Tuesday, May 29, 2007

A Pro-Lifer is Just a Pro-Choicer Who Hasn't Gotten Knocked Up Yet

There is an old expression that a Republican is just a Democrat who hasn’t been arrested yet. I don’t really believe this as you can point to a good number of people form G. Gordon Liddy to a good friend of mine and find staunch Republicans who still maintain their conservative politics even after spending some time behind bars. But one thing I will say: Any girl who is pro-life and planning a career who gets knocked up a little early changes her tune pretty damn quick.

Now I have made my thoughts on abortion pretty well-known on this site before. I think people don’t have enough of them, as any early morning viewing of Maury Povich will easily demonstrate. But my intense dislike of children aside, I really do think people who are not prepared to have kids in all facets of life should just admit their mistakes and get rid of the damn thing. Sadly, there are a lot of sad ideologues out there who just don’t seem to get this point. They are caught up in some religious nonsense and maintain that once a child is conceived, it is a human life and ending it is therefore murder.

That is, of course, until that human life interferes with their plans. I knew a girl a while back who grew up in a hard-core right wing environment. So much so that she had written letters to her local congresswoman urging her to fight to end legalized abortion. This, might I add, was in a solid blue state. At any rate, this girl despite her lack of common sense when it came to overpopulation, was a very intelligent, driven young woman with ambitious career plans. Then she had a pregnancy scare. Like a serious, realistic pregnancy scare where it seemed much more likely than not she was knocked up than not. And you know what she said? “Well, I mean, I CAN’T have a kid now. I work so much and I still have so much I want to accomplish, it just wouldn’t work for me.” No shit.

So it’s okay to sit on our moral high horse and talk about the evils of abortion and why poor black mothers in the ghetto should keep children they can’t afford so they can collect welfare and make the rest of us pay for them, but when you get a little caught up in the heat of the moment and don’t use protection you are more than ready to utilize the services of your local “Doctor of Death,” as your church members like to call them. Yeah, it’s only wrong when it’s someone else’s life being ruined, not yours. Awesome. How about all of you opposed to abortion pay for the raising, schooling and ultimate jailing of these “precious, innocent gifts from God” while the rest of us spend our tax money on useful things. Like the War in Iraq.

It is not to say that left-wingers don’t have their contradictions too. Anyone who looks at how much money Hillary Clinton gets from Pharmaceutical companies can see that, but when it comes to abortion nobody is more hypocritical that the right-to-tell-you-what-to-do-ers. Basically, abortion is wrong unless it interferes with their life. It’s immoral so long as it doesn’t interfere with their career. Wrong. It is a useful tool that most developed countries not blinded by religious nonsense realize is good for society. It’s just sad that it takes an unwanted pregnancy to make a lot of people realize that.

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Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Don't be Scur'd...It's Just Miami

A lot of people think about moving to Miami. I was once one of them. But a good number, and I'm not sure what the exact statistics on this are, but a good number of Americans who try and relocate to Dade last about six months and then hightail it out. They, like so many, think we're basically LA with humidity or New York with Palm Trees and assume life here is somehow easier than it is wherever they come from just because you don't have to deal with snow and ice. And while this may be true for some, it is definitely not the case for all. So, in an effort to save a lot of Americans moving expenses, I decided to let them know exactly what they were in for ahead of time. So I present to you...


  • Now, as I do from time to time, there may be some slight exaggeration for comedic effect as to the condition of this city, its inhabitants and its drivers. But this sem-encompassing guide lets the prospective new Miamian know where they should consider moving, how to look for work, how to drive and how to make friends. At least from my experience. The point of the guide is not to frighten people to death, but just to let them know that Miami isn't for everybody. So know what you are in for before you pack the Mayflower vans.

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    Monday, May 21, 2007

    Do We Do Anything Sober?

    When we were younger, there were a lot of activities to fill our days. This was in the era before lightning-fast internet. Before we could waste away our days in chatrooms and flirting with old people. Before video game systems with microchips that could guide nuclear missiles and before 900 cable TV channels. So we had to find other stuff to do. We played sports, we watched sports on TV, occasionally we would go to the mall or see a movie. Or maybe we would just drive around aimlessly looking for something fun to do. And, for many of us anyway, we managed to do it all sober.

    Then somewhere along the line we discovered alcohol as a fun way to occupy our evenings. Then evenings turned into afternoons and then in college we discovered the revolutionary concept of Beer for Breakfast. And while the 24-hour binge drinking days are now reserved for national holidays and breakups, it has become painfully obvious to me that things we used to do on their own now ALL involve alcohol.

