Los Angeles, California is the worst. L.A. BLOWS. L.A. SUCKS. L.A. is helL.A. L.A., dear L.A.-obsessed Los Angelians, is NOT a spectacular microcosm of glory, as you clearly have been misled to believe. L.A. is an infested black hole of environmentally-friendly SMOGFESTS.
A born and bred East Coaster, I first really came across the L.A.-obsessed Los Angelians when I arrived at college. Boston University prides itself in diversity, and I found this bizarre species of L.A.-bred West Coaster around every turn. Recycling, avocado-loving, drinking tea not coffee, going to yoga, driving, these SoCalies were everywhere.
I don’t care for avocado. Accordingly, I don’t care for guacamole. Tell someone from California that you don’t like avocado and they look at you like you’ve murdered their first-born. They don’t understand it. They can’t comprehend it. “But… huh?” It’s a texture thing. I just don’t like it. #CALMDOWN.
It’s not that I HATE Los Angeles. It’s just that people from there LOVE IT. Stop. It’s not New York. It’s not Manhattan, the center of the universe. It’s not that I HATE Los Angeles. It’s just that New York is just so much better.
Chill. Chill Cali Brah, L.A. is awful. There’s smog and pollution, and you can’t even see the crystal clear blue skies for a solid 200 feet because there’s a layer of blech before the blue. The people are vacuous and women wear high heels too much. Not every occasion is a high-heel-appropriate occasion. Yet, why not rock pumps, when you all drive everywhere.
I take huge, huge, issue with this huge issue and cannot begin to express the convulsing disgust I have with the driving in L.A. If the Nail Salon is building number 4820, to arrive at the Coffee Bean at 4824, biddies would gas up the white beamer to pick up an Ice Blended?! Well, you have to. The “city” is not conducive for walkers.
(okay, so LA music: +1)
I love walking. I love the time with my iPod. I love the exercise. I love the time with my thoughts and the people watching and the moseying and the browsing and the sudden adventure of “ooop! I’ll pop into this shop” and “ooop! I’ll run into this old chum of mine!” In L.A.: never. happens. I don’t see familiar faces in 20 minutes of stop and go traffic. I don’t have time to pop into shops when I’m late on account of traffic. I have to spend 50 minutes at a pre-party debating with the room about who is driving and who is calling a cab. Whole conversations like this never need to be had in real cities with socially acceptable forms of public transportation.
Considering L.A. a city in itself is the most outrageous of the falLAcies. How is L.A. a “city” by any definition of the term? Cultural landmarks? A sign, some hotels, and some theaters. Historic landmarks? A sign, some hotels, and some theaters. Tourist attractions? A sign, some hotels, and some theaters. There’s no culture in L.A., aside from the culture of LOVING L.A. What Kool-Aid is in the L.A. water that no one drinks because everyone sips bottled water out of their environmentally-conscious SIGGS?
The only redeeming quality of L.A. is the damn weather. Sweet sunshine, the weather is good. Really good. So you can’t be in a bad mood because of the happy sun-shining sunshine. But the smiling sunshine benefits are all negated by Los Angelians’ irrational decision that nice weather is all that matters in a life. When one L.A.ian meets another, the first and only thing they talk and bond about is their own irrational infatuations with the climatic differences between the coasts. Anything about L.A. is validated to the species of SoCal-obsessed SoCallies by the nice weather. “Well yea we don’t have seasons cause we kept the best ones,” “Well in a matter of minutes I can get to any climate I want.” Since when are these traits we all desperately had been seeking in a city? Los Angelians tout the weather as though all any other city dwellers do is gripe about how miserable the weather is and aspire to have weather like that of Los Angeles. Why do I need to be an hours’ drive from various climates? Why don’t I want all four seasons? I can visit your sh!tty c!ty.
bret easton ellis ref.
I’m not saying the city should disappear here or anything, but I do think it’s about darned time that the folks from Southern California take their own chill pills and acknowledge that there’s more to being an amazing town than warm weather and abundant weed. So please, stop pushing your laid-back Cali-ness on the rest of us and if you hate it so much here on the East Coast as you integrate into every conversation from “chilly” October to “too-humid” July, then GO. HOME. #hrumph.