The Fake Angeleno

Observation on Returning From an NYC Vacation

New York City always seemed perfection itself -- the unattainable ideal that you kept pursuing despite a thousand slights and indignities thrown your way by the indifferent metropolis.  Now, given some distance, time, and some beach-adjacent housing in L.A., you realize the five boroughs really aren't so mystically vibrant as you made them out to be.  In fact, the whole city seems like a subtly malign joke for anyone who's not either very young or very, very rich. 

In this respect, NYC is kind of like the over-buxom cheerleader most every guy slavishly bows down to during high school.  You check the yearbook ten years later, and you find she was rather more pedestrian looking than you recall -- and not even your type anyway.

The West Coast Time Warp

Normally, November is my least favorite month of the year.   The time change and deteriorating weather conditions don't agree with me whatsoever.   In New York, November's combination of darkness at 5 PM and spontaneously- generated-sleet-storms always had me ready to lick the third rail at Greenpoint station and wash my hands of life's sorry pageant come Thanksgiving time.

This year has been different.  The Mediterranean climate here has been ample compensation for the departure of daylight savings time. And with a Democrat headed to the White House, I'm not sure if I'd even notice if a sleet cloud followed me around like an woe-betided Peanuts character. 

Still, one thing I haven't gotten used to is being three hours behind my friends and enemies back at the center of the media universe in NYC. 

In the West Coast Time Warp:

• The Dow closes at 1PM.
• I can hear All Things Considered at lunch.  
• I wake up at 6:30 AM Pacific most days ... which is when I used to wake up in New York. (9:30 Eastern)
• If I want to call an NYC friend past 9 PM, chances are they'll be pissed. 
• My fantasy football draft happened while I was still at the office. (with disastrous results)
• Election night was more like "election evening."

And that's just me...

For a much more articulate exploration of the West Coast Time Warp, I suggest reading Gretchen's post on this subject.

Why I Love L.A. Reason # 28

Autumn is so lovely on the East Coast...

Thilling Weekend Recap: Outdoor Dining in Mar Vista

I suppose I could have theoretically eaten outside on the stoop of my Brooklyn apartment.  But that would have involved a constant vigil against drunken old Polish men and the occasional stray subway rat.  So it ought to come as no surprise that my excitement about our new outdoor dining equipment is rather disproportionate to its actual "wow" factor.  

Still, when we were sweating it out amidst another humid New York August last summer, we hadn't yet imagined that something as simple as grilling some veggies out back and then dining al fresco -- with the setting sun and Pacific breeze as dinner guests -- was possible. 

In other weekend news, we had been planning on attending the launch party for the new Angel City Press book, Paradise Promoted, but we had to cancel at the last minute.  The subject of the book is the L.A. "boosterism" movement that flourished here between 1870 and 1930, inducing fatigued Easterners and Midwestern rubes to migrate West by the hundreds of thousands.  

In many ways, boosterism is still alive and well, wouldn't you say?

L.A. vs. NYC Six Month Report Card: Things That Are Easier in L.A.

Four key lifestyle areas where Los Angeles beats the Big Apple by three thousand miles...

Running errands: Everybody hates the obnoxious New Yorker who'll proclaim to anyone listening that "It's a victory just to live here."  Actually, this unlovely creature is partially correct.  In addition to paying two pounds of flesh per square apartment foot, just picking up one's dry cleaning and buying some groceries in "the city" always turns into a full-blown cardio workout and five sets of bicep curls.  Need a new bookcase?  Everybody aboard the Port Authority bus for the IKEA in Elizabeth, New Jersey! 

These days in L.A., I rise early on the weekend, pull on my bathrobe, make like Ray Liotta at the end of Goodfellas and pick up my newspaper from the front porch.  By noon, I've attended to my every earthly grocery and household need for the next week.  

Getting out of town: If I never see the bowels of Penn Station again it will be to soon.  The inside of my Saab is so much more pleasant.  I realize my carbon shoe size has mutated into Andre-the-Giant-size proportions, but I feel I've worked out my environmental salvation riding the Long Island Railroad to the beach for seven years...

