The LA DNA

I lived in California for nine years during the ‘80’s.  It really is a magical state full of diversity, creativity and robust private enterprise – when the government isn’t taxing the hell out of everything.  Now, I’m very fortunate that my mother-in-law resides in Little Holmby which is sandwiched between Westwood, the UCLA campus, Bel Aire and Beverly Hills.  Here’s JoJami with her sister’s dog, Bella, visiting UCLA:

And here’s another beautiful UCLA building:

It doesn’t get any better than this unless you’re

or you live on the French Riviera or the Amalfi Coast (and even then you’re dealing with foreigners!)  As you might expect, we’ve done our share of restaurant and bar hopping and these public excursions have led me to the realization that LA has it’s own DNA.  By that, I mean one has the vague sense that there are many biologically linked people here.  OK, I’ll just come right out and say it:  does everybody in LA go to the same plastic surgeon?  Let’s face it, this is the land of beautiful people – or at least eventually beautiful people.  But there is something unsettling about the continual bouts of deja vu when walking the streets of LA.   Or maybe I’m just getting crotchety……

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