Wednesday, May 7, 2008

All of you Please, Drink until you're Real

“They’re not even drunk those girls.” We stare at each other through knowing eyes- maybe even a bit judgmental, as if that isn’t a factor here. But we know it is. Here's the thing about LA girls- about all these self-loathing transplants and LA people in general, If they aren’t drunk then it's “Oh I live in East Hollywood. . . .you know its on the line (what the fuck is East Hollywood), Brentwood is my home, yea Bel Air born and raised. . . . before that, well there was nothing.” None of these girls were “Born to Run.” New Jersey? No I took that trash out with the garbage last night. None of these girls were Knicks Fans, Cheese heads, part of the Big Apple, Georgia Peaches. . .. . ewww whats with all the food references, I heard you can get fat by reading about calories.

Regardless of whether they’re really from Dallas, Michigan, Seattle, East Boondocks Bumfuck Mississippi, etc. a sober Los Angelean is a native for life. Only when she’s drunk does her true Raleigh come out, only when she’s had a few too many whiskey sours does miss Evansville Indiana show her corn fed ways, only when she’s had a few Irish car bombs does Ms. Maine tell us about clam digging with pops in the summers. What does it mean that everyone in this city wants to be this city so much and that they desire to define its very essence so bad that they neglect their beginnings? How much alcohol does it take for you to tell me you aren’t really from LA.? It’s like a game, sort of like hungry hungry hippos, except the marbles are red headed sluts (the drink or the actual breed of female, you choose) and the winner gets their honesty and integrity back.

I may be a bit different I’ll gladly show you my khaki pants after one shot of Jaeger. Fuck it I’ll tell you where you can get a decent slice of pepperoni pizza on a random street in New Haven for half a shot of vodka. I’ll even let you know that I shoveled snow every winter to have a little spending money if you give me the remains of your tequila shot. You ask me and I’ll tell you all this without the liquid coaxing. Do we all really have to be that embarrassed of where we came from in this city? I grew up wearing collared shirts and fantasizing of Ivy League, I grew up with a year round white paste about me. Ghosts would laugh at me behind my back because they went surfing during the summers. How is it that this town has so much disdain for every other city? We have billboards, websites, books, magazines, television shows, movies all letting us know that you can “Disappear Here.” Everyone truly is so eager to belong to the cult that is LA. Please stop by the Scientology Center and donate your first months rent to the cause. It really is the first step if you’re looking for a sense of community.

“So no, these girls aren’t drunk,” that means they’ve lived off of Lemon Grove Avenue all their lives, or they’ve spent many a weekend in Palm Springs. Do tell, I’d love to hear the story. . . . in detail I might add. No, you’re not feeling well, let you have a drink first ok. How many shots until you can tell me about how hard your mom had to work as a single parent to raise you and your sister in rural Minnesota. How many vodka crans to raise that New York discourse from your Yankee blood? Please LA fill yourself with alcohol so each of us could have something a little bit more interesting to discuss over cocktails.


1 comment:

houdini said...

plastic never decomposes (unless alcohol is added)