LAX? MY ASS!

When I stepped off the Boeing 767 after a disorienting 17-hour flight from Rome, entered LAX International, retrieved my things from baggage claim, hailed a cab then headed into Hawthorne, California on my way to my friend's place in "The Valley," I noticed there is nothing LAX about Los Angeles.

First, cabbies and 'regular' drivers move through town and then the Expressways - oops, they're called 'Freeways' here - like computer generated cars in GTA (Grand Theft Auto) - mindlessly sitting in one lane, annoyingly behind or in front of us, or slipping in and out of traffic like there was no tomorrow. And for for some, there wasn't.
I've seen worse accidents than I've seen anywhere, even in Europe where they have no speed limits - flipped cars, burning cars, trucks on their sides, car pile-ups, cars through fences, over dividers, down embankments... You name it.
L.A. LAX? Laid back? I think road rage was invented here. I remember a poster with two guys shooting at each other riding their covered wagons.

As we headed toward Wilshire, I wasn't sure what the overhead signs meant by a 'Sig Alert', but I found out. I wondered why so many cars made an exodus at the previous exit and then, up ahead, traffic went from cruising speed to a dead stop.
As the meter crept upward toward, then past $35 after we had only moved just a few car lengths, I realized why my cabbie didn't exit. "Bastard!" I thought. I drove a yellow cab in NYC, I knew the tricks, but I never thought Id get caught in one. My suspicion was confirmed when he put on dark, Jack Nicholson Ray Bans, intentionally avoiding eye contact with me. He wasn't Cali cool or laid back; he was nervous.
I felt like pulling a NY on him, telling him, "Let me out right here, I'll walk." Or catch a train, or bus, or something! Thing is, in Cali, anywhere you want to go is about an hour by car - that's about two days by wagon train, a day by stage coach or... Okay, just forget about public transportation or going anywhere by foot. Hell, for $35 dollars, I'd have oiled my ass and slid down to Ventura Blvd!
$64 dollars later, and yes, without a tip, I arrived at my friend's place. To my surprise, home-lined sidewalks were deserted. I entered my friend's home and asked why there was no one one the street, he said, "they're all at their second or third jobs."
The look on his face told me he wasn't kidding.
On outing after outing, I looked for the LAX people, the 'laid back' L.A. people and lifestyle popularized by crooners, pop stars and rappers. Alas, I only found agitated gang members, people who ran up to my car when I drove into the wrong Home Depot entrance asking me for work, people with no time or inclination to talk, or worse, people who took time to talk to me long enough to see if I was 'somebody' who had a paying project going in 'the industry.'
After a long, interesting conversation, I couldn't understand why the person - both men and women - exchanged bogus phone numbers with me. My friend told me that was just the L.A. economy driving people's behavior and the fact that I wasn't anybody who was making a film. That "what can you do for me" mentality.
Other people I met who I thought had to be the LAX, drove nice cars or lived in nice homes, but I found they were very worried about their car note and mortgage payment while fearing being jacked - an adapted California miner's term for hitting something with a hammer while digging for their gold.
Okay, so what about those California girls, I thought. Tan and lean, laid back and... Oooo, la la, right?
My friend, forget about dating in California unless your skin is tough as Rhino hide and twice s thick. I've lost count of how many times I've been asked, 'What kind of car do you drive?" or "How much money do you make?" the one girl I did go out with was wearing a weave, colored contacts, Korean nails, had a boob job, face lift, tummy tuck and 'Lipo' but said vehemently, "I want a real man!" Not LAX.
Somehow, Californians can tell themselves from one another and rarely am I mistaken for one.
The ones you really have to worry about are the nouveau slim before the skin tightening procedures. She looked great in her slimming clothing, but once the temperature rises and the clothes went a-flyin' the first sight of hanging excess skin on her arms, abs and legs caused my stomach to twist, followed hard upon by a gag reflex.
Nothing laid back about similar women either - I've met few since the first. Some are eager to get in on the attention and affection they've been missing out on while others are bent on revenge for being ignored or called names - like on one of those "fat to fab" TV talk show episodes.
After some time, I fell into the 'right' crowd who was so preoccupied with getting laid back at their apartments, they were not laid back. But, hanging with them was fun and I thought for sure, through them, I' had to finally meet the 'laid back' people.
We hit the clubs and eventually I had the opportunity to rub elbows with some celebs. We went to their Hollywood Hills secluded homes and kicked back, and I braced for the LAX.
To my dismay, watching their off-screen personas, I quickly noticed they were so publicly "on" that they didn't seem very laid back either. To make it worse, on one of those nights out, it rained in Southern California. Very disheartening.
For the most part, I'd given up on finding the LAX people and with the time I usually spent seeking them, I volunteered in a senior's home. To my surprise, I finally saw them. The only truly 'laid back' people I met in LA were in their golden years, surrounded by large, extended families from young to old who were having a great time in each other's company.
That's the LAX I want.