L.A. Calling
There are few people as skilled at greeting bleary-eyed, cross-country travelers at 6am as Dave McGee. Dave’s hugs are as revivifying as a two hour nap and a shot of whiskey. Dave and I met while working for Abingdon Theater Company in NYC about three years ago and have remained very good friends through both of our NYC exodi.
I had my first shower since New Orleans at Dave’s apartment then I took my squeaky clean self to The Getty Center to see some art. Which involved taking the sticky gross L.A. bus where I saw not one but two people throw empty beer cans indiscriminately behind them into the laps of other passengers. I began to think Dave didn’t have to work today after all, he just didn’t want to take the bus across town.
I only got lost once at bus transfer (pats self on back) and I got to experience such sights as the 405 highway, the Scientology Center, and this ad on the journey:
It was well worth the hassle because The Getty Center is the most perfectly curated museum I have ever seen and who doesn’t geek out about museum curation?! Anyone? Anyone? Okay, I see how it is. I wrote up a Getty Center top ten list but I’ll just show you some pictures instead:
Dave, who had by now finished up at work, picked me up in a beer can free car at the museum entrance and had to listen to me gush about The Getty center all the way to our next stop: The Museum of Jurassic Technology. In contrast to the clean, sensical, elegant Getty Center, The Museum of Jurassic Technology is a hot mess. One exhibit is purely a cat’s cradle as seen through holograms. Another is about the alluded to but never fully explained inexorable link between an Argentinian bridge engineer and an American opera singer. Yet another exhibit is just live birds on a rooftop.
A museum with an exhibit consisting solely of paintings of Russian space dogs is a tough act to follow but we met up with Dave’s girlfriend Chelsea- who is pretty much the height of cool- for dinner and drinks- which were pretty much the height of delicious- and kinda sold me on L.A.. If there is one thing this city has going for it (other than showing the movie Office Killer as part of a museum exhibit; seriously, why are L.A. museums so cool??) it’s the food. If I never leave L.A., this vegan ramen dish is why:
The following day I broke the trend and went to another museum. I know, sun and palm trees and stuff. But there was a Cindy Sherman exhibit at The Broad.
And this, which is my dream theater set:
I also went to the Infinity Mirrors exhibit, which I had to wait in a seven hour virtual line to get into and lasts only 60 seconds. You stand in a room with mirrors that show your reflections ad infinitum and there are celestial lights going on and off. Theoretically I’m really into it but in actuality 60 seconds is just long enough to panic that it’s already almost over, I’m not doing it right, and I’m not going to remember it anyway because I’m panicking so much.
I snuck into the Disney Concert Hall to chill out for a few minutes in an empty auditorium. I could spend days in empty theaters. As someone who vehemently hates loud noises, stepping into a sonically mastered room is, like, one of the five best feelings on earth. I sat down in a plush seat and read peacefully until an usher kicked me out to get ready for that evening’s concert. But not before asking what I was reading and chatting with me for ten minutes about labor unions. L.A. for the win.
On my way out, I asked directions to LACMA, (Los Angeles County Museum of Art) and was haughtily informed by the front desk attendant that it is pronounced “LAk-mah,” not “Lah-k-mah.” What I had said was the equivalent of saying “Man-hAH-ten” rather than “Man-hA-ten.” Whoops. None the less, keep your pretentiousness in your pocket L.A.. Just because you have great food and incredible art doesn’t mean you get to… wait, does that mean you get to be pretentious? I think that actually might be the criteria.
Mulling this over, I headed over to the least pretentious aspect of the city. Dave had warned me that no one in L.A. knows how to use the subway and sure enough, no sooner had had I stepped onto the platform than a man approached me and said “Hey, do you smoke weed?” “Um, no.” “Oh. Hey, can I borrow your phone?” “Nah, I don’t think so. Good luck though.”
I was pretty burnt out on museums by the time I got to LAk-mah but I did enjoy the Le Brea tar pits, which are basically just fenced off death traps that occasionally expel dinosaur bones. I forewent a thorough examination of the museum for a long walk to my friend Eb’s house, where I was having dinner with a few college theater friends I hadn’t seen in far too long. We sat out in Eb’s backyard eating a delicious, homemade feast cooked by her boyfriend Brian that put the vegan ramen to shame and discussed politics and art late into the night.
It’s such a good feeling to sit around with old friends and know that they are oh so well. To know that they are making their dreams come true, finding love, and that they are just as caring and actively engaged in the world as they were in college. And also just as drunk. At least the ones you meet up with at a bar later who want to talk about ennui and immortality. Thank god some things never change.
Because they know me, Eb and Katy told me all about hiking in L.A. and how it’s basically a daily occurrence and I should probably move here immediately. Hiking had been top of my to-do list in coming out here and the next day Chelsea and Dave, the worlds best hosts, took me to Malabu to go on a waterfall hike.
Now, I know I’m a bit of a hike snob sometimes but bear with me on this one. The hike we went on in Solstice Canyon is touted as a waterfall hike. A waterfall hike is commonly understood to be a hike with a waterfall at the end. This is what is meant by the term “waterfall hike.” What was waiting for us at the “waterfall” was this:
My bathroom tap runs faster than that.
I know. There’s a drought. But it’s been going on three years now. Catch up internet hiking guides! As if this weren’t sham enough, the ratio of drive to hike was 3 1/2 to 1. That’s 3 1/2 hours in the car for 1 hour of hiking. And here is the kicker: no one says hello to each other on the trails! Dave and Chelsea about died of embarrassment when I greeted people as we passed. “You’re making them really uncomfortable,” Chelsea said. “I don’t care!” I said. “I’m going to be nice to them whether they like it or not!” Sorry I’m not L.A. cool like these “hikers” gathered around this “waterfall” but hiking is a community where I’m from and I’ll be damned if I’m going to pretend that I don’t care how each and every hiker’s day is going!
By sheer coincidence, we had dinner at the same bar I was at the night before, Jay’s Bar, which is about as Brooklyn as L.A. gets, as in, there were three people there who were reading alone at the bar. What this city lacks in fundamental understanding of how waterfalls work, it makes up for in bibliophilic barflies and vegan pub food.
