So You Find Yourself Visiting L.A. (Part III)

The Non-Broseph Sequel


Some of you may remember my initial reasoning for visiting what the depths of humanity hath wrought, while others may have no idea to what I'm referring. If you need a refresher, surely you can take the time to scroll down to the original post. For the rest of you who are too lazy to do that I'll sum it up in one word: employment. Not employment of just any sort--I wanted a job in the sexy sexy world of the music industry, in a vain attempt to be the one non-soulless bastard in the entire field, who actually gave a damn about what constitutes a good sound. Given the fact that I have a deep resume (especially considering my young age) and my boundless enthusiasm for the craft, I'd be a shoe-in.

Fuck no. That's not how the world works, you insolent little shit.

So I remain among the ranks of the unemployed, which allows me to spend more time doing incredibly important research. I only bring this up again to not only provide context, but because I was prompted by an email I just received. It was from MonsterTRAK, which I had signed up for back in the halcyon days of College (read: two years ago), when my future was filled with promise and that surely the right internship would set me on the fast-track to success and fulfillment. Of course, even after the work experience and improving my grades (ever so slightly), this would turn out not to be the case (as it is evident). This email inquired the eternal question: "Grad School or the Real World?"

Fuck that. I'm going to Tomorrowland.


1. KROQ exists only in our imagination, or is like some kind of Atlantis: That's because it has no location. Part of my grand strategy of getting a job was to visit various locations in person (from the Latin en persona), proving my absolute willingness to do whatever was necessary to get that job (which I guess would mean "be physically present"). However, for this strategy to be successful, one would need to know the location of one's target, and in the case of KROQ, there apparently is none. That's right, we couldn't find it on any map, and when GoogleMaps has a hard time finding something, you know you got some top-secret shit going down. Well, alright, GoogleMaps is one thing. But when I was in the approximate location of where KROQ should be located and I tried to use Directory Assistance (411, holla), I was told that they also did not have any record of any location. It's one thing to avoid the Internets, but when 411 can't locate your ass, that's a whole new level of insanity.

Clearly someone is trying to protect the safety of Jed The Fish, who has to be the target of thousands of assassination projects.

Note: Joe Reefer got the chance to enjoy part of the regular afternoon show of Jed the Fish, and it took him all of 20 seconds for him to determine that homicide would be legally justifiable in this case.


2. They don't give a shit where they place Hollywood stars on the Walk Of Fame: I believe Laurence Olivier's star is placed between one of the seven "smoke shops" and eight "titty bars" on Hollywood Blvd. Joe was of course more offended that John Lennon's star outside of Capitol Records was placed right next to Duran Duran's (the genius of "Hungry Like The Wolf" (and I say "Girls On Film" as well) notwithstanding).

3. The E! Network building smells like shit: And I can tell, even though it's part of a large office complex. This fucking delights me to no end.



4. Brosephs Continue To Walk The Streets: I believe that this needed to be asserted. Fathers, all of your daughters at USC will be the target of either a date-rape scenario (done entirely out of frustration from being unable to tell his brah about their true love) or will be witness to several Dane Cook knock-off jokes (which strangely won't be any worse than the genuine article). And PBR will be spilled, I guarantee it. I really just wanted to stress the fact that this exists (and will violate my sub-heading promise to do so).

5. Los Angeles is a weird amalgamation of Baton Rouge and Worcester: It has the flat and wide open space shitty-city quality of a Baton Rouge, with the "time has passed us and we're fucked" quality of the working-class Worcester. It's difficult to describe beyond that, but it's as close as one can get. And strangely, I wouldn't mind living there if things ever did work out (this maybe due to my incredible self-loathing--believe me, how much creative fuel would a nihilistic bastard like me have in that cesspool of humanity? Bret Easton Ellis would have nothing on me--Less than Zero would look like fuckin' It's A Small World After All in comparison.)

And that's your guide to the city. Well, at least a tiny part of it (the USC campus and the Hollywood/Beverly Hills area that's a 30 dollar cab ride away). I want to thank Joe once again for the use of his couch for the past week, and his roommate Ricky Ricardo (not his real name, nor his real nickname) for his tacit approval.



As an epilogue, I'd like to make a small note of the wildfires in the SoCal area. Whereas many areas have been affected, fortunately Joe has kept safe within the confines of Broseph U, with nary of even a notice of extra healthy carbon monoxide in the air. As he explained, "I can't discern any smoke in the air that stands out from the usual smog".

Clearly, that should be on either a postcard or a billboard as you enter the city.