Sorry, Albert Hammond*—it totally rains in Southern California. Although I have to say that for an El Niño year, this one wasn’t too bad; yes, it rained all the way into April, but it wasn’t exactly downpouring for weeks on end, and while the fire-damaged hills had some mudslides, that’s like saying Christmas came in December.
*You too, Tony Toni Toné.
Even so—and the perpetual drought notwithstanding—sometimes we manage a literal Hollywood ending. Somebody release the dove!
I do love this crazy town, but I may be biased—after all, Los Angeles is the only home I’ve ever known. And of all of us, I’m the sole native: Damage is from Fresno in the Central Valley, Rob’s from further upstate, and the others all come from outside California. Yet they all gravitated here. And who can blame them? This, so to speak, is the view from our backyard.
In fairness, LA isn’t for everyone, especially if you prefer more vertical cities. I actually like the sprawl, the way it can go from urban to suburban to beach in a matter of blocks. But the getting there, well, that’s the notorious rub. The car culture is everything they say it is, from rush hour to the endless paid parking—gated lots, street meters, valets in strip malls. Okay, the latter’s not really common, but I’m bitter anyway.
Yeah, yeah, move it along, my car’s next. And don’t think I didn’t count the change in the ashtray before I got out.
Still, LA has its upsides, provided you’re willing to make the trek. We’ve got art, we’ve got wildlife, and we’ve most definitely got retail! Even in a recession, quirky, niche-y shops pop up like the proverbial Whac-A-Mole, such as West Hollywood’s recently opened Plaisir here.
Yowza. And to think I really just wanted a cruller.
Then again, I suppose these’ll do instead—cream puffs, color-coded by flavor. I may love this place. Which do I want to try first, strawberry, vanilla, or Irish cream?
And, of course, there’s never a dull moment with “the industry.” In my neck of the woods, you can barely go a day without running into a premiere or an awards ceremony or at least a film crew. Which’ll happen when the Walk of Fame and other Hollywood landmarks are within hopping distance—in fact, Grauman’s Chinese Theatre is right across the street from Rob’s old office.
Okay, I grant you—putting my paws in the hands that exec-produced Arrested Development actually is kind of cool.
What? Has he done other stuff?
But glitz and glamour aside, there’s the pure diversity of Los Angeles as well—four million people of every stripe in the greater city alone, just going about their daily business in all their countless varieties. And what better way to join the throng than by catching the city’s surprisingly clean and drama-free subway?
A rabbit on the Metro may draw stares from people, depending on the time of day, but then I just ask them for 26 Across or whatever, and that usually normalizes everything.
Downtown! When I’ve got worries, all the noise and the hurry seems to help, I know.
From Union Station, it’s just a stone’s throw to Olvera Street, the oldest part of town, where the plaza and main thoroughfare have been styled to resemble a Mexican marketplace in all its color and liveliness. You don’t have to come here for piñatas, calaveras figures, or Pulparindo candy, obviously, but it’s a fun, touristy cornerstone of the city just the same.
...or rather, it is at the moment. Increasing rents may force out the current vendors before long, so if you want to see Olvera the way we’ve always known it, you might want to come soon. Paws crossed that it won’t come to that, though!
In the meantime, I thought I’d do my part to help out, however small. Míreme—hoy estoy soy luchador.
Lunchtime! Naturally, downtown LA has no shortage of restaurants, but where do the locals go? Why—the food trucks! Let’s see, did I remember to ask for extra hot sauce?
But if you’re an absolute stickler about health codes, well, we can always go somewhere more sit-down. Like any big city, LA has its share of “ethnic enclaves,” so if you don’t feel like tacos on Olvera Street or dim sum in Chinatown, there’s always sushi and udon in Little Tokyo…
…or tom yum soup and satay in Thai Town…
…or doro wat and kitfo in Little Ethiopia…
…or spätzle and sauerbraten in Alpine Village, if you’re willing to go a little further south of LA proper to visit our German cul-de-sac. No hasenpfeffer, though, or you’re dead to me.
Actually, as long as we’re here, I’m tucking into some strudel. And if my brothers think I’m bringing any of this home, they’re crazy.
So, that’s Mexicans, Japanese, Thais, Ethiopians, Germans...but what about my people? Well, LA may not yet have a predominantly lagomorphic neighborhood, but if we take the 110 to Pasadena, we find the Bunny Museum, a private home that enshrines one couple’s collection of rabbit paraphernalia. It’s a start to preserving our heritage—and in keeping with the Pasadena location, that’s a former Rose Parade float adapted into topiary out front!
Go ahead and make your “multiplying like rabbits” joke—Candace Frazee and Steve Lubanski’s collection holds the Guinness record, at over 25,000 rabbit-related items and growing. You can’t capture that much stuff in one photo, no matter how you try; behind me are just a few hundred of their plushes, never mind their ceramic figures, vintage toys, art pieces, and so forth. Guess I can’t complain about having to share space with six brothers ever again.
Even then, we didn’t see everything; Candace says they have a lot in storage, including at least one item from every century going as far back as a Roman coin embossed with a rabbit! So see—there’s no whitewashing us out of history. Right, my chocolate brother?
But whatever our respective backgrounds, in the end we all wind up the same way, essentially. You certainly get that sense visiting Hollywood Forever, a prime place to see some famous locals who are no longer with us, where Johnny Ramone’s cenotaph is right next to Hattie McDaniel’s grave but both have a nice view of the water.
You could roam around the cemetery for hours, but today I’m really only here for one thing: to pay my respects to the man who did more for rabbit visibility in the media during the last century than anyone else. Thanks, big guy.
Anyway, enough ruminating—ever see the sunset from the Santa Monica Pier’s ferris wheel? We’ve got time for a quick go.
Wow. Almost makes you want to write inspirational verse, doesn’t it?
Then once the sun’s down, we find one more upside to living here: Any given night, there’s bound to be a free screening somewhere. And tonight, it’s the new Glee episode at the Grove! The SRO arrangement isn’t exactly ideal for someone of my stature, but hey, free popcorn!
After all, what is life about if not watching Jane Lynch verbally lacerating her castmates with a thousand happy strangers under the stars on a spring night? Shh, the show’s about to start!
Afterwards, it’s terrace dining while the Grove fountain performs to “Don’t Stop Believin’.” That, I think, just might be Los Angeles in a nutshell.
And, of course, it wouldn’t be LA if the evening didn’t end in a high-speed pursuit. Be cool and forget you just saw me, okay?
Ah, my City of Angels. Can’t we all just get along?
