Last week, while temperatures neared freezing in New York, my trip to Los Angeles could not have come at a more perfect time. Not only was the excursion funded by my company (I met with clients on Wednesday and Thursday), but Stevie's friend Jason Mraz was playing two shows in SoCal, and Jen was anxious to show off her new pad to her NYC friends. So Stevie, Jerry, and I bought tickets, hopped on JetBlue (the friendliest airline on the planet), and within six hours traveled from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific.
Two and a half years had passed since my last visit to La La Land, and upon arriving to 80 degree weather and sunny skies, I asked myself WHY HAS IT TAKEN ME SO FRIGGIN LONG TO GET BACK HERE? As my boss and I drove to our meeting in Santa Barbara, I was flooded with fond memories of past trips to Cali. While I should have been preparing for my presentation, all I could think about was how warm is the ocean this time of year?, and, how many hours stand between me and a frothy beachside drink?
The meeting went well – the clients were happy and attentive (must be the weather), and a relaxing and scenic drive lay ahead of us on our return to LA. We opted to take the Pacific Coast Highway, which offers a stunning oceanside view. The biggest decision we needed to make was whether to look left to ogle the mansions on the hill or look right to ogle the mansions on the beach. We carried on like this for over an hour, until the PCH turned local and we jumped onto the 405 to conserve time.
I cannot tell you what a mistake that was. At 5 pm, the last place a person in the Los Angeles area should go to save time is the 405. It's a five-lane freeway and we were at a standstill. NOT MOVING AT ALL. Suddenly my admiration for palm trees gave way to the reason I never considered moving to LA. I. HATE. TRAFFIC.
After several minutes of driving at the pace of a crippled snail, my boss veered onto the first available off-ramp. Our next route took us through countless intersections, but I agreed with my boss's methods. "I don't mind stopping for a stop light," he said. "It's stopping on the highway that I can't stand." Welcome to LA. Stopping on the highway is a way of life in these parts.
Eventually we made it to Hermosa Beach and met up with Jen. Or rather someone who looked like Jen and talked like Jen, but her life seemed so different than it was in New York that I felt I was visiting her in the witness protection program. She lives in a big bright apartment with two major features that are foreign to most Manhattan homes – carpeting and a balcony. She also drives a car and knows the best shortcuts to Hollywood, and has befriended a cast member of the upcoming Survivor series, who was a really cool guy, even if he is on a reality show (which makes Jen love him even more.)
The rest of the week was a blur. On Thursday we saw Jason’s sold out show at the House of Blues in Hollywood, and the performance was truly amazing. In an attempt to say hi to Stevie, who was cavorting in the balcony, I confidently (and ignorantly) lead eight people into the VIP section. We remained there for the entire show, enjoying service with a smile from a cocktail server who probably thought we were important (we weren’t.) I mean, it was Jason’s parents, industry people, Tony Kanal from No Doubt, and… us. There I discovered something else that’s great about LA – people are so damn nice! Again, it could be the weather factor at play, but I’m more inclined to think it’s the kiss-ass factor. Who cares? We didn’t have to wait for a single drink and had a phat view of the stage. Thanks, House of Blues.
Friday we recovered from Thursday by sipping frosty, umbrella-adorned beverages by the beach. By 2 pm we were bombed and spent the remainder of the afternoon and night watching the entire second season of Sex in the City in Jen’s apartment. Sure it was a lazy bastard thing to do but we were on vacation, and watching tv two feet from a balcony and swaying palm trees adds an element that you just don't get in NYC. We took breaks to smoke cloves and watch Jen’s tanned neighbors play basketball. Friday rocked.
Saturday we hit the highway again, destination San Diego, via a pit stop at Designer Shoe Warehouse (located dangerously close to Jen’s apartment.) The drive to San Diego was beautiful and fret-free, thanks to Jen finding a short cut on MapQuest, an invaluable tool for the novice LA driver. Once we arrived in the GasLamp district, we donned our new shoes and set off to play a game of pool. After trying six bars that either weren’t open or didn’t have a pool table, we found our way into this little gem:
http://sandiego.citysearch.com/profile/91026/
Star Bar had all the qualities of a good dive bar, in fact it was nominated by Stuff Magazine as one of the top 20 dive bars in the country. They weren’t kidding. With a crew of patrons ranging from young Navy boys fresh off the boat to aged pool players in need of dental work and a shave, the Star Bar was warm and inviting. Stolis were $3, pool games were 50 cents, and the only thing missing from the kitschy, tinsely, Bud Light postered décor was a thick cloud of smoke (although there was a small crowd puffing away on the sidewalk outside.) The juke was superb, and we played everything from Boz Scaggs to Nirvana. It rejected dollars, thereby making it one of the few remaining jukes that I’ve seen where a quarter can still buy you a song.
Showtime arrived and we abandoned our people-watching and cheap drinking for Spreckel’s, where we were once again treated to excellent seats. Jason’s performance was flawless, and it was cool to see him play in San Diego, which he considers the birthplace of his musical life. His songs and tales were met with adoring cheers from his fans, who by virtue of living in warm weather, were very, very happy.
We wrapped up the evening with one last round at Star Bar and trekked back to LA, giddy from our experience. After a two hour disco nap, Jen chauffeured me to the airport, where I bid her, and my lovely mini-vacation, good bye. The trip was short but sweet, filled with good music, good bars, good weather, and good friends. We even brought the LA weather back with us – today I awakened to a balmy 40 degree day in New York. Although the traffic would make me homicidal if I lived there, the weather and the people will always make LA dear to my heart. And thanks to Jet Blue, it's always a cheap, friendly flight away.