Finding good Mexican food: Sure, NYC has an insurmountable lead in restaurant quality and variety, but L.A. wins hands down in the Mexican category.
 
Dealing with humidity:  No longer does just walking out of doors in the month of July turn me into the last hour of Elvis '68 comeback special -- which is to say dripping with sweat and in dire need of a seconal. In New York,  I used to show up at work at 9 AM drenched with perspiration from the five-minute walk from the subway to my desk.  Now, even in 90 degree heat, I feel crisper than a Brooks Brothers model on a photo shoot in Helsinki. (By comparison.)

UPDATE: Welcome Metblogs readers!  You can find the rest of my 6 Month L.A. Report Card here, or at these individual links:

L.A quality of life upgrades
Tough L.A. Adjustments
Things I'm missing about NYC

L.A. Vs. NYC 6 Month Report Card: Tough Adjustments

The six month L.A. report card continues apace this week: Today, I'm taking a look at some things that have been hard/unpleasant about my new home.  

Tough L.A. Adjustments

Driving: We make it 3,000 miles across a snowstorm-ridden continent in a 14ft. Penske rental truck with a weak engine -- no problem.  Four days later, our rental car from LAX blows a tire two hours after we've rented it.  All of the sudden, it seems to me that Tom Joad pretty much had it made compared to me.  I start to suffer what used to be  a "nervous breakdown" and huddle next to the inoperable Ford Focus whimpering a litany of curses and lamentations as Jessica arranges for roadside assistance.  Seven years in New York have not been conducive to learning how to change a tire.  (Or how to perform many other practical tasks for everyday living.)  All this happens before I've even become a car owner and enjoyed a rush hour commute on the 10.

Owning a Car: Back in March, I venture out to Silverlake, to the El Cid, to meet some friends.  I park my newly beloved '99 Saab on a clean, well-lighted street.  I enjoy some camaraderie and cabaret.  When I get back to my car, the passenger side window has been bashed out. Welcome to L.A. Mr. Joad.  Ironically, my car alarm has saved my noble steed from any further degradations and kept my laptop in the backseat safe from theft.  The punks must have heard the alarm and fled with no further damage.  This is ironic, because I hated car alarms in New York with a savage alacrity.  On the hated-noise-pollution scale, car alarms fell somewhere on my shit-list between weekend jackhammer operators and Donny Deutsch.  So it's ironic that a car alarm saved me thousands of dollars and a trip to the Northeast police district desk.  Thankfully, Ove, my excellent mechanic at Viking Motors on Pico, found me a very-reasonably-priced used replacement window and installed it flawlessly two days after the incident.  After this, things really start to look up on the auto front.

Not walking: It's true.  I drive everywhere now.  It's only an aversion to Applebees appetizers and T.G.I. Fridays entrees that's keeping me below 300 lbs.

The hot rental market: I expected finding a great place to live here would be a piece of cake compared to NYC.  That didn't turn out to be the case thanks to the credit crash and the fresh spate of greedy landlords and newly-out-of-a-home-renters.

Coffee Shop Screenplay Writers: In New York, it was the overly-mouthy conversational geniuses that turned my face reddish-green with spleen.  You know the type -- forever expounding on the emotional and linguistic resonances between the indie pop album of the month and the early novels of Don Delillo at 'please notice me' volume.  (Uh, wait, that was me.)  At any rate, here in L.A. it's the over-earnest screenplay writer in the coffee shop that bugs me unto near violence.  This forever-multiplying breed of predictable poseur troubles me deeply.  I suppose the only thing for it is start that "project" about the plucky Midwestern-bred New Yorker that comes West and discovers something new about himself... 

Quote of the Day From Back East

A good friend of mine emailed this morning to share the latest happenings in my old neighborhood of Greenpoint, Brooklyn...

"Our landlord is completely renovating the bottom two floors of our building. And at 6:45 this morning, the workers began pulling up the floor boards of the apartment below us, which entailed building-quivering sledgehammer blows. After [my wife] and I both awoke and cursed our share, she turned to me and said, 'Let's move to California.'"