    I don’t recall once after school in 6th Grade saying “Hey, Dan, lets go to Bryant Park and play some ball. But first let me stop off and grab a 12-pack at Albertson’s. You know I can’t shoot sober.” Or those rec-league softball games. I would be hard pressed to find a dugout without beer these days, how did we ever manage? Going to see “Snakes on a Plane?” Well, now instead of sneaking Joey and Bobby in through the Exit door, you’re sneaking Jack and Johnny in through a well-concealed flask. Even aimless driving now seems to be done with the aid of alcohol, albeit usually on accident.

    Or say a friend invites you over to watch the big game on his new TV? You are actually RUDE if you don’t bring some sort of intoxicating beverage. Cooking dinner? You’d better have the right type of wine to go with it. How about going to watch sports live? Remember all those drunken assholes who used to ruin the game for you when you were a kid? Guess who those drunken assholes are now? Oh, how the tables have turned. And don’t even talk about going out at night. There are the odd occasions when you go and do something that does not involve drinking at this age, but those are usually nights you spend with relatives over 70 or under 12.

    I suppose there comes a time later on, and I have no idea when it is because I know plenty of people in their thirties who drink at every social occasion, when life stops revolving around booze. And maybe not in the get-hammered-as-soon-as-I-get-home way, but more in the “Let’s get fucked up and go do this,” sort of way. I don’t know that marriage stops it either, because plenty of couple I know enjoy a good sloshing as much as their single friends. So this makes it hard if you ever want to stop drinking. Because if alcohol is not ruining your life, which is the case for most of us, their really isn’t much incentive to stop. And when every social interaction you have is usually accompanied by a cold fermented beverage, well, how does one even know when to start stopping?

    Is it a sad commentary on the young people of today that we must include alcohol in everything we do? Things you never even used to associate with alcohol and now big booze-fests. Drunk Chess? Really? You can do that? Or does it just add to the endless perpetuation of stories that are the ages of 18-34? Hard to say, but I do know one thing: Try as you might to stop drinking, it is harder now than it will be at any other age. Because now when you stop you feel like you are missing out on something, where as later on, it is probably the other way around.


    Friday, May 18, 2007

    Asking for Anal

    There are some things I just assume people know about sex. Don’t finish in under 5 minutes. Don’t squeeze anything too hard. Don’t hold a girl’s head down while she’s giving you oral. You know, common sense shit that any guy who was ever forced to read one issue of Cosmo (or, you know, maybe had his own subscription) worth his salt in bed knows. But apparently one of the golden rules of sex is not known to as many guys as I though, and that is that you never put it in a girl’s ass unless you have permission.

    Now I know that a lot of the modern-day rape laws require this of normal intercourse too, but that really does tend to dampen the mood. “Before I do this, I need to know that, yes, definitely, you want my penis inside you at this point. Otherwise I cannot legally continue.” And while most people have the sense to know when you have the proverbial green light when it comes to traditional sex, anal is a much touchier subject. While there are a good number of girls who are open to it, very few will just let you put it in without any prior conversation. Even drunk. If you try, you can typically expect a reaction somewhere between a quick pull away and a furious tirade that results in her grabbing her clothes, storming out the door, and talking shit about what a rude pervert you are to every girl in a ten mile radius. What I’m saying, gents, is it is not a good idea.

    The problem, of course, is there are very few women out there who will just flat-out ask for it in the ass (but, oh, those ones who do). So it is hard, and a little intimidating, to gain consent for ass-sex without feeling like a dirty pervert. Then again, you probably are. Typically if the girl is someone you are dating, you have some sort of conversation about anal sex, be it a funny anecdote a friend may have told you, a porn you are watching, or maybe just something that comes up in the course of sexual conversation. However the topic is breeched, you must at some point learn what kind of locks she has on the back door before you try to break in. If she is down for it, then you can feel free to ask her during a subsequent encounter as it probably doesn’t even seem unreasonable at that point. And she may not say yes that first time, but don’t be discouraged: If she is into anal, at some point she will say yes.

    In the one-night stand or fuck-buddy scenario, a simple fingering of that particular area followed by a “I want to fuck you in the ass” is fine. The worst the girl will say is no, and the times I have been rejected from this particular act were not exactly ego-shattering. If you think about it, it can be construed as a compliment. The point is, while there aren’t a plethora of girls who will say yes, they are typically not turned off by the request and are more than happy to continue fucking the way god intended. And it is DEFINITELY preferable to an uninvited anal attempt.

