Who ever knew it could take so impossibly long to disembark an aircraft.
Being that timekeeping is low on my list of priorities during this period of my existence (mostly because I lack any actual priorities during this period of my existence), I'm not certain of exactly how long we stood waiting laden with baggage in the aisles of QF11. I know I stood over my screen watching the [several] ending(/s) of "Changeling" sans audio (Aha! That was the other movie!), before eventually digging through my pocketless bag for at least 3 minutes and retrieving my iPod to monitor the wait time.
At least 10 more minutes ticked by. I actually mustered genuine pity for my skinny-weight, odourless, silent neighbour who broke her silence to politely ask if she could go ahead of me as she had a connecting flight... which she eventually missed.
Now granted, I haven't travelled extensively, especially not internationally, but I am almost certain that LAX has the longest plane-to-customs exit journey. I reckon I dropped a few kilos.
My adventure really began when I finally got my turn through Customs. Guess what? AussieNic is required to exit and re-enter the United States prior to September 30 or she will be considered an "overstay". Why? Because the Australian US Consulate are obviously crap. I knew the simple "RTA-like" process of that place seemed too easy.
So I purchased two Visas for my time in Yankeeland:
1) J1 Working Visa
This Visa is obligatorily arranged with Camp America. The duration is "Camp Plus 30 Days", hence expiring on September 30.
2) B2 Tourist Visa
Being that the J1 cannot be extended, to continue travelling beyond the bonus 30 days if I wish, I decided to get a B2 Visa also. I now discover that the question asked at the Consulate: "12 Months or 5 Years?" was clearly moo[t] ("moo, it's like a cow's opinion, it doesn't count")... the buggers only gave me 6 months!
Funnily enough, several people at my Orientation in Sydney freaked out when they heard they wouldn't be able to pass out and back into the States on their J1s, i.e. no trips to Canada or Mexico (baha) as J1 Visa expire the moment you exit the country. Many people asked panicked questions and stayed back after Orientation to ask more panicked questions on how they could get this extra Visa to allow Niagara Falls visits, etc.
Even if the whole "you can't work at camp and get paid unless you're here on your J1" thing wasn't a problem, the six months actually fell short of my return flight date by 3 days, i.e. yep, another "overstay"!
So basically I was screwed. I'm not a panicker, but given the very poor English and communication skills of the Manager that was called on to advise my case, I was seriously starting to sweat. Finally the cool black chick that was serving me finally interrupted her boss and said "It's simple ma'am, your only option is to come in on the J1, exit before September 30 and return on your B2. Got it? Good, *stamp, stamp*, you're done".
As I made my way over to grab a trolley and begin the long wait for my checked luggage, my small detachable daypack went sailing by in the distance. I think I gave an Asian lady nearby a terrible fright when I abruptly thrust my belongings onto my chosen trolley and took off at a full trolley-sprint. A nearby mother pulled her two small children back out of my path in terror as I flew by and hoiked my pack off the conveyor.
I almost performed a victory dance at my good luck. I didn't have time though, my luck only continued as seconds later my travel pack came into view. I was thrilled I'd waited all of 11 seconds for my luggage when I'd seen others waiting much longer while I stood in Customs for over half an hour.
LAX definitely sucks. If you thought exiting an aircraft couldn't take such an impossibly long time, you definitely wouldn't think standing in a winding queue just to exit the airport would take almost an hour either!
I most disappointed that I hadn't quite rounded what I later knew was the last corner in time to see for which celebrity a dozen flashes went off for. For those that don't know or didn't have the misfortune of hearing me geek-on about it before leaving, Sunday May 31 was the MTV Movie Awards in Los Angeles, i.e. one of the most prime celebrity-present days of the year in Tinseltown.
(And no, girls, I didn't go: See reference "No Man's Land")
There were paparazzi dotted here, there and everywhere, but I missed every single wooo-shout-flash-flash-flash. Dangit. I doubt there were any majors anyhow. For some reason I was more focussed on figuring out where the heck I was and exactly how the heck I was going to get where I needed to be.
Generally I was pretty chilled, I had no time schedule! The moment I walked out of the main doors of my terminal and cool black dude in a blue shirt said "Where you headed pretty lady?". He immediately directed me to another blue shirt clad black dude a ways away who, he informed me, would put me on a shuttle within 15 minutes.
This was about the time I started to gripe over the fact that I'd forgotten to Google "Tipping" before arriving in the World's Tipping Capital. Oops. Every time someone rendered me even the smallest service for the next 6 hours I fretted over whether I should have slid them a quick dollar.
Very stressful.
The Blue Team were true to their word. A shuttle arrived within 5 minutes, Blue Shirt Guy loaded my luggage on for me and before I knew it we were making the rounds of LAX.