A word of advice to my friend:  According to city law, residential construction work is allowed only between 7 AM and 6 PM weekdays and 8 AM - 6 PM Saturdays.  Sunday, I believe, is off limits entirely.  This is just from memory -- call 311 to confirm.  Know your rights!  (Or else pack a U Haul and come West.)

L.A. Vs. NYC 6 Month Report Card: 7 Things I Miss About New York

So maybe I came down a little hard on the rotten apple yesterday.  Without further ado, here's the Fake Angeleno version of the empire city strikes back. 

6 Months Removed -- 7 Things I Miss About NYC

The Waiters: Dude, I don't want to know your name.  And no, you won't be "taking care of me," so much as you'll be making sure I get everything I want immediately so I'll consider coming back to your restaurant in the future.  And bro, I could care less about the specials.  Why yes, I would like my water refilled.  In fact, why don't you just assume if my glass is half empty it's time to fill it up, k bra?  Good luck with that commercial audition tomorrow, brother.  Oh, right, I forgot.  Your name is Zach.  We're all pulling for you Zach, but for now, could you try a little harder to follow the New York model?  Keep the banter to a minimum.  Never try and upsell an upseller.  Don't ask, just do it.  And for the love of Batali, it's not that hard to wait on four tables at a time, my friend.  Your NYC counterpart usually juggles 10 tables with very minimal difficulty.

The Seasons:  April/May and September/October are no doubt four damn fine months to be a New Yorker.  November-March and June-August -- not so much.  Yet I still get a pang for a little snowfall every now and again.  These pangs are pretty manageable.  Oh, and I spent January through March here wearing my heavy, black winter overcoat.  That thing got looks and comments all over town.  As a tribute to my freezing comrades back East, I plan to wear it often next year too.  It's a nice way to hold on to my New Yorker identity and looks a hell of a lot sharper than a ratty fleece.

The Late Night Dining Convenience: Between me and my beloved ex-roommate, we probably paid for the last two renovations at the 24 hr. Brooklyn delivery restaurant Anytime singlehandedly.  This is not even to mention our staunch support of the all-night deli on Manhattan and Greenpoint, Maria's on Meserole, and the Turkey's Nest mini-pizza-nuclear-option.  In my neck of Mar Vista, you're pretty much out of luck if you want to eat something after 10 PM.

The Skyline: Downtown L.A. is right up there with downtown ... Dallas.  Then again, the NYC skyline makes Chicago look anemic by comparison.  There can be only one big nasty.  

The Thai Cafe: This place fed me three times a week for about six years.  Never has so much delicious food been so lovingly prepared for so modest a price.  I can still close my eyes and see the proprietor outside his restaurant, late in the evening, deeply enjoying a smoke and reflecting on another day of consummate craftsmanship.  Mr. Thai Cafe: You have no equal in Southern California.  Not even close...

The East River: No, I'm not setting up the L.A. River as a feeble, concrete patsy... That would be too easy.  How about the East River vs. the Santa Monica Bay?  Sure, I can mosey down to the beach at the end of pretty much any day and watch the sun slip off into the Pacific.  But for my money, there is no better sunset view than the end of Java St. in Greenpoint, Brooklyn -- 11222.  You see, Java St. runs right down to the river, where you can sit down on the rock-strewn embankment and enjoy an intimate encounter with a sweeping Manhattan Island vista.  You can see clear up from the Lower East Side to the Queensboro Bridge -- while the street grid lights up with rays shooting in from the soon-to-be-dark fields of the republic just across the Hudson.  Sitting there on the bank, Manhattan seems to be a living creature, a smoldering behemoth, but from this viewpoint wholly benign.  It all makes for prose just as purple as the dusk-time cloud cover, and it goes well with a six pack from the bodega too...  Just be sure you toss your beer-can-in-a-paper-bag into the river if the NYPD decides they'd like to admire the view as well. 