    So, gents, the next time you are thinking you’d like to go back door on a girl, make sure you ask her first. Usually it requires some sort of lubrication and, shall we say, preparation of the orifice, and I don’t think there has ever been a girl who wasn’t a little surprised when you try and go in the other hole without mentioning it. Call it consideration, call it being good in bed, or just call it an offsetting to your perversion, but if you want anal you’d better make sure she does to. Or, as it is in most cases, is at least willing to do it.

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    Thursday, May 17, 2007

    Lemme Get......

    Those of you living outside of Metropolitan Dade County, when you go into a store or a bar or a fast-food establishment and you want to order, what do you say? Perhaps you start the sentence with “I’d like a #4 with no pickles.” Or maybe you are more polite and say “Can I have two Bud Lights and a Vodka Tonic?” The extremely well-mannered among you might say “Can I please have five beef chalupas with extra cheese?” This is true in nearly every major city I have been to in America, not just Seattle or Orange County, but even some of the “ruder” ones like New York or Detroit. And then I forget that Miami is not part of America.

    If you want something from someone in any type of establishment in Dade County, the only acceptable way to ask for it is to say “Lemme Get.” As in “Yeah, lemme a six-inch steak and cheese on honey-oat, toasted. And lemme get some onions, a little lettuce, some mayo, oh and lemme get some of those jalapenos too.” I’m not exactly sure why this is, and it is a phenomenon I just recently began to notice. It started when I began working at the bar where I am now employed, and it began to irritate me a little. “Yeah, lemme get two Johnny Black on the rocks, a Vodka Tonic, and two Blue Long Islands. And lemme get a cup of water. No ice. With a lemon. Oh, no, sorry, I mean a lime” Excuse me? “Lemme get?” Yeah, how about lemme get someone else’s order who knows how to ask for something. Or, better yet, lemme get a decent tip before you start ordering me around like your errand boy.

    At first I thought this inherent rudeness was exclusive to the gutter trash that patronizes my bar. But apparently this was not the case. Soon I started noticing it when I went to lunch, ate at a restaurant or even just at the Publix Deli Counter. Everyone who asks for anything in English prefaces it with “Lemme Get.” No wonder people think we are so rude.

    As I tend to like to do with most problems in Miami, I tried to trace the root of this back to Hispanics. But no such luck. In Spanish, if you want something, generally you preface it with “Da me” which, directly translated, means “give me.” While not exactly wallowing in politeness, it is certainly a lot nicer than “Lemme get.” Similarly, it is not just the Latinos telling people to lettem get stuff. Whites are just as bad, as are blacks as are Asians. Well, if we had Asians. I’m not sure if it’s just contagious like the Miami accent or if it’s just a regional colloquialism or what, but for some reason nobody in this city knows how to ask for anything. The just want to lemme get it. So while I would love to blame this rude phenomenon on my favorite Dade County inhabitants, unfortunately it looks like something or someone else is to blame.

    I’ve tried to start going into establishments and telling them to let me get things, but it just isn’t natural. I’m a West Coast native and if you say that out there you are more than likely going to get your food spit in. While I understand a good two-thirds of people taking my order probably don’t even understand exactly what “Lemme Get” means, I still feel like I’m being rude and condescending by allowing it to preface my order. Perhaps that is part of the reason service in Miami is so awful: the customers are awful too. I know I’m not in a hurry to serve anyone who tells me to “Lemme get,” so I’m pretty sure nobody else is either. I catch myself doing it occasionally, usually after work when I’ve heard it 700 times over the course of the night, but I make a concerted effort to stop. Just lemme get a pass on this once and I promise it won’t happen again.

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    Tuesday, May 15, 2007

    Bad Writers Ruin it for Everyone Else

    There are a lot of people out there who want to be writers. I mean a lot. Dare I say more than want to be actors, singers and professional athletes combined. This may partly be because there are a lot of media which employ writers, so some may want to be print journalists while others want to be screenwriters. But I think the main reason is because everyone and their mother thinks they can write. Go to LA and I guarantee your Taxi driver has a screenplay.

    I mean shit, there’s a lot of pure dreck that gets produced these days and a ton of people probably say “I can do better then that!” And sometimes you can. But most times you can’t. Most times you sit at your computer and pound out stuff that reads well to you, your mother, the old people you read it to during your community service hours and maybe your dog. Although he probably is just barking because you need to take him for a walk. But to everyone else, it pretty much sounds like a bad 11th grade English project. Unfortunately, what this venerable glut of bad writers does is ruin it for the truly talented.

