Originally Posted by Icky Thump (Post 482203)

My first trip to LA was magical. I was 19, in a band and could write a book about the 18 days we spent there. By the end of the stay there were 21 people living in our hotel room. I saw more girls naked during that 18 days than I had seen in my previous 19 years. I had Vince Neil and Tommy Lee come up to me at the Whiskey to say "Hi." I sniffed amyl nitrate with David Lee Roth.

Funny thing is today, someone mentioned sending me out to our LA office to rattle some cages. But I think if I went out to LA, I would be on a bender by late Monday night and could wind up on a 21 year bender.

Originally Posted by Hank Chinaski (Post 482204)

hmm, I think we all know that being a rock star or movie star would make LA quite livable. If you can have twin virgins fucking you in the back of your limo, I imagine the traffic delays become more bearable. Short of that though, the money to live in a few select neighborhoods, and the fortune to work in the same seem required to enjoy living there.

(ps I no loger have my fave avatar, congrats)

Originally Posted by Icky Thump (Post 482203)

My first trip to LA was magical. I was 19, in a band and could write a book about the 18 days we spent there. By the end of the stay there were 21 people living in our hotel room. I saw more girls naked during that 18 days than I had seen in my previous 19 years. I had Vince Neil and Tommy Lee come up to me at the Whiskey to say "Hi." I sniffed amyl nitrate with David Lee Roth.

Funny thing is today, someone mentioned sending me out to our LA office to rattle some cages. But I think if I went out to LA, I would be on a bender by late Monday night and could wind up on a 21 year bender.

Originally Posted by Not Bob (Post 482205)

I'd totally do either version of Icky's Three Weeks In LA -- the 19 year old rock musician life would probably kill me by day 3, but whatever.

And it's been a while since I've been with a multi-office firm that would send me in to do my Mariano-in-the-bottom-of-the-ninth thing, but there are worse things in life than spending three weeks in a semi-swank hotel near the office. And if it's that much fun in places like Paducah, Jacksonville, and Wheeling, one can only imagine the pleasure of doing so in the 2-1-3.

Originally Posted by Tyrone Slothrop (Post 482170)

I thought that too, but it didn't turn out that way.

Originally Posted by bold_n_brazen (Post 482211)

I have lived in the South Bay of Los Angeles and the Bay Area of San Fransisco.

I loved loved loved living in LA. I hated living in the SFBA.

It is entirely possible that I was in Icky's hotel room.

Originally Posted by Hank Chinaski (Post 482201)

Anyhoo, the game is wrapping at 10:30 PM and the big screen starts giving freeway traffic reports. Think. about. it.

Originally Posted by Hank Chinaski (Post 482187)

I grew up in a poor town with redneck dumb fucks. I've had cars TRY to hit me, I believe because "running is gay." Because of this I have chops so that a car will never hit me running or walking*. I do not leave that as an opportunity, as I can always see cars coming. On the other hand bike in bikes lanes and generally are much harder to see and anticipate. I guess I'm saying one can be more careful and do okay with cars.

As to your sentiment, PayPal me $50 and I will pass it on to him.

*and I am not unsympathetic to those hit by cars, as my biggest internet crush was.

Originally Posted by bold_n_brazen (Post 482211)

I have lived in the South Bay of Los Angeles and the Bay Area of San Fransisco.

I loved loved loved living in LA. I hated living in the SFBA.

It is entirely possible that I was in Icky's hotel room.

Originally Posted by Sparklehorse (Post 482208)

you seem to be Breaking Bad Backwards.

Originally Posted by bold_n_brazen (Post 482211)

It is entirely possible that I was in Icky's hotel room.

Originally Posted by Mmmm, Burger (C.J.) (Post 482214)

I would not even think that, putting aside career-location lock-in that might occur after moving, unless one moved to the place where you grew up, and still had various friends and general comfort, or a place near your parents and other relatives, or possibly 3 or 4 other cities in the U.S. On the first two, you're not moving back because no city could possibly provide those friends and/or that family.

On the third, I realize these things are highly subjective, but objectively speaking how many cities have enough to offer (putting aside local connections) that they are equal or superior to the SFBA, at least in sufficient respects?

I can think of only 2 candidates:
New York
Washington

I could be persuaded on more subjective factors to include Chicago, Boston, LA, and Seattle. Beyond those, it's regional preference.

Originally Posted by Not Bob (Post 482200)

California has a special place in the American mind/soul/dream. And there is no question that both San Francisco and LA are beautiful, magical places. When I went to Beverly Hills in a February many (ack!) years ago for a pool-side mediation (I am Not Kidding), I learned first hand why people move there. Heck, I had picked out a gold Firebird and lined up a mobile home in Malibu before the first break-out session ended.

Then my client reminded me that I hate traffic (true) and the beach (also true). And that I wasn't rich (alas, very true) or good-looking (ouch), and that while I would love seeing games at Dodger Stadium (probably true; will have to go to confirm), I would hate seeing hockey at the Staples Center. And while I probably would like seeing hockey at the Pond in Anaheim, it's too far, and, besides, it's in Anaheim.*

And then the hot bartender called me "sir" in a way that said, politely, "you, Not Bob, remind me of Jason Alexander's character in Pretty Women," and the magic was completely gone.

*Note that I am only relaying the sneer. I have a different (but also very good) client in Anaheim, and am told that it is a delightful place.

Originally Posted by Greedy,Greedy,Greedy (Post 482269)

Most years, I am invited to LA for the Grammys, thanks to my role with a small classical music label. However, my invitation is not to the ceremony populated by rock and movie stars, with red carpets and paparazzi, and everything carefully scripted for TV. My invite is to the event that happens earlier in the day, where the taxis and squat hybrids disgorge occupants by the convention hall, with friends snapping photos on their phones by the signage, where they give out the awards for stuff that doesn't garner any ratings. Yes, we are webcast live! I missed the biggest year, though, the one where Bob Dylan released a classical album and beat us in our category, and sent one of his close hangers on to gather up the award.

After all our awards are given out, though, they put the real ceremonies up the big screen where we can watch them from our convention hall seats, and they keep the concessions open, too!

If LA is a cruel place for the almost-famous like me, I can only image how tough it is on a failed writer like Hank.