City of angels

I have a complicated relationship with L.A. It's a love/hate relationship, the kind only someone, like myself or anyone who's ever had a high school girlfriend can appreciate.

And when I say someone like myself, I mean a native. Born and raised. Never lived anywhere else.

All too often, the city grabs my arm, pulls it up behind my back until it hurts and makes me start sentences in that way. "When I was a kid..." and "Back when I was in high school..." and "Let me tell you what traffic used to be like."

The major love/hate component of the city is the weather. I've always been torn. On one hand, I'd love to live in a city with real seasons, for example San Francisco. Yeah, yeah, I can hear all the L.A. people whining about how we have seasons too, just not as extreme.

Listen, I've lived here my whole life. There are only two seasons: summer, and construction.

However if I may be allowed to contradict myself (not sure why I'm asking permission for something I do on a daily basis), there are stunningly beautiful days when the east coast is buried in a blizzard or being hit by hurricane Roker and it's ninety and sunny here.

It's the kind of weather that sets Facebook on fire, with everyone posting the same sunny picture of wispy white clouds, the tops of palm trees or the ocean and sarcastic, mocking greetings to the eastern brethren.

Another cause of so much of my agita (look it up) about the city is the fact it's just such a whore. L.A. won't waste a second tearing down its history to put up a strip mall or new fusion sushi restaurant. Cliché but true.

I've watched it tear down or lose places that gave it character and personality. For every Tommy's or Pink's, there's a Spanish Kitchen that's now a beauty salon. Or a Wilshire Blvd. Bob's Big Boy that's a BMW dealership. At least the former Pan Pacific Auditorium is a park people can enjoy. The city gets older but no wiser.

There are even websites, like this one, that revel in articles why L.A. is the worst place ever.

My entire attitude reminds me of the old joke: "Do you have trouble making up your mind?" "Well, yes and no." That's my ongoing debate about the city of my birth.

But I'm nothing if not Mr. Glass Half Full, although not with rain water because we're in the seventh year of a statewide drought. Which in L.A. only means one thing: waiters are required to serve Evian at brunch.

Anyway, for the moment I'm not going anywhere. Even though there are states where I could buy city blocks for what I could sell my house for, I just can't seem to leave L.A. behind.

One last thing that bothers me about this urban sprawl of a city is that, bar none, at every restaurant they always..oh crap, look at the time. I gotta get to my audition.

Hold that thought.

Pink's goes south

There's nothing like a Pink's chili dog at 8:30 in the morning. I should know. That's where my Fairfax High friends and I went when we'd ditch P.E. at second period (sorry Mr. Stone).

The thing that made it great - besides the radioactive chili and great tasting, specially made Hoffy hot dogs since 1939 - was that Pink's was a one of a kind experience. Well, sadly, they're not one of a kind anymore. Another Pink's is opening in Orange County. At Knott's Berry Farm. And while I'm sure the chili dog loving residents of the OC will be happy they don't have to drive to the big, bad city to experience Pink's, the reality is it won't be the same.

Part of the Pink's experience is waiting in line for at least forty minutes with the colorful cross section of L.A. you find there almost any time of day or night. Movie stars, millionaires, down-and-outers, teens, seniors, people in drag, people who are a drag. All excitedly waiting for the same culinary experience. Pink's levels the playing field. Yes we can all get along. Over a chili dog.

Want to know how to insult a great chili dog? Sell it between cotton candy and jars of grape jelly. It's just wrong.

When The Original Tommy's opened stands everywhere, the experience wasn't anything near the same as waiting in a line of 500 people at the downtown stand at eleven at night after a concert at the Sports Arena or Staples Center.

But times are tough, and I suppose it's an understandable move.

Still, some places manage to hang on to their uniqueness. The Apple Pan has had many, many offers over the years to expand, franchise and relocate. None of which they've done. Their 27 seat counter is full most of the time, and the same employees that served me those awesome Hickory burgers when I was a kid are still serving them. There's something extremely comforting about that.

Philippe's downtown is another singular L.A. dining landmark. Screw French dip for the masses. You want it, you go downtown.

So while it makes me sad there won't be just one Pink's anymore, I suppose in the end broadening the fan base is a good thing.

Almost as good as thinking about those diners at Knott's getting tossed around on Montezooma's Revenge after their first chili dog.