Week 4 in Southern California. Not a lot to report. I’ve pretty much been hanging out in our home here in Malibu, mingling with the glitterati, working on my beach abs, barking orders at my butler and receiving fan mail in my mahogany-paneled study...don't I wish.
Southern California. Where people can escape convention and judgement (throwing funny looks doesn’t work here). Where people come to eat pan-Asian cuisine without the funny languages. Where people come to get discovered. Where people come to beach bum and spot beach babes. A beast of a place, not just in geographic size, but also economic, ethnic and social diversity. So many stereotypes to live up to and so many to prove wrong. At first I was not going to write at all about it and introduce a rule that I don't write about places I live in. But at the request of all my fans (told you I had fanmail), here goes nothing.
For argument’s sake, let’s say there are 2 scenes (when really it’s so large that there’s a scene for everyone).
Scene # 1, Los Angeles. It has a lot of plastic going on. Here, the essence of cool is almost palpable: think tic-tac colored ray bans, Uggs (even in hot weather), leggings of all denominations, calculatedly windswept hair, neon nails, t-shirt dresses and big sunglasses. You never know who you might see, or when you might get scouted (there's an agent for every talent, it seems). So the idea is always to bring on the fabulous and the schmooze. This sort of environment is at once incredible sexy, because it speaks to our inner narcissist (every thirsty for more), and destructive (it's never enough). If you don’t know what I’m talking about, try driving with your top down, blasting the pop hit “I wanna be a billionaire (so freakin’ bad)” through any neighborhood with obscenely large homes. If you don’t get a rush from daydreaming about your inevitable future grandeur, then count yourself lucky. You seemingly have no ego.
So I love a good cocktail party and want to be a billionaire just as much as the next person. But at some point you have to just take a deep breath and come to terms with the fact that your furniture is - at least for now - IKEA, and go camping (or something). Interestingly enough, it’s been argued that constant exposure to wealth and fame eventually leads one to believe they, too, are destined for greatness. That seems commonsensical, and this is certainly a town where everyone has a burning, maniacal drive for glory (or is content just to bask in reflected glory). For more on this topic, which I personally find dark and fascinating, check out the book “Fame Junkies: The Hidden Truths Behind America’s Favorite Addiction” - the first part about "showbiz kids" is especially disturbing. Reminds me of a Richard Brautigan poem...
Sam likes to say, "Ah, great expectations!"
at least three or four times in every
conversation. He is twelve years old.
Nobody knows what he is talking about when
he says it. Sometimes it makes people
feel uncomfortable.
Speaking of stars and being starstruck, after just a month here I’ve spotted enough celebrities (e.g. Gwen and Gavin, the hot doctor from Nip/Tuck, the wingman from Mad Men), and heard enough stories about other ones ("I’m not into namedropping, but"....a friend recently had dinner with Barbara Streisand and then hung out with Kristin Davis in the span of one week) to already be asking myself why it’s taking ME so long to make it big (touche).
Anyway, when someone says, “Ugh, I HATE LA” - now you know what they’re talking about. Secretly though, they love it. Trust me.
(I should also add in here that with this extreme wealth, and indeed temperate climate, comes extreme poverty: there is no ying without a yang. Los Angeles County is the undisputed homeless capital of the United States with the largest homeless population in the nation. Skid Row, located just south and east of the city’s financial center, spans nearly 52 blocks and serves as a base for nearly 150,000 homeless people. Skid Row is also home to the LA Poverty Department, the nation’s first performance group made up of homeless people).
Scene # 2, south of LA and where we live, is Orange County. Much like the TV show, the OC is full of awe-inspiring white beaches, yacht clubs, big silly homes and yummy mummies (thank God for yoga). To my surprise, and probably due to the average household income, Orange County is rather conservative - a general exception to the politically progressive California rule. I see people here love Bush the way I saw people love Bush in Texas. Very unexpected.
Tax preferences aside, the OC is much more laid back: think all-day volleyball, dozens of families in RVs parked along the shores, teeny-bopper beach bonfires at sunset, and swarms of Harley Davidson cruiser caravans (consisting of dudes with long white facial hair and yet somehow blonde ponytails - suspicious?). Every day is like Spring Break, if you want it to be. Here, you can go to the farmer's market on weeknights and take in live music, get some frozen yoghurt, maybe even some bubble tea (love that stuff). Here, you can strut around on a happy little Beach Cruiser bicycle, carrying your natural foods home in the little front basket. And when I say "natural foods" I don't just mean the pseudo-healthy stuff from upscale stores like Whole Foods. I’m talking full on, we-sell-tarot-cards-at-the-cash-register-kind of thing. If there is there any risk associated with overconsumption of superfoods, roughage, probiotics or antioxidants, these people will be the first to feel it. That said, there's a fantastic local fast food joint called In-and-Out that uses on fresh and local ingredients. Ladies, you can even order your hamburger "protein style" - that is, without a bun (and for the men, "animal style" means a double of everything...proceed with caution). The proximity of Little Saigon in neighboring Westminster (I am told this is the largest community of Vietnamese outside of Saigon) was also a welcome surprise: I don’t think I’ll ever get my fill of authentic pho, bun cha, and Asian supermarkets (an increasingly expensive habit). Seafood is also a staple - just recently, I read about a place called Pearson’s Port, a husband-wife seafood market (he fishes, she sells) right on their very own boat. Can’t wait to check that out.
So you might take in a lot of good food here, but you'll be pretty active as well. Couch potatoes just aren't that common. Whatever your sport or creed, there's something for you. Case in point: 4 weeks in, I've already attended saber fencing class, reformer class, yoga classes of all denominations, and this "friend" of mine even tried pole-dancing (psshhh, as if that's even a sport). I’ve seen several Krav Maga studios, and there are numerous respectable rugby clubs. Kite flying - and although I'm not sure this qualifies as a sport, but it will certainly get you out of the house - is also pretty popular. Lastly, on every single one of my runs along the beach, I’ve gotten a high-five either from another runner (generally topless, if it’s a guy) or just a person walking their dog. After those I usually have a dopey smile on my face for at least 2 minutes. So motivational.
And then there is surfing, seemingly the cornerstone of Pacific coast culture. From about 5 a.m. onward, father-son duos begin parking on our street in order to surf before school (I like to picture the dad going to see the principal about how his son can't get to school before 9 because he needs more time in the water). There is a surfing museum and a even surfer's walk of fame on Huntington Beach Main Street, complete with the Hollywood Stars for those who have gone down in surfing history. Fun story: last weekend, while swimming in the ocean only about 20 feet from the shore, I realized I was swimming with dolphins, too. It was creepy (do they bite?) but also the neatest thing to happen to me since that time I swam with anacondas (I kid). My guess is that kind of thing becomes commonplace as you spend more time in the water.
If there is one thing Californians do unite over, it would be a common hatred for commuting. Distances are so far, and highways so stacked up, that you WILL invest in audiobooks and/or buy a hybrid car just to ride in the carpool lane (curses on you, 405 - there go 3 hours of my life that I will never see again!). Oh, and maybe the Lakers - it's all about the Lakers. And fish tacos.
Click here to see all my photos from So Cal.
