"It's a place where they've taken a desert and turned it into their dreams." -- Sarah McDowel, LA Story

Well, then apparently they dream of autumn in the Midwest, because warm and sunny it ain't. This is something I have had a very difficult time getting through my head. In the dead of winter, Southern California is not warm and sunny. You will not be running around in shorts. You will not be cavorting on the beach. You will not be getting a deep, dark tan. I made this mistake before in scheduling a trip to San Diego a year or so ago. Essentially what you have in a Southern California winter is good football weather, which is appropriate since I was there for the Rose Bowl (Michigan Wolverines vs. USC Trojans). More on LA later, first let me give you the low down on the associated encounter with the institutionalized bedlam we refer to as the air travel industry. If you want to skip the air travel rant click here.

I'm not big on red-eye flights. They're good if you can sleep easy on a plane, but I can't. For me it's like being sat in a chair and made to stay up all night with a horrible loud drone going on in the background. Think of it as a marginally upscale Viet Cong prison camp circa 1968. Because of this, I chose to fly a smaller airline -- Midwest Express. Midwest Express had a return flight that would get me back home at an hour that would allow me to get up and actually have a reasonably productive day after my return. The downside is that I was going to have to fly out of Grand Rapids, MI which is a two hour drive from my home, rather than Detroit Metro which is about 30-40 minutes. That was fine -- the important thing to me was avoiding jet lag and having two unproductive travel days instead of one.

Cleverly, I did the on-line check in to save time, as instructed on the Midwest Express web site. This would, supposedly, allow me to more or less drop my luggage curbside and head right to the gate.

Small airports are a joy compared to the monster hubs. They are easy to get to, there is little traffic, and parking is not a big deal. The Gerald R. Ford International Airport in Grand Rapids is just such an airrport and, like its namesake, is homely, friendly and unassuming. I have no idea in what sense it is "International." I assume it is in the same sense that the House of Pancakes is International.

Despite the claims of the Midwest Airlines web site, there was no curb-side luggage check-in. This was my first clue that things were not going to go smoothly. So I had to go to the ticket counter to check my bags. No, actually you don't check your luggage at the ticket counter, you get your luggage tagged at the ticket counter then you carry it to the nearest TSA station. This is also the case at LAX. Is this a new policy for airlines? I fail to see why the ticket agent can't just put your bags on the conveyor belt like they used to. The TSA agents ask if you have any film in your bag and if everything is unlocked. The correct answers are always "no" and "yes" respectively. Is there a reason you have to lug your bags away from the ticket counter to be asked this; are the airline ticket agents incapable of doing this effectively? My guess is that someone, somewhere decided this is a job for highly trained federal security agent and Lo! a new bureaucratic duty is born.

OK, it's a petty annoyance. A much larger annoyance was that there was no one at the Midwest ticket counter. One stands in line with no employee in attendance or any acknowledgement from Midwest airlines for a good, solid 45 minutes. One does notice a sign that instructs one to "Knock on door for assistance." One is hesitant because the door is a good ten or fifteen feet inside the TSA restricted area, but one screws up one's courage and gives it a shot. One is quickly confronted by a very polite and helpful TSA agent who explains the Midwest ticketing agents do double duty as Midwest gate agents, so when a flight arrives they abandon the ticket counter and haul ass to the other end of the terminal to unload and/or load passengers at the gate, then reverse the journey back to the ticket counter.

Ye gods! That's workable if it's going to be just a few minutes, but anything beyond that is unconscionable considering how time and deadline dependent travel can be. Especially disturbing is just leaving the TSA agents to inform the confused souls wondering what is happening.

Aside: I must point out that, despite horror stories I've heard in the news, I have never encountered a TSA agent who was anything less that completely polite and proficient, including the guy who felt compelled to reach beneath my trousers in Columbia, SC. I can't fathom the justification, but he was very courteous and professional about it.

In my case it really didn't mater that it took all that time because my first leg (Grand Rapids to Milwaukee) was delayed about forty-five minutes. Lucky I saved time by checking in on-line, eh?

Eventually, I deplaned in Milwaukee to the wonderful news that the next leg to LAX was also delayed, this one an hour and forty-five minutes. Nothing to do but kill time, but sadly, Concourse D in Milwaukee is not what you'd call state of the art. The potential was there; the Packers were in the second half of a do-or-die game to make the NFL playoffs and the cheeseheads were out in full force. Could've been a great time. But there is only one bar, and it has only one TV, strategically placed in a corner where is can only be watched by about six people without craning and contorting your posture, and it may as well have been a snow bowl considering how bad the reception was. After the game I asked them to turn to ESPN to see the commentary, but they said, "We don't get that, it's not cable." What year is this again?

