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SCHLIEFKEVISION IN CALIFORNIA: |
SCHLIEFKEVISION SPECIAL
REPORT:
FOOD IN CALIFORNIA
January 3, 2004 - After years
of anxiously waiting to try out California's fabled IN N
OUT Burgers, I finally was able to walk on up and order my
cheeseburger, animal style of course. Did it live up to
its expectations? Read this article and find out for
yourself - along with reviews of Fatburger and one of Los
Angeles' most famous hot dog stands, Pinks. (read
the article) |
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THE O.C.
January 3, 2004 - Ten days, ten
nights. The Pacific Ocean, a 6.5 earthquake, lots of food, and
California holiday merriment. Orange County really is Reagan
Country, a mystical land of intense beauty and disgustingly gross high
class strip malls, freeways and gated communities filling up every
imaginable bit of land the eye can see.
| There were many crazy
things that happened that week in the O.C. My Mom, Dad and I
spent an afternoon outside the gates of Disneyland, the Happiest
Place on Earth. Uncle Walt's money grubbing descendents, in
all of their compassion for people who are unwilling to shell out the $50
admission |
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| ticket to the
park, built an outdoor mall that was still way too rich for the
normal person's blood. After a few hours perusing Legoland
Shops and the like, we headed on over to the Mighty Ducks hockey
game. The arena was in the middle of a slew of parking lots
lined with palm trees, not a bar or any other tempting establishment
as far as the eye could see. My Dad's penchant for promptness
got us to the game about three hours too early, and we walked around
and around, only to see the hometown Ducks lose to hated interstate
rivals the San Jose Sharks 2-1. |
When looking for cheap places to eat, don't look too
hard at Disneyland. $40 pizzas are a bit steep for the average
unemployed artist. |
The beaches that dotted the O.C. coast were
breathtaking, lined with cliffs, and flower lined vistas, but the
constant reminder of the amount of money and conservative values was
never far off. A Starbucks literally stood at every corner, as did
nondescript Spanish styled fiberglass strip malls. Dana Point,
Laguna Niguel, Laguna Beach and all the other towns meshed into a
characterless mish mash of indistinguishable towns crisscrossed with
highways with varying proximities to Los Angeles.
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I mean, who can say anything bad
about places like this??? |
My brother
and sister arrived on Christmas eve, and we walked the beaches and
ritzy hotels of Dana Point. I mustered the stupid courage to
strip down to my boxers and frolic in the Pacific, the air and water
temps nearly matched, so I didn't exactly freeze. With a
little taste of the salty water, I made a hellbent decision the
three of us would make the same mistake on Christmas Day.
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After being warned by a lifeguard about
something about not having thermal suits and the water being really
cold, the three intrepid misplaced northerners plodded through the beach
and into the surf. With the first rain on Christmas in 20 years in
LA as a nice backdrop, we immediately froze and had to retreat to the
comforting warmth of the hot tub back in the little gated community
across the way. It would be a comforting stop the entire week.
| The Catholic
Christmas Mass was also celebrated in California style with a full
on Orange County youth rock and roll band set up right next to the
altar. I looked hard to find some CDs of their one big hit,
Little Drummer Boy, but came up empty handed. Seeing the Body
of Christ doled out with six strings standing by could only happen
in California, and was trumped by yours truly having to collect
money from all the rich little residents who made it to that mass.
I figured one little envelope could've paid rent for a month, but I
resisted temptation and delivered the full basket to the already
rich Catholic Church's hands. I'm sure there is some worthy
child molestation settlement that will be padded a bit more due to
my fine ethics and morals. |
With earthquakes, mud slides, and a grocer's strike,
the mood got really frantic when LAX and the rest of the nation got
an early Christmas present: conservative heartthrob Tom Ridge raised
the little terror alert to ORANGE. Oh yeah, and Arnold is the
freaking governor.
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Of course,
food played
an important role all trip, and the defining highlight was the
magnificent splendor of the
Getty Museum.
Built on a hill overlooking LA and the Pacific Ocean, this unbelievable
museum did it right. Modernist architecture that obscenely
glorified the beauty of the hills and the surrounding area. The
art was amazing as well, with a full range of Titians, Rubens,
Rembrandt, Gericault, Delacroix, and the stunning size and crazed
obsessiveness
of
Ensor's Christ's Entry into Brussells. My personal
favorite painting in the entire collection was a little painting by
little painter
Adrian
Ysenbrandt, which featured amazing brushwork reminiscent of Jack
Levine and a pop up Jesus. Yes, it had it all.
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Mass of St Gregory the Great,
a great painting by Adrian Ysenbrandt. |
A quick
search for beautiful people i Beverly Hills turned up fruitless, as
I didn't even spot a metrosexual there either. I did however,
see a black man in a striped suit, but I think he jumped on a bus
before I was able to snap a picture. We revisited the family's
most vaunted tourist spot in all of California, the La Brea Tarpits.
My Mom has been curiously obsessed with them, and on our first visit
to the Golden State in 1989, a big point was made to see the tar
pits. I was a bit jaded to the experience, even as a 14 year
old, because there were empty buckets of driveway tar littering the
ancient pits that trapped all those poor, stupid prehistoric
animals. |
| The visit to
O.C. was topped with a pilgrimage to the Richard Nixon Presidential
Library in Yorba Linda. Besides making everyone's
favorite paranoid president into a holier than thou saint ready to
be placed at the right hand of the Father, it was a pretty
interesting place. Early on, it jumped out at me that he made
his name on the national scene for nailing some slippery liberals
with jail sentences during the McCarthy hearings.
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Why to this day, signs like this need to explain
exactly
where to look to see the 'real' tar pits. |
A dubious legacy perhaps, but Watergate
wasn't glossed over, it just lamented the fact there really was no
smoking gun (or soiled dress) and the tour ended with the bigger than
thou Richard Nixon explaining why he didn't demand a recount after
having his election robbed by JFK's mafia buddies in Chicago. I
picked up a nice Nixon bowling t-shirt and skipped the Tricky Dick and
Elvis paraphernalia.
All in all, the vacation was great, I got to spend some quality time
with the now continentally dispersed family, ate some great food, and
relaxed in one of the most beautiful, expensive, and conservative places
in the land. I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease about the
vast reservoirs of money everyone there was sitting on and spending, and
on the uneventful plane ride back to my little home on the east side of
Austin, I couldn't help but feel like a little kid again, but as the
miles flew by, I felt oddly grown up, the weight of the world thrust
back on my shoulders, and inspired to find a way to make some art that
will never end up hanging at Laguna Beach.
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One of the fine, overpriced masterpieces
that fill the Laguna Art Scene.
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