My Friends:  As Lord Buckley once said, "People are the true flowers in life, and it has been my most precious pleasure to have temporarily strolled through your garden."  The strange and exotic flora I encountered during my brief gambol around the five boroughs are most precious indeed.  There is no people garden in the world quite like New York City. 

L.A. Vs. NYC 6 Month Report Card: 6 Quality of Life Upgrades

We lit out for Los Angeles in a Penske moving truck on December 22 of last year under dark, gray skies.  The BQE was in a uniquely rotted state of ill-repair and dysfunction that day.  When we reached New Jersey, I turned back for a last look at the Empire State Building, but it had already been erased by the low-hanging rain clouds.  That day, we drove through a driving wind and steady precipitation.  The rest of the drive we attempted to dodge -- with mixed success -- the snowstorms punishing the rust belt and the high plains that week.  Eight days later we pulled the Penske truck into allied territory, (Pasadena) and not a moment too soon.  The sunlit San Gabriels looked welcoming and appealing, and the seventy-degree Rose Bowl weather felt just fine...  Even though I didn't know it quite yet, we had come home. 

Next Monday marks our sixth month anniversary of arriving in Los Angeles from NYC.  And as the Fake Angeleno, I'll be taking the rest of the week to make haphazard blog lists of things I like about my new habitat, things I miss about my old one, etc, etc...  Here's the first list:

L.A. vs NYC -- 6 Months, 6 Quality of Life Upgrades

The Scenery Within an Hour's Drive: Let's face it.  A starting lineup of stunning Pacific Ocean cliff views, gorgeous beaches, the Santa Monica Mountains, and the San Gabriel Mountains pretty much obliterates the Rockaways, the Jersey Shore, and some of the Hamptons if there's no traffic.  Even the lower Hudson valley can't compete, and I love me some lower Hudson valley. (Sorry Amanda)  The same rule pretty much applies to farther-away destinations, with Big Sur besting the Adirondacks and the San Diego area whipping the Philly metro in a blowout. 

The Housing Situation: As most of his friends and family can attest, The Fake Angeleno will not shut up about his backyard, his driveway, his garage, and his second bedroom.  Just six months ago, I had a Polish-speaking landlord and her family living above, below, and adjacent to my tiny apartment/hovel with paper thin walls, 6.5 foot ceilings, and some strange, crumbling paint residue/material that seemed to magically rematerialize each week.  The Fake Angeleno's new place is not cheap, but it's 500% more livable than a comparably-priced arrangement in Manhattan or North Brooklyn.  Yes, I've now become the guy who blurts out things like:  "Check out the square footage on this baby!  That counter-top is all granite, boy!  The best!"

The Weather: Do I even need to mention this one?  Blistering cold and oppressive humidity has been traded for year-round balminess, massive amounts of sunshine, and a "dry heat" in the summer.  My solution for beating the dry heat? Instead of curling up into the fetal position next to my overworked window unit, I just drive five minutes to Venice beach and jump in the ocean.

The Vibe: Goodbye stressed out, hyper competitive, pretentious, self congratulatory, "I went to school in Boston and still take piano lessons 15 hours a week when I'm not tackling an urban planning course or teaching kids how to read Mandarin" New Yorkers.  Hello well-tanned, laid back, welcoming, "I figure I'll make it in pictures eventually, but if not that's cool too" Angelenos.

The Culture:  I've been to more great cultural events here in the last six months than I went to my last year in New York.  The reason?  I think I'm, like, totally less stressed and self-absorbed.  I've traded Brian Lehrer for Nic Harcourt and the earth is still going round the sun.  And my music tastes have become a lot more current, too. (Sadly, I have no idea how Anthony Weiner's run at Gracie mansion is progressing.)

The Coffee Shops: Even though I'm not the frontman for a recently-signed indie band, the staff seems to still notice I'm alive and in need of caffeine.  I'm astonished to find I can get some friendly banter with my purchase even though my haircut resembles Al Gore's and my fashion sense mimics a middle-rung insurance executive who's still dressed by his mom. 

Locust-Style Fire Consumes NYC

FishbowlLA reports that the Universal Studios' "New York" street has succumbed to the fire on the backlot...