I Hate Los Angeles

18 Oct

It is with great distaste that I purchase my airline ticket from JFK airport to LAX for Christmas on cheaptickets.com.  As I await the confirmation email I think about the money I spent on the ticket and the greater good I could have done with it; I could have bought a Kindle, a PS3, or any other trendy electronic home entertainment system.

The ticket is for a trip lasting 10 days and 11 nights to my hometown.  When I think of the phrase “hometown” I picture suburban ennui or maybe it’s farmland.  Hometown means culdesacs and brothers and sisters playing in mud. Hometown is where you are from before you move away from the misery of homophobic, racist, and misogynist small-minds and into the big city to be lost.  No matter how complex your life becomes in the city, you have your hometown trips to remind you of how salt of the earth you are.  You hate the small town trips but–doggone it–you’re from there…

Well my hometown is Los Angeles, population 4 million, and if you thought that I’d think any different of my hometown as you would yours then you’d be wrong.  I hate Los Angeles with the same passion you hate the dunghill you grew up in.  When I land in Los Angeles this Christmas I see nothing but pavement and super-mega Target stores. My hometown is a Metropolis of highways and gang wars. I was birthed from the loins of kitsch and strip malls. I think the idea of a hometown is that it is the “heartland” and therefore it is your soft-spot, but my hometown is a failed megacity populated by Starbucks baristas who are model”slash”actors eager to impress.

At least I’ll dine on In-N-Out burgers to ease the pain


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