    Now, before everyone jumps on me for being conceited, no I am not explicitly calling myself truly talented. Do I have a well-read blog that I did nothing to promote? Yes. Am I regularly approached by people asking me to write stuff for them for money? Yes. Did I write my way into the Columbia School of Journalism with a 3.2 GPA, passable GRE scores and no professional experience? Yes, but I’m not going. It’s a lot of money. I’m not making any opinionated statements here. Just some facts. There are people out there who are better, some who don’t write anything but virulent emails. But I have had a decent amount of success for someone who has not done anything to pursue it. But enough about me, on to the bad writers….

    What happens is that this plethora of shitty scribes send their God-awful efforts to publishers, producers, editors or anyone else they think might like it. And so said decision maker gets stuck with a steaming pile of shit on his desk. Then along comes a real piece of gold but sadly it is burined under this pile of shit and never gets read. And this, friends, is how so much crap gets produced. They simply don’t have time to read the good stuff.

    The sad part is most of these talentless should really do think they have what it takes to succeed. Crap like drive, determination and a dream. No, successful writing takes only two things: Voice and Talent. If you don’t have both, quit now and let those who do have it get your face time. There are 37 million blogs out there and about 9 of them are readable. The sad part is it is a lot of these people’s dream to be a writer. It is their life’s work and it is a sad thing when your dream is just something you are not very good at. We see this every year on the first five episodes of American Idol, but sadly there is no such public weeding-out process for bad writers.

    Even some who have had success are terrible. I had the occasion to read the Opus of a Miami Herald columnist who shall remain nameless and it was, by far, the biggest waste of half an hour I have experienced this year. And I watch a lot of Jerry Springer. It was, for lack of a better phrase, painful to read. As I scanned this sad effort, I put my sarcastic responses to his excessive and un-understandable metaphors in red for someone else’s amusement. It then dawned on me that this guy had put his heart and soul into what I was reading, his life and dreams. And even though he was a successful columnist this was his proudest work. And it was God fucking awful.

    My point in using this guy as an example is this: It is all well and good to follow your dreams. But when your pursuit of your dream is keeping the truly talented from success, you are actually harming the rest of the world be trying to be “determined.” You are diluting the talent pool and a detriment to society. If you have been working at it for a long time and seen no success, maybe the world is trying to tell you something. Maybe its just not your niche. Try law school. That’s what everyone else does.

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    Wednesday, May 09, 2007

    If I'm a Gringo, Then You're a Spic

    You know, a lot of people like to call me a racist. I have no idea why, I don’t typically judge people based solely on their race. Typically they have to open their mouths before I start to dislike them. But it seems that one particular ethnic group likes to accuse me of being a blatant racist more than anyone else, and that ethnic group just so happens to be Hispanics. Which is funny, because from what I can tell there is not a single more politically incorrect group of people around than them.

    First off, let’s take the incessant use of the word “Gringo.” That’s a rather derogatory term for a White person, isn’t it? It carries with it a connotation of blandness, corniness, lack of dancing ability and probably sexual dysfunction if you ask the right people. And yet the term is used so blatantly there are even movies out with “Gringo” in the title. Let me tell you, if I made a film about an interracial marriage and called it “Spic Wedding” I would be sued, lynched, fired and held up as a hero by most of Fox News. But use “Gringo” and for some reason it’s funny. No, no, not so much to me. It’s actually pretty fucking offensive and I think every time a Hispanic refers to me as such I will from then on refer to them as a Spic.

    And is there one Asian guy in Miami NOT named “Chino?” It’s funny, you know, call a Cuban a Mexican and its like you called his mother a whore. But apparently every guy with slanty eyes who gets red when he drinks is Chinese to a Latin. So to my Asian friends out there, next time some Hispanic calls you chino, just call him “Mexicano” and see how he likes it. If he tries to correct you, politely inform him that your assessment of him is about as accurate as his is of you, and if he’d like to not be referred to as an ethnicity he is not, he should try doing the same.

    Similarly, any black guy in Miami is referred to as “Negro.” If he’s lucky. Wait for your Cuban daughter to bring home a black man, and see what Papi says. Or, worse, call a dark-skinned Hispanic “Negro” and see if they don’t beat you senseless.

