Christmas in LA LA Land

I finally arrived in LA X in the evening of the 22nd. The air was cool, rather than cold, and there was no hint of snow the ground. Christmas seemed so very far away again.

I climbed aboard the airport shuttle, which was to ferry me towards Union Station where my Couch Surfing host was to pick me up. I boarded along with a couple of airport staff, one of whom was caked in make-up causing me double take. Is it a man? Yes, it is. Welcome to Hollywood! :)

On arriving at Union Station my next mission was to find a phone to call my Couch Surfing host to tell him I'd arrived. Without a mobile or any US coins, I tried to bum a few quarters off people, but kept failing to get the right amount. The staff at the station weren't very helpful and it took the kindness of a stranger who leant me his mobile phone to make the call. I think if I'd been an American he wouldn't have bothered, but as he signed off his phone call with, "Gotta help British dude", I'm guessing his altruistic gesture would be gratified with a cool nod from his friends. Maybe some girl he's after is an Anglophile? Who knows. But it was his last words that stuck with me. "Just ask, man", he said, "I don't know what you've heard about us here." Asking? To use a starnger's mobile phone? It never even occurred to me. Short of a terrorist attack or a nuclear holocaust (in which case there'd be very few people to call) I'd never think to just give someone a quick nudge and ask to use their phone. Even though my motto has become is 'Just Ask - You Never Know', this request seemed a step too far in my head. It's a combination of the utter respect for perceived - and often invisble; sometimes non-existent - social boundaries forged through 8 years in London and the 'Me Me Me' materialism of the age. I've let go of the latter to a large extent, but the English reservedness coarses deep. God knows when I'll shake it off.

I digress.

So, the call was made, my Couch Surfing host arrived and I spent the next few days meeting his friends (all of whom were pretty fascinated with my accent [with great power...]), scoring lemons from his lemon tree and watching a few selections from his impressive martial arts collection: Unleashed with Jet Li on Christmas Eve (which is a damn sight better than most films he's made in the West - it even has Morgan Freeman in it) and the classic that is Police Story on Christmas Day morning. He hadn't gone back to his home in North Carolina because he only had 4 days off and the flights were nearly $600. Instead, he opted to relax at his home with the friends who were left in LA. No decorations; no turkey; no presents. Just some frozen pizzas, toppings to sprinkle on them, wine and friends. Sounded perfect to me.

Alas, I had other business to attend to. Whilst I was still in New Zealand I had contacted a long-lost cousin of my mother's who was living in LA. Her father is my gran's brother so it was high time I met the man and his family. Sure enough, on Christmas day I met most of the family, the extended family and my Uncle Jack. The first thing to note was how closely he resembled my gran. The second thing was that was still very active. He turned 91 5 days before and he's still driving. As the evening rolled on I kept on eating and drinking, whilst more and more people arrived. It was a very bewildering and tiring experience. I'm not good with large groups, and especially large groups who are quite interested in talking to me. I'm a conversational sniper at heart, i.e. I'll sit there, say nothing and analyze the ebb and flow of the patter. When I think I have an opening, I fire off something once. Pinpoint. Piercing. Well, at least that's how I view myself, even though I'm aware that a few drinks fuels me into a madman with an automatic, same as anyone else.

From Uncle Jack, which is Irish for John apparently (Don't ask. Don't even try...), I tried to gleem some insight into his relationship with my gran and the whereabouts of his other brothers. I didn't find out that much. He'd been in contact with my Auntie Norah over the years, but him and my gran hadn't spoken since the mid-40s. He came to the States about that time where he worked as a painter, first on the east coast and then in LA. I got the impression he had met a few celebrities in his time, but he didn't really dwell on it. Even at his ripe old age, he did everything for his wife from England who joined him in the US not long after he first arrived. And he still likes to drink, but not whiskey, which is unfortunate because I thought a bottle of Irish whiskey would have gone down a storm. Well, I guess it's the thought, hey. :)

The next day I went round to Uncle Jack's apartment and hung out with him and his wife, punctuating the old movies we were watching on their TV with questions here and there. All too soon, I got a call from another Couch Surfer who was giving me a ride down to San Diego and I had to leave. I really hope I get to see everyone again. Especially Uncle Jack. He's the last one of that generation still to be walking the earth. May he tread its weary ground for years to come.

Tony would like to credit that rather sombre ending to Ray LaMontagne and 'Jolene'.