Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Yo soy Los Angelino II

Hellz yeah California. I haven't seen your pretty face in over ten years and I would just like to say I love you... so long as you are pouring delicious Mexican food into my yawning maw.

When I arrived at my luxurious new abode, Econo-lodge Redding I had no idea that they would recognize my royal Canadian status. That is, until I turned on my learned Punjabi phrases to the Indian owners. BAZANG! Instant star status. There was a Mexican restaurant across the parking lot for where I was sleeping, my room had a TV and I bought beer when I was in Portland. This was paradise. Then I found out those bastards at the Mexican restaurant closed early. My friend at the check-in desk called and asked why:

Friend: Hello... hello! Yes, this Sukwinder! Why you closed?

Mexican Restaurant:  Que? Que? Noooo-baaah-deee heeeeee-roh.

Friend: That make no sense! I have customer! He drive from Canada and want Mexican food!

Mexican Restaurant: Que? Que? Cerrada Senora.

In any case, two of my three favourite visible minorities came together and found me another restaurant which in turn served me the stupidest most over-sized portion of Enchiladas I've had in a very long time.

After a 7 am wake up I blasted off to Starbucks and then southwards to the city of angels.

Motorhead and coffee provides the perfect wake up. There's just something about Lemmy's voice that says, "Eye's open!" I looked around and could see that the landscape had drastically changed from the last time I was able too see it. I drove in dark for the last four hours or so of my journey the night previous so the contrast was stark.

Cow town after cow town and metal music was on the menu. A little 9August Frost a la Jordan Burgess served me well for the next stretch. I had started the day with a country note (Dwight Yoakam and Dixie Chicks) but damnitall, there's something about this boring ass landscape that calls for distortion!

Then it happened. Sacra-frickin-mento. Holy shit people, it's not a race to see how many lane changes you can make. This was the first real city in California that I drove in. Sure it was seven lanes. Sure it was at 70 mph but somehow it lacked the surprising nature that a man, a child and a goat on a motorcycle ripping between lanes at the same speed on a narrow Grecian street held. Thanks for the attempt America but Greece has you well trumped in the bat-shit crazy traffic category.

I can barely remember the names of the craptastic townships thereafter. Taft? Coalinga... is that Spanish for oral sex? I bet there's some well pleased ladies in that town. Los Banos. Put that crazy accent over the n and you've got, "The Toilets". Then I hit Santa Clarita and got hit with a faceful of traffic jam. When that gave way I was in Burbank and could almost smell the sweet smog of LA. Westwood, The Hills on my left and the Plateau on my right. The browned out skyline was a welcome sight.

I checked in to my present hovel and then went to find a laptop so that I could search for apartments and have some level of contact with the Bros back home. Let me just say that as much as I love my home nation we have no idea what a sale price really is. Sure, this laptop is stained with the blood of a million Iraqis but HOLY SHIT! It rips and I got it for a grand. I hope someone takes pity on me tomorrow and pours liquid Turkey into my face.

Tomorrow brings either apartment searches or surfing. Either is good.

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