’s Beanery.
Accept the fact that if you are not a waiter, you will be someone’s assistant.
Accept the fact that as an assistant you will be professional a piss-on. Speaking of.
Downtown is full of rampant public urination. And occasional defecation.
If someone tells you they’re stuck in traffic, you can look it up online.
Don’t talk about your treatment at a party, unless you actually have cancer.
Sunset Junction is really awesome, if you like your coffee with a side of bearded judgment.
Don’t hang out in Manhattan Beach, unless you are totes into bros.
If you must go to the club, don’t do it on a Saturday. Unless you want to hang with LA’s bridge and tunnel equivalent.
While you’re there, don’t dance on the table. Climb down slowly.
There is a good reason the old dude with the table, is the old dude with the table.
It’s really easy to find a taco.
There is no traffic on Jewish Holidays. That’s what I call Yay Kippur.
Always wear underwear.
Abbreviations are meant for shorthand, not lazy lips.
If you ride a bike through China Town, you might get hit by a car.
Refrain from singing with the windows down. In gridlock traffic.
All my ladies, try wearing pants like once every tenth time.
To the fellas—no one has ever thought cowboy boots and True Religion jeans was a good look.
If you meet someone famous tell your mom, not your Facebook.
Equinox is like the Soho House of gyms. If you want to wear make up on the treadmill you should go there.
Homeless people sometimes ask you for 75 cents. This is a trick to get a dollar.
Never name drop, for the love of all things holy.
Never drink from the bottle.
And remember, everyone here is potentially a Scientologist.
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