    My point here is not necessarily to say that Hispanic people are racist, just that they are far more politically incorrect than I am. In fact, most of their daily vocabulary makes me look downright diplomatic. So, Hispanic America, if you want me and others to stop ripping on you and stop lumping you all together as Mexicans, try doing the same yourself. I am not a Gringo any more than you are a Spic. My boy Tuan Tran is no more Chinese than you are Mexican. And that black guy over there probably doesn’t want to be called the Spanish equivalent of “Darky” all day long.

    As I have stated before, the double standard of racism in our culture is absolutely ridiculous. You can say pretty much whatever you want about white people but can’t even refer to the bad hair of minorities without losing your job. But in Miami, I AM the minority in every sense of the word and as such I want the majority to start being held accountable for not being sensitive enough in their speech. Just because I am too. So the next time you hear someone call you a gringo, flip out and lose your shit like every other minority does when they hear you using an ethnic slur. If nothing else, it should give them pause about the blatant offensiveness of their daily vernacular.

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    Tuesday, May 08, 2007

    We're Not Working More, We're Fucking Off More

    I hear people bitch all the time about how everyone is working longer hours and in the office so much and has no time for themselves and blah blah blah. Wa, wa, wa. And while it may be true that folks are spending more and more time in the office, and less and less time at home, I would not call what people are doing more “working.” What they are doing more of is fucking off.

    Lets face it: I am guessing at least half of you reading this right now are on the clock. And I truly appreciate you taking your paid time to read my daily rantings and ravings. But that being said if you did not spend so much time reading my blog, and other blogs, and MSNBC.com, and ESPN.com, and whatever other non-work related link you have under that “favorites” tab, you could probably be home in time to catch Dr. Phil. But as it is, you have fantasy teams to update, celebrity gossip to read, airline tickets to book and bills to pay. So you should be checking out around 7:30.

    This is not to mention the various personal phone calls that you need to make or idle office chit chat you will have with coworkers to kill time. Part of this blame falls on employers, as there are some managers who insist you stay at a job for nine hours when you only have enough work to fill four. Of course, if you make that known to them, they may cut your time or, even worse, realize you are expendable and lay you or your buddy off. So you find things to do to fill your day so that you can justify your existence. But we all know the most important client file you have on your desk is called “Minesweepr.”

    I am of the firm belief that if everyone came to work, worked straight through save for a lunch break and maybe a couple of coffee breaks, and went home we could survive working three days a week. Or maybe just five hour days every day. Either way, efficiency could replace long hours and most of us wouldn’t miss a beat. Yes, I understand there are jobs that require more effort, but a lot of them do not and you know goddam well who you are. Sadly, American culture is such that we value working to excess and so we must find ways to fill our time so we all look busy and productive. No wonder so many in the workforce are miserable.

    Cut out the internet surfing and you can spend more time at the gym. Don’t surf the web for airline deals at the office and you might be able to catch your kids before they go to bed. Stop calling every friend you had in college and maybe you could get more than two fucking weeks off a year (perhaps the biggest injustice in the American work system). This is one of the many reasons I’m glad I work a whopping 2 days a week, that I can have more of my own time than most people I know. And I am lucky for that. But the fact is I think if employers just started making office time project-based rather than time-based, companies would become more efficient, they would lose less money on wasted internet and phone time, and people would be happier because they would spend less time at work. But for now, if your asshole boss is making you stay until 6:30, check out my archives on the right. Those should get you to at least lunch.

    Friday, May 04, 2007

    Gyms are Kinda Silly if You Think About It

    It occurred to me the other day as I was in the gym that the whole concept of going to a gym to work out is a little odd, isn’t it? Not that I don’t love going, but the body, either human or otherwise, is set up to intake energy in the form of food in order to support its daily activities. If you are, say, a wildebeest or something these activities include running around a plain or savannah or polar ice cap or whatever and you intake food as needed by killing your prey. The point is, they don’t really tend to get fat.

    Look at ancient history. There were no rooms with heavy rocks meant to be lifted and replaced in ancient Mesopotamia. The Greeks weren’t developing machines that allowed you to pretend you were walking stairs. Most of the people who were not rich had ridiculous amounts of physical labor to do and many went hungry. Though the agricultural revolution made it possible to provide enough food for everybody, I think you would be hard pressed to find a Spartan complaining about excessive portion size.

    And so we arrive in 21st Century America. We are the first society, thanks to a lot of things, to have such an overabundance of food that we must find ways to burn the extra energy in order to stay healthy. We must invent pointless work to do in order to make sure we do not die early. What a strange, strange concept this would be to someone from a civilization of centuries past.

