Brent in America

Just back from LA and nearing the end of my holiday, so I thought I'd write.
Excuse the group mail. If it's any consolation, of all the people I sent
this to, you're my favourite.

So, Los Angeles. It's big. It's far away. And it's a surprisingly cool place
to visit if you can get past the flight, x-rays, gamma rays, manta rays, Ray
Charles and jetlag. At American airports, they search everything. Shoes,
hat, belt, sunglasses, false teeth, fake moustache – it all goes through the
x-ray machine. And you don't want to know what an x-ray machine smells like
after a long day of scanning shoes. Security guards used to suffer from flat
feet. These days, it's athlete's foot. Go figure.

But once you get past that, the place is amazing. Rented a bad-ass red
Mustang convertible. 5700 cc's of raging disappointment. I figure they call
it a Mustang because it only has one horsepower. Floor it, and the needle
shoots straight into the red. Unfortunately, it's the fuel needle - the one
on the speedometer just sits there. But it was bling and it got us around,
and with the roof down it was pretty damn cool.

The purpose of the trip was to attend a wedding. A Hollywood wedding. And
Hollywood showed up. My travel companion, who I like to refer to as my
girlfriend when she's not around to correct me, was a bridesmaid for an up
and coming actress friend who was tying the knot with an up and coming
producer. This wedding was amazing – you couldn't swing a Maltese poodle in
a Gucci carry bag without hitting a celebrity. The guy sitting to my right
was a pop star. The guy sitting to my left was an A list director. The guy
sitting on my lap was drunk, but I'm pretty sure he was also someone famous.
It was just that kinda wedding.

After that, we had a bit of time to see LA, check out Hollywood, do a bit of
shopping and spend a night in Vegas.

Las Vegas. Wow. Sun City times a hundred squillion. We drove through the
Nevada desert with the roof down and saw amazing things. Mountains. Clouds.
Saint Francis of Assisi. Then we realised that our brains were cooking, so
we put the roof back up. It was really, really hot. I tried to do that thing
where you fry an egg on the bonnet of your car, but some Americans came past
and ate it.

We had a cool time though. We walked the strip, lost 9 dollars in the slot
machines (about 2 million rand at the current exchange rate) ate at an
insane Amazon-themed diner full of animatronic animals and had breakfast in
this brilliant rotating restaurant at the top of a really tall building.
Really tall. I could see my house from there.

We also went past the Chapel o' Love, where you can get hitched by Elvis and
Marilyn Monroe for $99, and rent everything from the rings to the cake. I
tried to convince my date that if you get married there, it only counts in
Vegas, but she wasn't having any of it. Which is the problem with dating
someone who's much, much smarter than you.

And then we came home. The scenic route. Via Paris.

All in all, it took 43 hours to get back to Johannesburg. You know that
smelly guy in the queue at the airport who you hope and pray isn't going to
sit next to you? I was that guy. 43 hours without a shower, or toothpaste
(they confiscate it at the airports these days in case you rub some in the
pilot's eyes and make him crash). I wasn't minty fresh.

Bottom line is, it was a fantastic trip. I never expected to like the USA,
but I kinda dug the bit that I saw. Yeah, the portions are too big, the cars
use too much fuel and the president likes to blow stuff up. But on the plus
side, they have Ben & Jerry's ice cream. How can anyone fault them?