Learning to love LA takes patience
During the third period of the National Hockey League Stadium Series last weekend, the Anaheim Ducks fans started a particularly obnoxious “Beat L.A.!” chant. True, they were ahead 2-0 in what was turning into a frustrating shutout of my beloved Los Angeles Kings, so Ducks fans had every right to go ahead and gloat. Or quack. Or whatever it is they do.
But that chant drives me crazy. You never hear people shouting “Beat O.C.!” or “Beat S.F.!” But “Beat L.A.!” has become a universal slogan for just about any sports fan rooting against a Los Angeles team. It doesn’t matter if its hockey or baseball — people love to hate Los Angeles.
I used to be one of those people. I grew up in the suburbs around Los Angeles, and when it came time to apply to college, I thought I wanted to go as far away as I could. I was burned out on the lifestyle. I would complain bitterly to my mom, an ex-New Yorker, in large blanket statements: “Everything takes an hour to get to,” “my lunch cost me more than I make babysitting,” “I can’t have a real conversation with anyone.”
Don’t get me wrong; there was a lot I loved about my life. I remember long summer days at Zuma Beach, swimming in the ocean for hours with the taste of salt water on my tongue. There were the glorious trips to In-N-Out with friends — driving down the 101 North with the windows down, radio turned up to 106.7 FM. And, of course, the ever-present sunshine that always felt like the unquestioned backdrop to my life. In fewer words, The O.C. theme song could sum it all up nicely.
But I’d also seen Gilmore Girls. I dreamed of a place that was less shallow, more welcoming. I wanted neighbors who would wave back. I wanted public transportation. I wanted snow, damn it. Yet, it wasn’t to be. To quote John Steinbeck, another disillusioned Californian, “the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” I ended up “right back where I started from,” if you will, studying print and digital journalism at USC.
Living in the heart of Los Angeles has given me a new perspective on the city, though. I can’t explain it. I still don’t understand it, completely. But somehow, the city has grown on me. Suddenly, I’m the one getting protective about it when I hear someone else make a snarky comment.
Yes, Los Angeles can feel superficial, self-absorbed and downright insufferable, at times. A lot of the clichés are real. People do take their tiny dogs with them to get nonfat lattes, every other person does work in “the industry” and some people do juice every meal before attending a yoga-Pilates-CrossFit fusion. But there is a lot more to Los Angeles than what Saturday Night Live’s “The Californians” would have you believe. There is an incredible history and tradition here to pursue what you want to pursue, love whom you want to love and be who you want to be.
We’re the second-largest city in the United States. We’re arguably the most diverse city in the country and we’re definitely a place like no other — the Stadium Series game was a perfect example of that. It marked Southern California’s first official outdoor hockey game. It was a complete spectacle, in all the best ways. On the way there, the I-5 Freeway was jammed with cars, because who takes the bus? People paid $20 to park in stadium parking. Celebrities walked the red carpet in the Dodger Dugout Club. KISS was pulled out of obscurity to perform a show that was more about pyrotechnics than vocals. People chowed down on Dodger Dogs in January as they craned their necks to see anything from their blocked vantage points in a stadium not designed for a hockey game.
Then of course, the Trojan Marching Band took the field to welcome fans to their seats. Wayne Gretzky, the great one, arrived in a smart black suit, hands in his pockets, to represent the history of hockey in Los Angeles. And who else but Vin Scully was there to say, “And now, it’s time for … NHL Hockey.”
As my dad, a native Angelino, put it as he squeezed my hand: This was science fantasy. But it wasn’t science fantasy — it was Los Angeles. Where else could all of this come together? And on a night when I wore short sleeves, no less. I can’t think of anywhere else in the world where that would be possible.
Breaking with an infamous Los Angeles tradition, most of the fans stayed the whole game. Even though an L.A. Kings win wasn’t in the cards to put the cherry on top of the night, the experience will stay with me for some time.
Haters are going to hate when it comes to Los Angeles. But I’m so glad that I live in this preposterous city.
This column is a love letter to Los Angeles and an attempt to understand it better. Because the longer I live here, the less I understand it — and the more it grows on me.
Jacqueline Mansky is a senior majoring in print and digital journalism. Her column “City of Angels” runs Tuesdays.