Monday, June 1, 1998
Rev up for a virtual ride
VACATION: Imaginary trip will take your mind off studying, L.A.
traffic
I know you’re studying hard, so I’ve decided to cook up a little
something special for you. Because I know you don’t have time to
get out and do anything, I’ve developed a way to read your mind so
your thoughts will be transcribed by a special top-secret machine
which is embedded into the newspaper. (I’m not joking; hold it up
to the light – you can see the outline of the wiring.)
Anyway, this column is a virtual reality trip for the left side
of your brain, with words instead of pictures. And, the upside is
you don’t have to buy expensive equipment – just read this article,
sit back, relax and get ready to enjoy the great horn of plenty
that is the L.A. basin.
Now, to fill in the background, I would tell you what the
weather is like, but I don’t think that I need to because you live
here. If the trip took place in New England during the winter, I
might have to tell you about the New England Novocaine Effect: If
you live in Vermont, for example, you become susceptible to the
Effect (as the natives call it) whenever you leave your home. How?
Well, just after you close the door, the frigid New England air
hits you and numbs your face.
So consider yourself lucky that you don’t have to deal with this
wintertime "dentist’s office," because going out in a New England
winter is just about as much fun as going to the dentist. Angelenos
never have to deal with the New England Novocaine Effect, but Los
Angeles still has its problems.
Slipping into the driver’s seat in Los Angeles is just like
climbing into a dentist chair, because you know that whatever the
dentist has in mind isn’t enjoyable, and to make things worse
you’re paying for the pain. But because this is a fantasy, you
don’t have to drive – isn’t that great? No driving.
And remember – because you’re not really driving, you don’t have
to worry about the car or the smell associated with the car. Take
those Buicks that get old and musty, for example; people try to
compensate with a little odor-intensive care in the form of an air
freshener on the rearview mirror. But you don’t have to worry about
anything pine-scented or potpourri-ish; I’ve taken care of that.
Besides, if you were driving right now, you would have hit the 10
p.m. rush-hour traffic on the 405. But you’re not driving, so don’t
worry about it.
OK, so where do you want to go?
"The ice rink."
OK, I can do that … As you arrive, you pass the herd of
teenagers outside – a girl with a gaudy pearl necklace, a couple of
skateboarders – you know, kids. You walk in and pass through these
long narrow slates of plastic, like the ones in the frozen food
section of the grocery store. Remember the New England Novocaine
Effect? It’s just about that cold. OK, I’m exaggerating, but it’s
not far off, as you zip up your jacket to ward off the numbing
waves of air from the ice rink.
You’re silent for a little while, but the silence is soon broken
as you ask your Canadian friend if he can skate, because naturally,
Canadians can skate – it’s a law of nature, isn’t it? But he says
he can’t.
Now, I guess assuming a Canadian can skate is like coming to
California and assuming that everyone can surf, going to New York
and assuming that everyone is a jerk or visiting USC and assuming
everyone is a fool. But I’m sure there are plenty of Canadian
surfers, Californian jerks, New York fools and USC ice skaters – so
much for stereotypes.
Unfortunately, the ice rink is just closing – $8 for 10 minutes
doesn’t quite make sense, so where do you want to go next?
"The go-carts."
OK, no problem. Just sit back and relax, because after all, this
is a fantasy voyage through Los Angeles, so no cars, no L.A.
traffic, no smog, no 405. Relax, because I’ve removed a key part of
L.A. culture.
But you’re not relaxing. As you wait in line to jump into a
go-cart, you ruminate: "How can these go-cart track owners convince
people to get into their cars, drive in traffic and park, leaving
their cars behind, only to get into a smaller car and drive on a
track in circles?"
By promising less traffic, but the same freeway smell? OK, maybe
that’s pushing it. But the tracks smell just as they should; cheap
gasoline burnt to a crisp is just part of the package. Besides,
tearing around the track isn’t that bad. Actually it’s great;
driving (nowhere) voluntarily as fast as you can – is there
anything better?
