Day 1: The world began in Eden and ended in Los Angeles

I've already written on LA once before, in one of my old entries here... there is a chance I will rewrite that bit and include it as part of this travelogue - we shall see. Suffice to say my basic opinion of LA is as a giant gaping asshole in the middle of southern California - a big smelly pit which somehow has managed to keep itself from being flooded with ocean water. There are a few bright spots - Amoeba in Hollywood, Hi De Ho Comics in Santa Monica - but they are merely the scraps of pure white toilet paper clinging to the city's unkempt ass-hairs.

Santa Barbara, however, is a different story altogether. It's a beautiful city, with lots of parks and wealthy person homes, and what just happens to be one of the biggest party colleges in the country. With my luck, it turned out that my Santa Barbarian friend Andre Grosse lives right in the heart of Isla Vista - the party hub of UCSB. Every time I had previously been to I.V., the entire town was essentially one big block party. I'm not sure how to describe it in a way that does it justice - literally, the entire town was a party. Hundreds of people partying in every window and doorway and even flooding out into the street. It's not particularly fun, but it's undeniably fascinating. The last time I was there I was punched in the face by a complete stranger... fortunately tonight was a weeknight, which means the party situation was rather under control (unfortunately, the same could not be said for the parking shit-uation).

While playing Halo with Andy, one of his roommates blurted out that his mother had called him "Mister Fister" when he was a kid, apparently unaware of the kinky sexual connotations. While most people would consider this nickname a source of moderate amusement, we are 20-somethings and therefore are required to never let him forget about it. When he was not looking, we changed his Halo profile to "Mister Fister," whose logo is a giant brown fist, and drew the following comic on the household dryboard:



Music: The 3 "y's" - Yello, Yo La Tengo, Yoko Ono. And Prince, whom I've never been a huge fan of but who has been growing on me slowly. Strangely, the albums of his that people tend to recommend to me are the ones which most back up my opinion of the guy as being only moderately talented (at best), yet the ones I'm not supposed to like ("Lovesexy" and the first album - the alleged "standard funk R&B" one) are the ones which dazzle me with their funky rhythms, their complex arrangements, their endless string of creative ideas. Which is of course not to mention their extreme homosexuality.