SURREALISMIC

This is what happens after some time in LA!

Hanging with a friend over Champions League soccer the other day we came upon the topic of surrealism. Los Angeles surrealism to be specific. Having lived in both US coasts, in between, South America and Europe I believe am qualified to tread the topic. The fact that I come from Spain, and the Basque Country at that, adds an extra layer of refinement to the understanding of surrealism Western-style. (As with multiple universes, I also think surrealism takes different shades outside our crazed up civilization.)

That said, Los Angeles tops the scale – banana or not – in my radar. It was funny my American friend brought it up: when my friends in Spain ask me about LA I find it difficult to explain anything logically without sounding moralistic, victimistic or hyperbolic. Granted, I may be all of the above at times – you see, that's part of the LA survival kit – but there is more to that. After all, how many people can boast of having been almost run over by a bus driver trying to steal your bike? Or been waived sayonara by another one while bypassing your stop? Or witnessing a maddening helicopter pow-wow in the sky directly above your garden while the hummingbird and the bees get to work on your beautifully blossoming wild flowers? And what about the one-block, virtual Iron Curtain between Yuppy Row and Skid Row in Downtown LA? Wanna travel from Kansas to Bangui, Dorothy? Just take a right-hand turn on Main Street after 10 p.m., sweetie. Yo Buñuel, something for you here?

Anyway, my friend's bringing it up and a couple of inexplicable things in my personal path reminded me of this city's surrealism. But enough; today I am opting to have some fun and remain on the real side: I am going to Disneyland.