What's worse, they advertise the availability of Uno's pizza which I was salivating over -- I love Uno's pizza but I haven't had it in years. Naturally my order for an individual Supreme was met with, "Sorry, we're out of pizza, but we do have deli sandwiches." The same kind you find wrapped in plastic in the cooler at 7-11, except triple the price.

Fine. How about if I just take the opportunity to find an internet kiosk and check my email. Nope, sorry -- there are no internet kiosks, but they do have those little individual, molded black plastic TV seats; 25 cents for fifteen minutes of personal non-cable TV viewing (remember those?). That explained everything: I had apparently been time-warped back to 1973.

Once in the air, things got much better. Midwest does take good care of you -- extra leg room and warm chocolate chip cookies. About the best you can make out of coach. What followed next was the core of my trip to LA, but I'm still not ready to tell you about that yet.

On the return trip, things started off well enough. The security line was long, but fast moving. The plane boarded only about a half-hour late -- my best experience so far. The problem was that once we got on the plane, we had the pleasure of sitting on the tarmac for a good solid hour and a half. I kid you not. The first delay was to take on extra fuel because the weather in Milwaukee was dicey and we may have to re-route to an alternate airport. Joy. The second delay was an equipment malfunction. The third delay was filling out the paper work pertaining to the other delays.

Ironically, despite what amounted to a total delay of in excess of two hours, I had a shot to make my connecting flight because I had an hour and 45 minute layover and strong tailwinds were going to shave a good 45 minutes off the flight time. Fifteen minutes to spare, I'd probably lose my luggage but at least I could get home on time. I'd deal with the luggage the next day.

Even better news: "This is your captain speaking, we just wanted everyone to know that we've been able to hold all your connecting flights in Milwaukee until we arrive." Yippee! That means they'll hold it to get my bags too. I unclenched and breathed a sigh of relief.

Ha! Fooled you, stupid traveler, we did hold your flight, but just long enough to cancel it. And cancel all the other flights to Michigan. And we cancelled them due to weather, so you get to pay from your own pocket for a luxurious night in an airport motel and get up at 4 AM the next morning to fight all the other stranded travelers to get on the first plane of the day for the 45 minute flight from Milwaukee to Grand Rapids. Then you get to do the two hour drive home. I repeat: Ye Gods!

All this to avoid a red-eye that would've gotten me home sooner after all. The word travel comes from the word travail. Actually, it is a contraction of the phrase "travail through hell."

But let me tell you about LA.

I had never been to LA and I had heard all the horror stories about traffic. Traffic is a relevant topic for any visit to LA because unless you have a car you are not going to survive in LA. It's not like there is a central place you can stay that is in walking distance to a lot of stuff and just grab a cab or subway if you need to make an occasional foray elsewhere. That is an East Coast way of thinking. Oh, there is a metro and you can get an (expensive) cab but you might as well be wearing a big flashing sign that says, "I am a hick from the Midwest who doesn't cotton to all your high-falutin' ways." Nobody walks in LA.

The upside is that getting around with a car is not bad. At least not if you stay in the Santa Monica/Bel-Air/Beverly Hills/Hollywood region. Once you hit the freeways things look a little chancy, but the traffic moves along, if not exactly briskly, and there are no bizzaro switchbacks or one-way streets to deal with. I suppose if you have that many people who simply must drive everywhere you better make it as straightforward as possible. On the whole, vastly easier than driving around in, say, NYC or DC.

The St. Regis Hotel was to function as headquarters and a fine hotel it is. The service was among the best I have ever experienced. Surprisingly, there was never a long wait to speak with the (very efficient) concierge staff, despite that they were inundated with Wolverine alumni trying to make their way around the city. The décor was sumptuous and comfy, the rooms large with good views (we could see the famous Hollywood sign from our balcony). And in the ultimate test of thoughtfulness, the in-room safe was large enough to hold a laptop (although I didn't bring mine).

Aside: This cracks me up. From the St. Regis web site: "Finally, as part of the one-night package rate of $2,000, enjoy complimentary valet parking service." Um, let's hope so.

There were a couple of oddities, however. It's been a long time since I came across a hotel where there was no in-room coffee maker, which has become a staple of the hospitality industry even in properties well down into budget territory. There appeared to be a small gift shop, but you couldn't buy a Diet Coke. If the point of these two omissions was to coerce people into paying overpriced stuff from the mini-bar, it is an outright shameful act. I will never get over luxury hotels that charge enormous sums per night yet still feel the need to squeeze an extra few dollars out of their guests. It really cheapens the whole experience.

The business center facilities are less than comprehensive. Without my laptop I was looking for a way to connect to the web to get my mail. There was WebTV in all the rooms, but that is not a very robust system in my estimation, nor is it possible to work in privacy if you're sharing a room. The concierge offered to let me use their computer if I only needed it for brief time, but that wasn't going to work either. All I really wanted was a reasonably private area where I could work with internet access for about 30 minutes. I had to go to the hotel next door, which happened to be owned by the same company.

