465 square miles of hell

Los Angeles is an amazing city. And also, one which I despise.

Which is part of what makes it so fascinating, and why I am so entertained by my visits there. To me, L.A. is a perfect example of a city gone wrong. Rather than building up, like most of New England's more compact cities have done, L.A. built outward, stretching what could have been one huge city into about seven, under the false moniker of a "county." In my view, a county would require being able to tell where one city ends and the next begins. And yet, there's no way to tell that you've left Santa Monica and entered Hollywood - aside from the gradual change in the buildings from "classy new mini-mall" to "converted old movie theater." The identity of each zone is really just a way of keeping track of where you are - there are no real borders, just an endless sprawl of run-down buildings and out of date track homes.

I actually wonder sometimes who chose the names for some of these sub-cities. Some of them seem to have their names chosen to illustrate the exact opposite of what the place actually looks like. "Garden Grove" for example doesn't have any gardens, and while "Long Beach" might sound like a nice place to go surfing, it's actually the home of a 15-or-so-square mile industrial zone - right in the heart of the world's most polluted city.

I will admit, however, that I am quite grateful to Long Beach, for being home to what might be my favorite part of LA. Right on the edge of said industrial zone, and extremely visible from the freeway, is a gargantuan rusty factory complete with steel towers, rickety walkways, and pipes which bleed smoke into the sky. Now, as if this weren't amusingly post-apocolyptic enough on its own, some 9-11 fanatics felt a need to erect a gigantic American flag on the side of this structure - unwittingly creating a real-life political cartoon. There is no way to look at this structure now without seeing it as some sort of commentary on the United States as a worn-down factory whose only purpose is to pump thick black smog all over the place. Not to sound like too much of a leftist - but come on. It's hard to take a flag on the side of a facility like that as an inspiring symbol of patriotism.



Other divisions of note include:

Hollywood, where you can see hip, trendy young people try out new fashions which may (but will probably not) end up taking the rest of the west coast by storm.

Beverly Hills, an impossible-to-navigate labyrinth of ridiculously fancy houses, where I can tell you from experience it is impossible to find a gas station.

Santa Monica, the trendy shopping district which is for the most part just a gigantic strip mall exactly like the ones in your hometown (although it does house one of the best comic book shops I've ever been to).

Anaheim, which has Disneyland and very little else worth noting.

And of course, there is downtown L.A., which to me is the most surreal. Very tall office buildings, with no streetside entrances. As far as I can tell, you enter these buildings through a series of underground parking lots, which are only accessible by way of freeway off-ramp. In place of these street entrances are blocks and blocks of small stands selling fruits, papers, discounted toys, and other cheap merchandise to what seems to be the downtown area's population - an extensive community of homeless people. Imagine a crowded mall in Santa Monica, but with all of the fancy designer clothes replaced with rags and newspapers. It's something of a harrowing experience - to see this many people living in extreme poverty only a handful of miles from the strikingly wealthy Bel Aire.

There is a lot of debate over which of these areas are part of LA and which are cities of their own. I once went out with a girl from Anaheim, who was adamant that her hometown was a part of L.A.'s southern neighbor Orange County, despite the fact that it is most certainly not. The reason for this, as I see it, is that I am not the only person who hates L.A. - even people who live well within its borders would rather consider themselves outsiders. I can't blame them - I wouldn't move to L.A. if I were paid to, and if I did have the misfortune to be born there, I would be out as soon as money allowed.

But despite my words of hatred for the city itself, I rather enjoy visiting. There's something especially thought-provoking about seeing so much ugliness packed into one city (or seven, depending on who you ask). Every time I drive north, I have to drive through roughly 465 miles of hell - trust me, it can sure help to put things in perspective.