Andy Chase

For some reason this afternoon I’ve been thinking a lot about our temporary digs when Kim and I first hit California in 1996: the city of Brea in Orange County.

The things that stand out are cultural adjustment-type moments:

• Getting used to everything in sight being brown and dusty, not to mention having been built within the last 10-20 years
• Alien fast food chains like Carl’s Jr. and Jack in the Box (It took us a while to get over our only point of reference for Jack in the Box, which was the fact that people had died because of an E. Coli outbreak at their restaurants a few years earlier)
• Cranberry bagels from Baltimore Bagel Company. They were disappointing compared the Bruegger’s we got used to in Rochester, but the cranberry variety was a tasty novelty.
• Liquor in drug stores and grocery stores
• Discovering that all of the grocery store chains in southern California suck, especially compared to our beloved Wegmans
• Getting used to freeways being referred to as “The 5,” “The 405,” “The 101,” et cetera.
• Harley Davidson and Kamel Red cigarettes

And some more general flashbacks:

• The Brea mall, where we felt sad for all the puppy mill puppies at the pet store, and browsing the goodies at California Orchards
• Spending a few dollars that we really shouldn’t have at Borders Books (and being comforted that they had the Egøverride CD-single by Bob Mould)
• Similarly, being strangely comforted by hearing Rikki Rachtman’s talk show on 97.1; he was always kind of annoying on Headbanger’s ball, but at least he was a familiar personality in a completely unfamiliar environment.
• Shopping at a large thrift store somewhere off of Imperial Highway. I think I bought a sports jacket and some dress pants in anticipation of a potential job interview. I remember the book section being especially disappointing.
• The long, hot drive along Imperial Highway to the 5, through Los Angeles and up 101 into North Hollywood, where Kim worked (and where I wound up working not long after)
• Constantly listening to Odelay while driving around in the dusty heat. I had spent most of our last summer in Rochester listening to it, too, and that album really bridges the gap between college and real life. Ramshackle, in particular, takes me right back to that first month in Brea.
• A party in Huntington Beach, where I was harangued into getting out my electric guitar and attempting to play along with a drunken drum circle. It was about as embarrassing as it sounds… that was the last time I ever played my electric guitar in public.