Other things equal, though, service will make or break a hotel experience and the St. Regis has that down. Even to the point of calling on the evening before we checked out to ask whether we were happy with our stay and would we like a late departure for the next day.

Like I said, driving around LA was a snap. We took an almost day-long drive through Santa Monica, up the coast to Malibu and Zuma Beach, back down through Bel-Air and Beverly Hills, down the Sunset Strip, through Hollywood (surprisingly seedy-looking), and down Melrose. All the names and places you recognize from cultural reference. In that sense it is similar to NYC, much of what you see seems familiar even though you're a stranger. I was reminded of the Steve Martin movie L.A. Story, which was intended to be a romantic comedy starring LA in the same way Woody Allen films feature NYC.

If this were high summer, the beach would have been the spot to hit. Once the temp drops below 60, LA becomes all about shopping. There are numerous shopping regions (apart from actual malls, which are completely passé) and apparently every one of them has a slightly different vibe. This is why, in LA, there exist people employed to be shopping consultants. They assess your mood and mindset, give you personality tests, show you ink blots, and point you to the right place to shop: 3rd Street for good solid experience with familiar, national chain shops, but outside on a blocked off street so you can pretend to be above the mall crowd; Melrose if you are feeling all sassy and edgy and way too hip be seen in a Gap; Rodeo Drive if you are feeling ostentatious and just want to take the Aston Martin Volante out for a spin (I saw two). There seem to be dozens of shopping districts like that; it's all very complicated but it allows you to completely define every nuance of your identity simply by spending your money in the appropriate place. Shopping consultants are the new psychoanalysts.

Another way to spend a day in cold and gray LA is to hit a museum. Over by Rodeo Drive is the Museum of Television and Radio which is most notable for its library of TV and radio shows from the past. This works best for people of, ahem, a certain age, who have memories of old shows that you don't get on Nick at Nite. You can search through their database and find that one episode you remember. Sweet. I had forgotten how funny the Gourmet Night episode of Fawlty Towers was.

The granddaddy of museums in LA is the Getty Museum, or more properly, the Getty Center of which the museum is only one part. You'll want to plan to spend most of the day there. Parking is only five dollars and there is no admission -- as they say, J. Paul don't need your money -- but you have to take a tram car from the entrance to the center grounds and there will be a line, count on 45 minutes to an hour, even if you get there early.

The Getty Museum has a decent painting collection, although nothing near a place like the National Gallery in DC or Art Institute in Chicago. But the Getty contains a much broader collection that includes furniture and decorative arts, photography, illuminated manuscripts, even clothing and costumes. There was a remarkable exhibition of Julie Margaret Cameron photography from the late 19th century -- amazingly good, considering how young the art and science of photography was at the time.

Apart from the art collection, there is the striking, modernistic architecture of the place that is married well to its hilltop location. You can stroll through the central garden along a zig zag path the crosses a little stream. For repast, there a couple of cafes and a more serious restaurant called The Restaurant. That's how serious it is, they have no interest in frivolities like names. Very good food, reservations required.

And wherever you wander in the Getty Center, you will have absolutely amazing views of the city and surrounding mountains. When in LA, do not miss The Getty.

Theoretically, the purpose of this trip was to attend the Rose Bowl and cheer the Michigan Wolverines on to victory over the USC Trojans, but the festivities started in earnest the day before -- New Year's Eve. They had blocked off the street across from our hotel for the sake of a good old fashioned pep rally in the morning. The Michigan Marching Band played, cheerleaders cheered, a string of Wolverine football notables strode to the microphone and spoke a few encouraging sentences. Hot dogs and beer were plentiful (at 10 AM? -- 1 o'clock back East, I suppose). The hotel balconies were decorated with maize and blue flags. It was all very alma mater.

New Year's Eve was to be spent at Universal Studios Citywalk. Citywalk is a prefab shopping district. It has the look and feel of an amusement park, neon and garish displays everywhere, but without the rides -- just boutiques, and restaurants. This is where your shopping consultant would send you if you were feeling aggressively commercial. In fact, Citywalk is to Universal Studios what Pleasure Island is to Disneyworld in Orlando.

The Wolverine contingent had an entire restaurant in Citywalk reserved just for us. (I don't remember the name of the place -- it was fairly nondescript.) The schedule provided for a buffet dinner, complete with noise-makers and silly hats for the 9PM New Year's celebration (midnight Michigan time). Citywalk was apparently quite a popular New Year's Eve destination because the streets were getting more crowded and the denizens were getting a little on the dicey side as the night rolled on. Plus, it got really, really, REALLY cold. Like Michigan cold, appropriately enough. After the 9PM new year, we beat a hasty retreat back to the hotel for the local new year.

