LA Drivers & Dumb Things in Cars
It used to be, a long time ago, that driving a car was considered somewhat of a professional activity. You put on your helmet, gloves and goggles and took the helm of your land ship, much to the delight of your lady friends and much to the envy of your not-so-sophisticated male colleagues.
Well, welcome to LA, baby. Detroit may have invented the car (or not), but Los Angeles invented the “car culture”. Accessorize and democratize. Off with the helmet and the white gloves, everyone can do this.
First came the drive-in-drive-through-anything. Wanna burger? Pull up here. Want some cash? There’s a drive-through bank, never mind that you could avoid the wait out on the boulevard by parking and chatting with the lovely teller.
In a rush? Take that burger on the road. Back some time ago, that may have seemed a bit irresponsible, what with your pickle sliding out and the mayonnaise spattering over your grey flannels. Nowadays, not even an issue. Then came the Remington man, gliding his three-rotor 400 over his chin, smiling as his shaven stubble fell all over his starched white shirt. The ladies oohed and awed. You’ve seen the commercial.
Fast forward to the future (sort of) and there’s a balding fat dude with a 40-pound cell phone yapping away like he ran the world.
So cell phones have evolved but why stop there? Let’s text your BFF doing 80 on the Santa Monica Freeway. Don’t know where you’re going? Hell, pull out the GPS and punch in your location. How you would know where you’re going if you don’t know where you are is beyond me. Never mind the occasional lapse of attention or the jerking swerve into the next lane. The guy next to you just glanced up from his texting, in time to avoid this dismembering close encounter. Sort of like the acrobats in Cirque du Soleil. Poetry on wheels.
By now you get it. LA sets the trend for every stupid-ass what-do-you-do-in-your-car trend you now think is normal. Gotta love LA. A Brooklyn friend and I discussed LA drivers versus New York drivers recently. For some curious reason, he thinks LA drivers are nuts. In my view, slalom is a driving sport in NYC. So I checked the death stats, and ate – LA takes the lead over New York, something like the Dodgers beating the Yankees in the World Series.
Risking my life, I began paying more attention to LA drivers, looking left and right (and seeing a lot of hot babes) in my scientific sampling to determine how LA got to this state of affairs. I’m in the fast lane (best place to be when the lane-shifting motorbike roars up between you and the texting guy) and this lady on my right is eating cereal – out of a bowl – with milk. Knees come in handy. Fuck me. Not the lady.
More often I observe women doing their make-up. Okay, the blush brush or the foundation stuff must be hard but what about the eye make-up? The visor’s down, you’re looking up, thinking about the copy boy, and the car in front of you drops from 70 to 10 in 200 feet? Smudge.
Here’s a good one: bring along a toothbrush, toothpaste, and, oh, don’t forget the mug of water. Where do you spit that out, even at 30 mph? Then get this – we saw a woman flossing yes flossing her tartar-stained teeth, not once but twice, on the 110. Imagine her halitosis dashboard.
Literacy is good but leave the memo at the office. How about the laptop too? Seen ‘em both. In cars.
I’m not finished and they’re not either. Got facial hair? We recently saw a lovely young woman, again twice – like many Angelenos we having a departure pattern – plucking her chin hairs with tweezers, using her visor mirror, totally oblivious to her and others’ right to life. I was being generous, she wasn’t lovely.
So now let’s get really fucked up and learn why I’m writing this today. Looking out of the corner of my eye at the LA hotties (check the stats, LA’s a chick magnet, wanna be a star?), I spot a twenty-something woman with – focus on this – an eyelash curler and she’s workin’ it. Visor down, field of vision reduced by about 50%, but she’s got a hot date and needs to do this now, at 60 mph near the 405 off-ramp and not in the parking lot once she gets to the restaurant. Damn, I like a girl with a mind of her own, with priorities, who knows what she wants.
So get out your dental floss, bring along a mug, steal your dad’s Remington 400, and get LA’d. Take your chances, fuck the insurance company (your whole purse will be all over the car anyway). In the most congested city in the US, chill, get with the program. Think poetry of the pile-up, ballet of the injury accident, orchestrated chaos. The Dodgers beat the Yankees.
Like the Hollywood movie, this one is coming to your town soon.
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What do you Do in Your Car?
