Where Angels Fear

"L.A.," the band Too Much Joy told us, "What a great place."

The name of the song was, "That's a Lie."

Despite this warning, I ventured to darkest L.A., mostly out of respect for Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Also, I heard there were pretty girls there.

Alright, fine. It was just another day off for me. Are you happy now!? I don't want to besmirch the memory of Dr. King and the work he did, but I'm a known slacker.

I embrace slack.

I signed a petition to recognize Slack Day as a national holiday.

Somehow I feel ripped off, but not because of the pretty girls thing. What Southern California can't grow itself, it imports from nearby states.

I've traveled a bit in my youth, and even now in my old age, but there are two things that really make L.A. stand out from the other cities that I've visited across the country, and it's not Euro Disney. The first is the traffic and the second is the decorum. In communication we call that previous line a "road map". This "road map" had clued you in to the topics that will now be discussed. This is normally where I would write what we would call a "transition statement" which would carry you effortlessly into the next paragraph. But I'm too sick to really attempt one. Feel free to make up your own. Make it as clever as you like.

Driving in L.A., on the freeway or the side-streets, for anyone who has watched L.A. Story (Steve Martin is excellent) is a lot like breathing. Everyone is doing it, and they seem to feel that if they stop they will die. This results in some interesting phenomena. For one, traffic in L.A. and the surround areas is always crowded. We're talking New York Pedestrian crowded. Even at 1 a.m. you can potentially be caught in a traffic jam (which should be confused with traffic jelly or traffic marmalade). This isn't the case in Utah, where the Utah militia closes the freeways and sends everyone home to pray for forgiveness. After all, no decent citizen would be out at 1 a.m.

For another, you pretty much have to "drive wherever you are able" (California Driver's Handbook, 23). If you don't observes this rule then you are likely to end up on the side of the road, curled up in the fetal position and sobbing like Keanu Reeves (ooo, it's been a while since I took a jab at Mr. Reeves). Cars swerve in and out of bumper-to-bumper traffic with no regard to the silly lines painted on the asphalt, or the general flow of traffic.

If there's a gap, you take it, or someone else will.

I've given up watching traffic while in L.A., otherwise I find myself filled with constant desire to leap from the car despite the average 93 mph that all L.A. drivers maintain.

Tuck and roll, tuck and roll.

There really isn't a "good time" to be on any part of the L.A. freeway system. I use the term "system" loosely here, much as I would use the term "chaotic jumble of asphalt laid down by a drunkard on a weekend binge with Bill Gate's credit card." Take for instance my attempt to go to the J. Paul Getty Museum Center (www.getty.edu). What should have been a simple hour-long drive along well-lit and traveled roads turned into a modern Donner Party, complete with a sudden desire to turn your fellow travelers into stew.

I'm not ashamed to admit that there was some good eatin' on the folks I was with.

I will refrain from attempting a "breast meat" joke at this point, so the field is open for your own.

Thank the good Lord for the eighth day on which he placed a mango salesman on every street corner. The California Agriculture Department grows them and the fruit they sell as part of the bio-engineered crops. This saves valuable time.

Mango may not be ambrosia, but they certainly will stave off cannibalism, the number two killer on the L.A. expressway. I'm not certain what the number one killer is. Every time I asked someone they just gave me this far off look and scratched under the left arm. Apparently, L.A. citizens are born with conspicuous lumps in a shoulder holster.

This, of course, was my lame attempt at a segue into the "decorum" part of my piece.

How's you like that?

I might try another one later, but let's see how the critics rate this one first.

The overall feel of L.A. is that someone with a whole lotta asphalt and time on their hands took the phrase "pave it for parking" a little too far.

The term "demilitarized zone" and "Dresden after the bombing" also leap to mind.

Nearly everywhere you go in L.A., street signs and billboards are rings by barbed wire, machine gun nests and anti-aircraft artillery in an effort to halt the advance of the omni-present graffiti artists. The L.A. police stop anyone who even looks like they might have seen a spray-pain can.

Being frisked by the L.A. police was just as I imagined.

They really do treat you like a King.

As I recovered in the excellent ICU facility, I mused that L.A. certainly is a fascinating place full of fascinating people. That's what happens when you give folks year-round good weather and running water. All that light and space really puts the buzz on your head.

Sadly, I was forced to board my plane for the return trip to Utah and a delightful snowstorm. As they shoved the butt of a Russian AK-47 into the small of my back and shoved, I hummed a few bars from Too Much Joy.

“L.A., what a great place.”