I liked Citywalk. Though some would turn their noses up at such places as phony and contrived, I actually like such garish, commercial centers. There are plenty of restaurants and bars, a movie theatre, a video arcade. You can have a drink, wander around; videos are playing on enormous screens, upbeat, high-energy music is always in the background, and lots of bright, shiny things are on display. Quite enjoyable as long as you aren't a sourpuss that habitually frets about how commercialism is destroying the world.

The next day was the Rose Bowl extravaganza. Conlin Travel, the outfit that handles the U of M Bowl tours, had things deftly under control. The day started with a swell bus ride to the bowl grounds where a massive tailgate party was to occur.

Ernest Hemmingway once described taking a 'swell bus ride,' while touring Spain I think, although I don't remember which book specifically, and a Google search on 'swell bus ride' turns up nothing. I was skeptical to the possibility of any bus ride being 'swell', but as far as bus rides go, the ones Conlin Travel arranged were about as swell as they get. Certainly more comfortable than flying coach (file that under faint praise). There were TV situated around the cabin for the purpose of viewing the pre-game/post-game shows; that purpose being defeated by bad reception. They were good enough to leave a bottle of water on every seat for the ride - on the way back I stole a couple of bottles off the empty seats so that we wouldn't have to open the bottled water provided by the St. Regis at $87.00 a bottle, or thereabouts.

Which reminds me, what exactly is the reasoning behind putting bottled water in every room and then charging five times the going rate for it? They're all doing this now. Talk about rubbing your guest's nose in dirt. It's like you can see Snidely Whiplash in the hotel manager's office, twirling his mustache and laughing wickedly.

But I digress.

The massive tailgate party was the kind of tailgate party that is fully catered and features a live band, but no actual tailgate. The band was awful. They slogged their way through alternating Beach Boys and Jimmy Buffett covers and made a few futile attempts at the "Hail to the Victors", but nobody was paying attention. Some folks had started up a touch football game. Others were gathered around an enormous big screen TV that was showing one of the day's early games. (Did I mention this was also the kind of tailgate party where they have a huge video display and sound system?) Still others were milling about chatting, drinking beer, or waiting in line for the port-o-potty. The perfect easy-going, fall festival sort of atmosphere. There were even bales of hay sitting around for some reason.

The Rose Bowl itself is a standard issue college football stadium with seat numbers on the bleachers painted so close together that one assumes the architect used stick figures for the layout. There was one group of four wide-loads a couple of rows down that simply could not fit altogether in their seats. A couple of them ended up having to swap with the folks in the row below them.

The high point of the Rose Bowl came with the opening ceremonies which featured sky-divers landing at mid-field and three different stealth aircraft on a flyover. Bizarre-looking things are stealth airplanes -- like something off the sci-fi channel. Were I some toothless desert nomad and saw one of those things fly over my head I would have to assume it was some sort of supernatural sign of the apocalypse. And I might be right.

The game itself was a disaster, as has been recounted in many a place. What's worse, not only did the Wolverine football team get beat, but the whole Trojan package dominated the Wolverine package. The Trojan band was playing their annoying fight song pretty much non-stop the whole day, while the Michigan band sat quietly except for churning out 'Hail to the Victors' after a score. It got to the point where the Trojan band was simply being rude and needed to shut up. The USC cheerleaders were doing these funky dance routines while the Michigan cheerleaders were doing lame stuff like human pyramids. It was a full-service, 360 degree butt-whuppin'.

(What the Rose Bowl will NEVER have is the walk back up Main Street into the heart of Ann Arbor for post game drinks and dinner. And yes, I will take that over a national championship any day; so eat your hearts out Trojans. Nyah.)

Facing the end of my trip, even after five days in LA I just never got the sense of actually having been in LA. It was all very strange; even having seen most of the city and quite a few of the sights, I can't confidently say I know what it's like. That's because of the weather. In the movie LA Story, Steve Martin plays a weatherman who literally has nothing to do because LA is always sunny and warm. I, like everyone else, have seen enough of LA in movies and on television to know what genuine LA looks like, and if it's not warm and sunny, it's not genuine. Tooling around town in a car is fine, tooling around with the top down and the music up is LA. Stopping along the Malibu coast to see the shoreline is fine, splashing through the water and getting all tan on the beach is LA. Having a nice dinner at a restaurant with innovative cuisine is fine, doing it outside in the warm evening breeze in your shorts and sandals is LA.

I enjoyed myself, for sure. Got to spend some time with dear friends, which was so very worth it. But I didn't get to see the desert they turned into a dream. I guess I'll have to go back. In summer.