For a couple of months, I’m calling Pasadena home, and get to reacquaint myself with the oversize, adolescent problem-child that is Los Angeles. The city that gave the world Hollywood, drive-in churches, gangsta rap, and now, organic sunless tanning,amongst other cultural treasures.
On arrival at LAX, my heart skipped a beat when my wife responded to the Customs & Border Protection Officer’s dry observation that “you’ll notice a few changes” with a cheery, “Yes, change you can believe in.” As I started to warn her, “Best not to discuss politics…”, she followed that up with a bright, “We’ve come to a land of hope.” A friend was once flung into jail with little cause by the customs officials here, and another, transitting through Miami hauled off and interrogated for half a day, so I drew a deep breath. Luckily, the CBPO was either a Democrat or Obama-Independent, or a Republican with a sense of humour. He was cool, but twice wished us an enjoyable stay as our encounter came to an end. Then we were in the Land of the Free.