The City of Angles: Days 1 & 2

First, if you’re a fan of robot porn, and perhaps chickens, might I exhort you to click here?

Two days, gone already. Poof, zip.

Los Angeles, it occurs to me, is basically a series of lost malls that have blown together across the desert like tumbleweeds. Much of it is strip malls, but you also get some of those “outdoor promenade hoity-toity” malls. They’ve mashed up into something resembling a city.

Anyway. The days, the days.

Monday, Day Numero Uno

  • Not a pitch day, but most of the day was spent engineering the pitch. Which equals a sort of weird, restless meditation and divination effort while locked in a Holiday Inn. Cutting open doves to read their entrails may have taken place. Breathing open the hallucinogenic vapors emitted by our air conditioning units may also have taken place.
  • Somewhere in here, we had lunch. I ate a pastrami and turkey sandwich that was easily the size of a toddler’s head. I had to bring it back to the hotel room, where it provided me with three more micro-meals.
  • At night, the ice weasels come. No, no, wait, that’s not it. Oh! Right. At night, Travis Stout arrived! That’s right, me ol’ matey from the White Wolf Motor Pool only lives about 45 minutes south of here, so having missed him at Gen Con (sad face), I was able to catch up with him here (happy face). He swung up this-a-way, and we went out to something calling itself a “tavern” that had things like “duck confit” and “artisinal cheeses” on the menu. I am, by the way, opposed to none of this, though this is obviously what passes for a tavern out here on the Left Coast. Plus, they had a beer called “Arrogant Bastard,” which is a beer that will gladly take your sneakers, pee on them, and then bang your wife while you clean them.
  • Oh, we traveled to this tavern via a futuristic mode of transportation that most Los Angelinos have not yet even imagined: walking. Yeah, we walked from the hotel. Not a short walk, but the sidewalks are clean and, as it turns out, entirely devoid of human life. Lots of cars whizzing by. But nobody walking. The cool thing is, you wanna look tough in this city, just go for a fucking stroll. They think you’re some kind of madman. They’ll stare. They’ll give you wide berth lest you whip out a length of chain topped with a doll’s head studded with steak knives.

Tuesday (Day Nummer Zwei)

  • Much of the morning was spent once more engineering and reengineering the pitch. Again, not exactly a thrill-a-minute, but there it is.
  • Holy shit, pitch meeting! My first! Exclamation points one one exclamation points! Oh my stars! It was exciting in that it wasn’t that exciting — by which I mean, you get nervous going in, and then when you’re in, you realize you’re just hanging out with some people and talking about cool stuff. No fireworks. No gladiatorial combat. Nobody holding a searing branding iron to your eye — “Convince me of the worth of your project, or I shall cook your gazing ball and eat it for its power!” I feel it went well. We pitched. We spoke. We got good response. It probably means they hate it, but, so it goes.
  • Holy shit, the second pitch meeting! … er, was canceled. Or, rather, moved to next week, when I’m not here. No big. We still have like, five more or something. In the meantime —
  • Vietnamese food! It’s Vietlicious. I ordered some kind of “wrap your own” spring rolls thing, some crazy Saigon Fajita. I should’ve taken pictures and stunned you with my inelegance. The wraps were whisper-thin, super-sticky rice papers. So, when I would finally compose one such thing for me to eat, it looked like I had thrown a fistful of pork, cilantro, and Thai basil into a cheapy shower cap (or, if you seek an alternate image, go with “used condom”). It was the most delicious shower cap I’ve ever eaten. And hey! Sriracha!
  • Got to see Santa Monica, which also means that I got to see the ocean. Took a long hike up the beach. I don’t know how to describe in a magical way, but it’s a nice, serviceable coastline. It isn’t Hawaii, obviously, but it sure kicks Jersey in the teeth. Then again, a Russian Gulag kicks Jersey in the teeth, so, there’s that.
  • Back to the hotel, where I watched Food Network for most of the night. I did walk over to the grocery store, which is only about a minute across the street, but once more I earned stares as if I was a rogue wasteland wanderer. If only I had a mangy dog traveling by my side. Oh, that reminds me, Bethesda? Please set the next Fallout here. Super. Glad we had this talk, I’ll see you on the field.