LA Trip: Day 1

Less than twelve hours after getting home from DC, I was back on a plane, Los Angeles bound.

Everybody always talks about the weather in LA. They always say how great it is, how perfect it is. Coming from Texas, nothing anybody ever told me prepared me for it. It's beyond perfect -- to the point that only an anecdote could come remotely close to describing.

My plane touched down at 3pm. It was the better part of an hour before baggage claim came through and another for the Budget shuttle to pick me up and take me to the car rental place. And then, there was another hour of wait before they could give me a car because the genius behind the counter gave my car away to the guy that was directly in front of me in line.

Three hours after landing, I hopped in a silver Ford Cobalt and jumped on the freeway.

Into traffic.

There is no rhyme or reason to LA's traffic, seemingly. Back home, when there's traffic, it's because there's construction or a car accident or some other form of obstruction. Not in LA. In LA, there's just traffic. You get in your car and sit in traffic, and then traffic rolls along to your destination, and that's it. There's no cause for the traffic; it's just there.

At 8PM, I rolled into a Chinese hot pot shop in San Gabriel Valley. By the time I stepped out of my car, it'd been twelve hours since my last meal.

But the second I stepped foot out of that car, the weather slammed me in the face, and the only thing that went through my mind was, Fuck me! This feels perfect!

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I spent the first night on Venice Beach, which was pretty dead since it was a Thursday night. I bar hopped along the beach and its side streets, chatting up the bartenders and locals, trying to get an idea of going-on's for the weekend. I'd hopped the flight to LA with absolutely no plan or idea of where I'd go and when.

The Lakers had just choked a huge game to the Celtics, so everyone was moping around in their yellow and purple. I tried to avoid talking basketball to the locals, but it was the only thing on anybody's mind. They all seem to think the Rockets are a joke; they're all in for a surprise.

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Checked into a Holiday Inn near Inglewood. Piece of shit hotel in a piece of shit neighborhood.