On a whim I bought a plane ticket and am headed to Los Angeles for the weekend to visit some old friends and attend some parties. I apologize in advance for the run on sentence, but I can’t wait to wander around my old stomping ground in West Hollywood and have clueless jock assholes from Orange County and Mexican gangster hooligans wearing thrift store bought B.U.M. equipment hooded sweatshirts drive by and yell “faggot” while texting misspelled or abbreviated romantic messages to their soon to be pregnant with their second child girlfriends as I’m walking to Astro Burger to get a delicious ostrich hamburger. Ah the good old days. I love few things more than Los Angeles. Yet as I stroll down Sunset Blvd I don’t see any of the tacky billboards, ghetto advertisements, or riff raff milling about. All I see is the Sunset Strip, it’s 1966, and I’m on my way to Galaxy or Hullaballoo to see “The Palace Guard” or “Love” or Sky Saxon and “The Seeds.” I can’t hear any of the bass speakers and blaring hip hop music, the sounds emanating from rows of bumping Toyota Prius’ zipping by are drowned out by the roar of ’63 Chevy Impalas cruising past “It’s Boss” looking to make time with some as yet unknown chicks. Oh but snap out of it. Really I’m just going to Poquito Mas for some enchiladas.
Without going light speed into the future, my walking the sunset strip is as close as you can get to actual time travel…at least the sort of poor man’s time travel that was utilized so effectively in that movie with Christopher Reeve, Somewhere in Time. You know the one where he just sort of lays around in bed and thinks really hard…and suddenly… poof! presto!
There are few things I love more than Los Angeles the way I re-imagine it.