    Could you imagine someone from, oh, say, the Persian Empire time traveling and showing up at a Bally’s in LA? “So, let me get this straight: You pick up that circular rock over there, lift it repeatedly over and over again for no reason, and put it right back where you found it. Then you go over to that machine over there and run as fast as you can, making sure you go absolutely nowhere? Then you finish off by sitting up then lying back down over and over and over again? And YOU pay HIM for the right to lift his circular rocks? What the Hell is wrong with you people?”

    It’s true. What the hell is wrong with us? We have gotten so good a preserving our physical energy insofar as machines do the bulk of the work we used to, that most of us do not have to expend any energy aside from walking to and from our cars. And we have gotten so good at massive food production that there is now too much food and we must either consciously limit our consumption or find new and inventive ways of burning it off that have absolutely nothing to do with our vocation in life.

    I love America, and the obesity thing is no longer exclusive to us. But I do believe we were the pioneers. So while it is certainly a pressing issue in this country, it is pretty funny to sit back and think about the problems of societies past, and think that our main problem is that we do not physically work hard enough and get too much food. So much so that we now pay people to tell us how to eat less and work harder. Back in the day, those people were called slave drivers. Now they need advanced degrees. We pay people for the right to lift their weight and run in one place. Awfully silly if you think about it. But I guess we do what we can. I am off to burn off some excessive energy intake now, and I suggest the rest of you do the same. Lest you end up looking like some 15th century nobility.

    Thursday, May 03, 2007

    No Matter What Arte Moreno Tells You, OC is NOT LA

    I had the opportunity to attend a baseball game in Chicago this past weekend between the White Sox and the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. Even saying that name makes me throw up in my mouth a little. To the game, I wore a bright red T-Shirt with the Angels logo on it proclaiming “We are NOT LA.” And this simple phrase, friends, pretty much sums up Orange County.

    The Angels, in case you were unaware, play their games in Anaheim, California. Which is in Orange County. Which is in no way, shape or form, Los Angeles. Unfortunately the current owner, Arte Moreno, imparts the same logic as many of our civic officials here in South Florida and figures that naming the team “Los Angeles” will somehow encourage fans living in that city to drive an hour in traffic to his games in an entirely different area. His theory, of course, is to make more money, but what he effectively did was piss off his local fan base. Because there is nothing anyone living in Orange County hates more than being told they live in LA.

    Tell any life-long OC resident that they are from LA and they may very likely launch into a tirade as I am about to do. People there do not take pride so much in being from Orange County, but in NOT being from Los Angeles. LA is a cesspool if filth and crime that has riots and truly awful people around every corner. OC is more or less populated by surfers and real-estate agents.

    If you took all the really shitty things about LA out, the entertainment industry, the non-stop traffic, the racial tension and the poverty, you would have Orange County. Picture perfect weather, beautiful beaches and manageable traffic patterns. Life in Orange County is so perfect our biggest problem when I lived there was the fact that they were renaming the baseball team.

    Anyone who thinks the two are at all alike need only drive on any freeway that crosses the counties. You can literally tell when you’ve gotten into OC as the ride is smoother and the traffic eases right at Nabisco factory on the County Line. Typically, your blood pressure drops about 30 points as well. Or you can look at the airports. While John Wayne is by far the most hassle-free and simple airport I have encountered in a major city (OC’s population is near 4 million) LAX is a colossal clusterfuck that just emanates stress and confusion. Kind of like comparing MIA to West Palm.

    When I used to travel and people would ask me where I was from, I would tell them Orange County. If they were not FOX or MTV Reality fans, they would ask me where that was. I would respond “Between San Diego and LA.” Why? Saying San Deigo first made them think it was closer related to that city than it was to that shithole up north. And that is really the case. Similarly, I made a point of not saying it was a part of Los Angeles, as it clearly is not.

    So the next time you talk to someone, and they say they are form Laguna Beach or Mission Viejo, Lake Forest or Santa Ana, Huntington Beach or Garden Grove, do not tell them they are from LA. They are not and it is the equivalent of telling a Korean he is Chinese because he has slanted eyes. And yes, I know people exist who live in OC and tell you they are from LA. They are not REAL Orange Countians. They are either transplants who have yet to learn the difference or, even worse, that pathetic subset who thinks LA is somehow cooler and better to be from than Orange County. Sad, so sad. Because if the Angels and Kristin Cavalleri couldn’t convince the world that Orange County is a world away form Los Angeles, it looks like nobody will.

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