Why you never ever should go to LA...

This past weekend I hit the skies with my friend Mars to find her an apartment in Los Angeles, California. It was a crazy couple days with tons of stress and anxiety in a city that is widely known for its high prices and low quality. Thankfully we accomplished the task of getting Mars an apartment that isn't sketchy but won't (hopefully) overwhelm her with bills. Unfortunately the monthly rent is 1.3x my house payment.

So we got there and met up without incident and got ourselves a rental car. We had to pay through the nose because neither of us were yet 25, but it was cool to briefly go through the car rental place and choose our car [Natalie] out of the dozen or so available. We ended up with a Chevy Cobalt, and (naturally) because we spent a little extra for insurance, nothing happened to it. Thankfully we didn't have to spring for a hotel, as Mars had some awesome friends with an apartment and an air-mattress for us to crash. They were really great hosts and showed us some of the culinary delights of LA, along with giving us insider tips of how to get around.

One night they took us to the infamous Pinkberry (the original location, no less). I've heard it called "crackberry" due to its addictiveness and proliferation of knockoff shops around town. Personally, I was not impressed by the simplicity of fresh fruit tossed on top of machine-dispensed frozen yogurt. It was delicious but overrated. I'm used to Amy's, where the staff entertains you while preparing your treat, or Brindles with its plethora of flavors, or Teo with its excellent and varied selection of gelattos. All of which can be yours for under $4.00.

We spent a lot of time looking for apartments and tracking down people to show us said apartments, not to mention going back to get/turn in applications and other supporting documentation. Happily there was an excellent radio station to keep us company. We also walked around the neighborhoods and got some delicious Thai food (there's a large population of Thai buisnesses) and explored a thrift store called "Out of the Closet" (they also have a thriving gay community).

In between going back and forth to apartments (and finding places to park!) we ran down to Santa Monica to stick our feet in the Pacific. The beach was pretty and the SM Pier was fun to walk on, but the cold wind kept our visit short. Happily Santa Monica is only a few miles from West Hollywood, so when I discovered my credit card got left behind at our restaurant, it didn't take us long to go back and pick it up. (Blargh)

Then we went to the cemetery for the "Who's Who" of the 1950s and 1960s. [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Westwood_Village_Memorial_Park_Cemetery] It's a small place, and I was promised helpful staff by the Frommer's guide our hosts let us read. When I went to inquire for a directory or map, the lady behind the desk snippily replied in the negative. As a result, we were unprepared and missed out on a bunch of old celebrities that I was hoping to see. Successes - Rodney Dangerfield, Walter Matthau, Jack Lemmon, Marylin Monroe, Don Knotts, Merv Griffin, Fanny Brice, Ray Bradbury (he has a stone there, despite being alive). Failures - Dean Martin (missed despite a seemingly thorough scan of all the mausoleum markers), Natalie Wood, Roy Orbison, Eva Gabor, Truman Capote, Frank Zappa, Carl Wilson (of the Beach Boys).

We tried to get to the cemetery for the "Who's Who" of the Silver Screen Era (Peter Lorre, Cecil B. DeMille, Rudolph Valentino, Victor Fleming, Mel Blanc, John Huston, Johnny Ramone [not entirely sure if he was really buried here or not], Fay Wray, etc.), but we pulled up at 6:05 and they stopped letting people in at 6 PM.

After those past failures I was bound and determined that I would not miss a SINGLE footprint or handprint at the Grauman's Chinese Theater that night. I even attempted to print out a map and everything. I don't think we missed anyone there, making it the least disappointing Hollywood stop of our trip.

And no, we didn't get to go to Chinatown. Or the Getty museum (which, among other things, is where Van Gogh's Irises are held). Or Venice Beach. Or the Hollywood Sign. Or inside the Chinese Theater for a movie (they only have one screen and were showing Hellboy II). Or on a studio tour. By the end, there had been so much stress and anxiety building that we couldn't wait to get home. I think we were both expecting a speedy conclusion of "yes" or "no" to whether or not Mars got her apartment, but they kept her hanging until mid-week. I was sulky because my BM was a jerkface and didn't call me at all on that last day.

Then we got to LAX.

Mars and I split almost immediately after arriving at the airport. I naively thought that although we were flying with different carriers we could enter through the same security checkpoint. Not so - I had to get on a bus and go around to the other side of the building to another terminal. She ended up stuck in security for a good hour or so (they really don't have their shit together at LAX). I walked to the gate and couldn't find my flight. Turns out they'd delayed takeoff for two hours while some mechanical work was done on our plane. I tried (and failed) to get on an 8 AM flight to Houston, then got my connecting flight changed to accommodate the delay. At around 11, the delay got another two hours added on, pushing takeoff to roughly 1 o'clock. I figured out where that was going and got put on a completely different plane leaving at 12:35.

After a good 7 hours in the airport with food that was too damned pricey (one place wanted ~$8.50 for a hamburger, not including fries or drink), I finally got out of LAX. After touchdown in Houston, I learned that my original flight got delayed another 2 hours shortly after I left, and that it was likely to be delayed further. I got to Austin without any trouble after that, and was welcomed by my BM who brought me ice cream and took me out to see the Dark Knight. (All I can say about the movie is that it was powerful - it definitely gave me nightmares afterwards, but it was a well-executed film.) Mars ended up getting stuck in Atlanta during some stormy weather and ended up getting home at 2:30 the next morning.

I'm glad we were able to go together and that I could be the moral support and/or human GPS for our trip, but I've got to say that I was horribly unimpressed by LA. Though soured mostly by my experience in LAX, it was just generally not a city that I enjoyed. I will definitely be going back at some point to visit Mars, but you can count on me flying through another airport!!! And probably doing a bit more pre-planning. And bringing more than one pair of jeans. The band Ingram Hill wasn't kidding when they penned the lyric "Do you know that it gets cold in California?/ Well, I guess I miss my home in Tennessee. /Be sure to bring your coat to California/ when you come find me.")