As you climb into the car, you wish the go-cart had pre-packing
instructions, because you’re just a little too big to fit into the
steel cages they call "go-carts." You pedal the gas and the brakes
and get ready to bolt through the pack. The track manager gives you
final instructions and the green light flashes, inciting the
drivers to throttle their cars forward. You’re doing pretty well –
at least in your mind you’re doing well.
And in your (pseudo) moment of triumph your mind wanders, which
isn’t a good idea if you’re operating heavy machinery. You’re
thinking, "I’m good enough to do this professionally."
Congratulations – you’re stuck in an episode of Formula One
Fantasia and somehow, you’ve convinced yourself that go-carting is
a sport.
You’re thinking: "Sure, go-carting could be a sport, because
anything you do voluntarily can be a sport." And you’re not
stopping there; if an activity is a sport, then it must also have a
magazine, so you’re dreaming about taking your place on the cover
of Go-Cart Illustrated.
If that wasn’t enough, your mind continues to explore: "If
go-carting is a sport, then can there be professional go-carters?"
Perhaps you think that may be possible, but professional go-carters
aren’t on the same level as NBA basketball players. Instead, they
enjoy the same level of prestige as those professional miniature
golfers, who make an occasional appearance at 1 a.m. on ESPN. And,
like the PMGA (Professional Miniature Golfing Association) members,
professional go-carting isn’t something you want to brag about.
You finally pull out of your Chevron Techron Haze to compose
yourself as you breeze through the finish line – battered and
bruised – walking now is an instinct for survival. But as you
wobble off the track, you’re comforted by the words of one of your
fellow racers: "Can we still catch the bus?" A smile tickles your
face. You’re remembering back to your diesel days, when the meaning
of life centered on having exact change.
You’re thinking back when you rode the bus and it was always a
toss-up: What’s more comfortable? The bus-stop benches or the
hard-plastic seats inside the buses?
But you don’t care because you’ve inhaled enough gasoline fumes
to make Timothy Leary pass out; you’re thinking: "Buses have a
culture of their own, don’t they?" You stop for a second – and you
almost go back to reality – but you make a left turn at the corner
of Sanity and Freudian Psychology and keep on going.
You remember those little things you thought about when you were
young, like advertisements on bus-stop benches. On the first bench
is always an ad for advertising – how to contact them to place an
ad, that kind of thing. Their catchy slogan is always something
like: "Advertise Smart," which is OK, but on the next bench by the
"Advertise Smart" sign is one that says: "Need a dentist?"
Now you see a problem here. "Need a dentist?" What were they
thinking? Doesn’t this dentist know that the people who put
advertising on benches are trying to give him a hint? "Advertise
smart." Did this dentist really think that advertising his offices
on a bus stop was a "smart" idea? Who would ever go to see a
dentist who advertises on bus stops?
You would – OK, no you wouldn’t. Sorry, I was pushing it – after
all the trip’s almost over. Right about now, I would tell you to
take off your special virtual reality goggles, but remember you
don’t have any, because I believe in quality low-cost
entertainment. But I’m not sure how enjoyable this whole virtual
reality column has been.
I’m sorry that the ice-skating rink was closed. I tried my best.
But you liked the go-cart ride, didn’t you? I don’t know why you
were so obsessed; I guess I know where your heart is. Is go-carting
a sport? Are there professional go-carters? Welcome to the Wide
Word of Go-Carts.
You have problems. And don’t blame this on me, you wrote this
entire thing; this was your trip. You’re obviously obsessed with
anything that has an engine. I go out of my way to find technology
that saves you from having to drive, and all you think about – all
you talk about is: "The Theory of Transportation." You’re a walking
cliche: Los Angeles, you and traffic headaches. I’ve had it with
you; next time you’re going to have to drive yourself, because you
obviously are fixated on anything automotive. I hope you and your
steering wheel are very happy together. Good day. (And, don’t call
me on your car phone either.)
Spencer Hill