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WHERE THE RUBBER MEETS THE ROAD

Or, Bumper Cars For Real in L.A.

By Maryedith Burrell

I am planning on taking President’s Day off. Being a lapsed Catholic living in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood in extremely secular Hollywood, I need my holidays. And, the thought of spending 72 hours fighting torrential rains and  high-speed chases on the Harbor Freeway appeals to me.  I don’t know how the rest of you in the country see L.A., but I see it like my Grandpa George. “If you tilt the continent,” he used to say, “Anything that isn’t nailed down will roll to Los Angeles.” 

Or, drive there armed to the teeth apparently. A week doesn’t go by in The Big Orange when there isn’t at least one high-speed freeway chase on the six o’clock news complete with a kite-tail of Highway Patrol vehicles, news choppers clogging the skies, and hapless commuters playing “bumper cars” to avoid stray bullets. ( Of course lately, thanks to El Nino, this spectacle has given way to a new TV staple: “SoCal teen saved in rapid water rescue!”)  If  heavy rains persist, I fully expect to see hybrid soundbites like “SoCal teen indicted in spillby shooting.” And, “Car-jacked Hostess Cupcake van buried under massive mudslide.”

 For those of you who think I’m exaggerating, don’t forget that not so long ago Los Angeles (okay, The Valley) was the sight of a bank robbery wherein the robbers out-armed the police. Remember what the intrepid LAPD did? They went to the gun shop next door to the bank, and got the ordinance they needed to blow the bad guys away. And, I’m not talking Sharon Stone buying a gold, Bijan derringer for evening. I’m talking Robo Cop buying a BAZOOKA in suburbia. You gotta love a town where you can get Instant Cash, an Uzzi, and a Big Gulp all on the same corner.

Since The Mayor and The Mafia got together, and cleaned up the streets of New York, I guess the psychos have set up shop in Los Angeles. Why not? It’s a continually metastisizing, anonymous, semi-urban sprawl, and as long as gas stays under $2.00/gal. (Have we occupied Iraq yet?) and “the rubber meets the road,” (Remember those old Firestone tire commercials?) the Alcedama that is the L.A. freeway system will flourish.

I just heard a story on the news. L.A. has it’s first,  official, freeway serial killer. He’s out there on the 405 at midnight only shooting women in white cars. And they say “There’s no there there” in Los Angeles.

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