Upon picking up two guys that could only be recognised as musicians as a result of their unkempt, edgy, super-cool appearance, the party really started hoppin'. Mr Silent Von Dreadlocks was the sweet, strong and silent type but Mr Loud McBighair compensated for any lack in word quota. He did nothing but talk non-stop about music, bands, music, gigs, musicians and music.
They didn't ring any famous bells for me, but seemed to have a pretty well-rounded musical history. Mr Loud cracked so many jokes during the shuttle ride I couldn't tell you how long it took, it seemed super-fast to me given their great stories and excellent quippy humour.
Mr Loud was hugely annoyed that he'd incorrectly guessed my accent to be British and then proceeded to rattle off fantastic anecdotes about auditioning for Wolfmother and being rejected for being too loud, bossy and not having big enough hair.
After regaling us with a few more stories including their recent show with Guns N Roses, the guys wrote down a list of gigs and parties upcoming and gave me their numbers upon drop-off at their home in The Valley. I learned that Sir McBigHair was actually named Muddy and Silent Bob was Dennis, bass player and drummer respectively.
It occurred to me while blogging this I should look them up and see if their special or anything. I hadn't thought as much mostly because nobody special would catch a shuttle from LAX. Roger?
But it turns out they are kinda semi-special. They're the real thing, all-out full-time musicans, with a cascade of results each in Google. Dennis Morehouse seems to to do well for himself with his very own official site and Muddy Stardust appears quite the authentic rocker.
Top right: Muddy Stardust. Bottom right: Dennis Morehouse
The guys seem to play a whole heap of different gigs, but together they're in a band called Stereo. And there you have it. Maybe I should have actually considered taking them up on a few of their offers.
It was my stop next, The Sportsmen's Lodge. It was immediately apparent on arrival that something was a'happenin' at this joint. By this point I was beginning to crash into a serious state of overtire and didn't quite give enough of a rip to join any dots. I was 90 minutes early for my 3pm check-in so they stored my luggage and gave me requested directions to a nearby supermarket.
It was at this point that I realised I was near absolutely nothing. Studio City has a bizarre kind of layout so I was in No Man's Land.
I experienced a little of what it must be like to be mentally disabled when I made my first attempt at a pedestrian crossing. There was no damn button to push and red stop hand went from solid to flashing with countdown numbers several times before I decided "Stuff it, off I go!". I later discovered I'm not retarded and that this particular intersection and crossing must be unique, normal crossings (PED XING as they're labelled) do mostly have a button and eventually flick over to a blue walking man prior to the countdown.
The supermarket was a pricey one so I passed on getting the supplies I'd been deprived of by Aussie Customs and plonked myself down in my very first American Starbucks next door.
I then ignored the fact that they said they'd need at least 20 minutes to see if my room could be occupied early and headed straight back. I was too far away from the Retard Crossing to bother in my overtired state and instead made my first attempt to cross the road. All of Luke's "look left" jokes aside, it was REALLY FRICKIN' HARD! My retard complex really set in when it took me well over 5 minutes to cross the stupid 4-lane road.
It was nodding off on the comfy sofa waiting for my room that I looked up and saw Lisa Rinna gliding past in a gaggle of entourage and fandom. I'm not too proud to admit I watched my share of Soapies in my younger days when Mum and Jenny were big fans that taped them every day and I know Lisa's name because she was my favourite. She's also just one of those Soap stars that manages to maintain an above-average profile.
Over the next 10 minutes I saw a parade of vaguely familiar faces that I couldn't name and finally joined the dots: Soap Opera Convention! So random. Lisa Rinna is seriously beautiful, by the way, you have no idea.
The wonderful service of my first-night 3-star hotel, bless them (sorry, lots of Poms at my hostel), got my room ready for me over an hour early *sigh* The relief. The room was lovely and totally worth the AU$130 for the my Jetlag Luxury.
The luxury took some time though, my sister's All-In-One Foreign Shower horror stories suddenly became very vivid and very relevant. Two phone calls to reception and one enormous Retard Complex later, I figured out how to get the water to come out of the flippin' shower rose instead of the bath tap. Blimey.
My one hour nap allowance was stretched by a few Snoozes to 2.5 hours. Dragging my butt out of that comfy bed to change out of my pajamas and go back down to the lobby to use their internet was one of the greatest struggles I've faced in a long time. With soapie stars and their fans still meandering about outside the Internet Cafe window, I discovered the joys of Meebo, touched based with my sister back home, camped on Google Maps for a substantial period of time, paid 27 bucks for the pleasure and got myself organised for my relocation to Banana Bungalow hostel on Hollywood Boulevard the next day.
A little room service, some bad TV and 12 hours of sleep later it was Day 2 in LA.
Prepare for some further Retard Antics and excellent blonde moments in Part 3.
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