Let's go away for a while, you and I, to a strange and distant land
Where they speak no word of truth but we don't understand anyway
Toward the end of our time in New York, my brilliant wife and I were devising our move to the glorious light of the west coast, where we knew we belonged. In anticipation of our move we made a road trip mix—an hours-long playlist that compiled every song in our iTunes about the cities and states of the U.S.—in ridiculous geographical order, mind you—interspersed with songs about driving and traveling in general.
In my mind, Weezer's "Holiday" has always been about a trip to Los Angeles. The lyric above seems like the pragmatic vacationer's mantra.
Unrelated to Weezer, but related to Los Angeles, Geoff Manaugh at BLDGBLOG had a nice post about the city last week, which includes this bit:
No matter what you do in L.A., your behavior is appropriate for the city. Los Angeles has no assumed correct mode of use. You can have fake breasts and drive a Ford Mustang – or you can grow a beard, weigh 300 pounds, and read Christian science fiction novels. Either way, you're fine: that's just how it works. You can watch Cops all day or you can be a porn star or you can be a Caltech physicist. You can listen to Carcass – or you can listen to Pat Robertson. Or both.
That's how we dooz it.
L.A. is the apocalypse: it's you and a bunch of parking lots. No one's going to save you; no one's looking out for you. It's the only city I know where that's the explicit premise of living there – that's the deal you make when you move to L.A.
The city, ironically, is emotionally authentic.
Unrelated to Los Angeles, but to which that Weezer lyric could still be applied (if we ever stumble upon the evil Martians—I know they're there), Pruned has a spectacular view of Mars, unlike any picture I've ever seen before.
Holiday, far away, let's go today, in a heartbeat.
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