Pulp Fiction

Once upon a time, Los Angeles had two magazines that purported to be the bastion of coolness. Dubbed 'Buzz' and 'LA Magazine', they touted the best restaurants, the trendiest nightclubs, the places where the stars mingled and spent the astronomical amounts of money they received for professionally being make to look foolish (well, that's only if they have the misfortune to be trapped in a film by Renny Harlin). In any event, as is the way of the capitalist "marketplace" -- the "buzz" on 'Buzz' faded and it bit the dust. As the dust settled, a mailing list was bought, as well as a logo and trademarked title -- thus was 'Los Angeles' magazine born (cue music from "2001: A Space Odyssey"). You can just feel the excitement that must have went through media circles.

So now what havth been breed of this "unholy" union? Well, that's a loaded question in this cynical age of 500 digital cable systems (half of which seem to show the same annoying episode of 'I Love Lucy") and E-mail moving at the speed of thought (as if our thoughts are ever really all that important to be sent that fast, to someone half a globe away). On the one hand, I have to say it is a pretty damn fine magazine. It's slick to the touch, full of glossy pictures of famous people (most of us will never have a chance in hell ever meeting at parties we'll never be invited to). The periodical's writing is easily digestible (in that Taco Bell meets "The Poseidon Adventure" kind of way). The articles are usually current to the point of making one wonder if the editors realize Clinton was almost impeached (actually I kid, they know Clinton was almost impeached, they just decided to ignore the entire sordid affair to concentrate on Monica's exceeding tacky ensembles).

Looking at some recent issues, they featured cutting edge articles such as (no joke, these are, as they say on NBC's Law & Order, "ripped from today's headlines"); French Chefs Rate L.A., The Season's Sexiest Swimwear, and Inside the Weird World of Pepperdine. Suffice it to say, these are stories I, you and everyone reading this pithy (I know it's not, but I've got to put my college education to some use) review, desperately need to read. In fact, the magazine does such an amazing job making even the most mind-numbing articles seem as if they are as necessary as oxygen, I'm sure Mulder and Scully are investigating the editorial offices right this very moment. Without fail, each month, I eagerly thrill to the exploits of that (so very LA) subculture I like to call the "almost" (as in "almost dated Affleck", "almost bought a SLK 230", "almost went to the Hampton's for the weekend, but then I would have missed Liv's party", "almost build a new school over a toxic waste dump"...wait, that last one is true). Okay, so Los Angeles Magazine actually covers a few stories of substance (as tales of police corruption or graft in the city council seem to perfectly mesh with the latest haute-couture day spa or Britain's sexist actor coming to the multiplex near you). Down kitty-cat, down.

Ironically, a lavish mention in the magazine is almost the kiss of death to an up-and-coming establishment. Many a time, I and my friends have gone to a place mentioned in its red hot, in the moment, "out, out, damn spot", pages -- only to find it now strangely "square". Alas, such is the nature of fame in Tinseltown (were you're only as good as the grosses on your last film). Los Angeles Magazine is easily a better value than the uber-production of the moment (and at only $2.95 an issue, cheaper than a box of popcorn). If you're looking for the West Coast version of The New Yorker or New York Magazine or National Review or Car & Driver(well, you get the picture), then this isn't it. But if you are looking to block out those excruciating commercials breaks on those pesky networks -- then look no further than Los Angeles Magazine.