Posted by Reality Check on 6/03/10 • Categorized as California,Commentary
LA Drivers & Dumb Things in Cars
It used to be, a long time ago, that driving a car was considered somewhat of a professional activity. You put on your helmet, gloves and goggles and took the helm of your land ship, much to the delight of your lady friends and much to the envy of your not-so-sophisticated male colleagues.
Well, welcome to LA, baby. Detroit may have invented the car (or not), but Los Angeles invented the “car culture”. Accessorize and democratize. Off with the helmet and the white gloves, everyone can do this.
First came the drive-in-drive-through-anything. Wanna burger? Pull up here. Want some cash? There’s a drive-through bank, never mind that you could avoid the wait out on the boulevard by parking and chatting with the lovely teller.
In a rush? Take that burger on the road. Back some time ago, that may have seemed a bit irresponsible, what with your pickle sliding out and the mayonnaise spattering over your grey flannels. Nowadays, not even an issue. Then came the Remington man, gliding his three-rotor 400 over his chin, smiling as his shaven stubble fell all over his starched white shirt. The ladies oohed and awed. You’ve seen the commercial.
Fast forward to the future (sort of) and there’s a balding fat dude with a 40-pound cell phone yapping away like he ran the world.
So cell phones have evolved but why stop there? Let’s text your BFF doing 80 on the Santa Monica Freeway. Don’t know where you’re going? Hell, pull out the GPS and punch in your location. How you would know where you’re going if you don’t know where you are is beyond me. Never mind the occasional lapse of attention or the jerking swerve into the next lane. The guy next to you just glanced up from his texting, in time to avoid this dismembering close encounter. Sort of like the acrobats in Cirque du Soleil. Poetry on wheels.
By now you get it. LA sets the trend for every stupid-ass what-do-you-do-in-your-car trend you now think is normal. Gotta love LA. A Brooklyn friend and I discussed LA drivers versus New York drivers recently. For some curious reason, he thinks LA drivers are nuts. In my view, slalom is a driving sport in NYC. So I checked the death stats, and ate – LA takes the lead over New York, something like the Dodgers beating the Yankees in the World Series.
Risking my life, I began paying more attention to LA drivers, looking left and right (and seeing a lot of hot babes) in my scientific sampling to determine how LA got to this state of affairs. I’m in the fast lane (best place to be when the lane-shifting motorbike roars up between you and the texting guy) and this lady on my right is eating cereal – out of a bowl – with milk. Knees come in handy. Fuck me. Not the lady.
More often I observe women doing their make-up. Okay, the blush brush or the foundation stuff must be hard but what about the eye make-up? The visor’s down, you’re looking up, thinking about the copy boy, and the car in front of you drops from 70 to 10 in 200 feet? Smudge.
Here’s a good one: bring along a toothbrush, toothpaste, and, oh, don’t forget the mug of water. Where do you spit that out, even at 30 mph? Then get this – we saw a woman flossing yes flossing her tartar-stained teeth, not once but twice, on the 110. Imagine her halitosis dashboard.
Literacy is good but leave the memo at the office. How about the laptop too? Seen ‘em both. In cars.
I’m not finished and they’re not either. Got facial hair? We recently saw a lovely young woman, again twice – like many Angelenos we having a departure pattern – plucking her chin hairs with tweezers, using her visor mirror, totally oblivious to her and others’ right to life. I was being generous, she wasn’t lovely.
So now let’s get really fucked up and learn why I’m writing this today. Looking out of the corner of my eye at the LA hotties (check the stats, LA’s a chick magnet, wanna be a star?), I spot a twenty-something woman with – focus on this – an eyelash curler and she’s workin’ it. Visor down, field of vision reduced by about 50%, but she’s got a hot date and needs to do this now, at 60 mph near the 405 off-ramp and not in the parking lot once she gets to the restaurant. Damn, I like a girl with a mind of her own, with priorities, who knows what she wants.
So get out your dental floss, bring along a mug, steal your dad’s Remington 400, and get LA’d. Take your chances, fuck the insurance company (your whole purse will be all over the car anyway). In the most congested city in the US, chill, get with the program. Think poetry of the pile-up, ballet of the injury accident, orchestrated chaos. The Dodgers beat the Yankees.
Like the Hollywood movie, this one is coming to your town soon.
Related Posts
Tagged as: Detroit, LA, LA drivers, LA hotties, New York drivers, Remington man, Santa Monica Freeway