I may love L.A. but I sure hate flying

Alas, I will be leaving for Los Angeles soon, though you’ll be sorry to hear I should be back in a week. At least that’s the plan. Since my flight was booked by the Cerritos Travel Agency, I may be dropping unexpectedly on some California suburb and staying there for all eternity.

I am of two minds about his trip. I’ve always wanted to visit Los Angeles because the film industry would have you believe you can’t belch there without background music and klieg lights. But to get there one must fly on a heavier-than-air object that is traveling at 500 mph at an altitude God never meant for men to violate.

This is not an hour-long petting-zoo ride to Atlanta or Orlando. Five hours, buddy. Count ’em. Five hours of terror. Five hours of sweaty palms and heart spasms every time the plane changes altitude by more than a few inches. I’ll be sitting next to one of the androgynous pin-striped creatures who won’t even hold my hand, and when we land at LAX they’ll take me to the Farmers Market and sell me at 49 cents a pound.

The airport is, of course, across town from Santa Ana, my intended destination, so after these five hours of terror I can drive right into two more on the Los Angeles freeways. My sister says they’re no worse than the freeways in Detroit, and I seem to remember careening along the Freeway of Love (as those sick individuals call it), trucks roaring past at a shade under the sound barrier and, to paraphrase Robert Frost, thinking that I had miles of concrete to go before I could pass out.

Ah, but once I am there …Hollywood? Sunset Boulevard? Beverly Hills? Universal Studios?

Naah. Work.

Ostensibly, that’s why I’m going there, and the newspaper is giving me only enough money to ensure that I don’t spend all my time at Malibu or trying out for game shows.

But yes, I intended to see the giant sign that is always in the process of falling down over Hollywood, and I expect to see the sidewalk where the movie stars have gotten their feet muddy in concrete. I want to see the piers that extend into the ocean and don’t collapse during storms, the movie and television studios that I vilify regularly in this column. I also hope to visit one of those malls that has its own city council.

I’ll be looking for Randy Newman cruising the freeways singing, “I Love L.A.” or the Beach Boys talking about those “California Girls.” I’ll be waiting to see those who are “California Dreamin’” or whether “It Never Rains in California.”

And then – Oh, boy! – another five hours of terror as we head back east. We go to Memphis and then to the Okaloosa County Air Terminal, so I get the added bonus of taking off and landing twice in one day.

At least on the return leg, I should be able to drink my lunch.

This column was published in the Playground Daily News in 1986 and is used with permission.

About the author:

Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”

Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.

As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.

Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .