Later LA: Glad to be back in Tahoe |

Later LA: Glad to be back in Tahoe

Am I ever glad to be back in Tahoe after spending last weekend in Los Angeles. I learned some very interesting things about the land of youth and beauty.

If my experience of this so-called “progressive” city is any indication of the real politics being lived out by the latest generation of young adults down there, then California is not a blue state and the City of Angels is not a Mecca of democracy, diversity and multi-culturalism.

I drove down for my youngest brother’s wedding, a splendidly lavish affair. His bride, Jesse, was the prettiest bride I have ever seen. His name is James (Jimmy really), so they called it the Jesse James wedding. They exchanged their sacred vows under an enormous tree that shaded all 120 people in attendance. I think it was a sycamore. It had been growing over the front lawn of the historic Adamson House for many, many generations. What a classic place for a wedding. Check the place out next time you’re in Malibu.

After the reception we all went back to the Hotel Angelino. Between my side of the family and the bride’s, we must have had at least 10 rooms there. But when I went up to the top floor to have a drink with everyone I was turned away because I was wearing sandals.

One of the two big-shot dudes at the door, both dressed entirely in black, told me it was a “safety issue.” He was afraid that someone might break a glass and I would cut my little toe. Instead of making a scene, which I regret not doing, I obediently loaded the elevator with several other “guests” and noticed one of them, a female, had sandals on with her toes exposed. She had been in the bar.

One of the doormen who had turned me away was standing next to me in the elevator. I leaned over his shoulder, and with my mouth less than two feet from his ears I said, in a very strong tone, to the girl in sandals, “Hey, how come they let you in with sandals and your toes exposed?” No one in the elevator said a thing.

I found out later that my niece was allowed in with exactly the same kind of sandals I was wearing. In fact, the little techno-disco bar was full of women in sandals.

After learning of these facts it occurred to me that my civil rights had been violated. I had been discriminated against because I was an old hippie-type surfer dude. I was wearing casual beige slacks and a colorful Guatemalan shirt and, of course, my sandals. I was just not techno-disco material. I was just too colorful for the dark ambiance.

So let me apologize for this completely boring and worthless Grasshopper Soup. Does anybody in Tahoe really care what goes on in some socially insignificant techno-disco hotel in Los Angeles? You should. The future of mankind depends on it. As long as discrimination against old hippie dudes goes unnoticed there is no hope for mankind.

Do your part. Never stay at the Hotel Angelino. Their name would suggest good old Italian hospitality. They are full of beans.

Some of you might be thinking I should accept the reality. All I can say to you is “Grasshopper spit,” or something unprintable in polite society. A more refined response to your “accept reality” idea is something often quoted to me by my dad. He learned it in his first year of law school. It goes like this: That which is freely asserted can be freely denied. I do not have to accept discrimination. Free LA!

I didn’t go back with shoes on. I went to bed. The thought of going back up there and subjecting myself to that techno-disco music brought me to my senses.

Go ahead and line your bird cage with today’s column instead of saving it for posterity. I don’t care. I am still a zombie from driving to LA and back. At least I am back in the real land of the free, with no dress codes.

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