"It's La Bray-a, Dawg."

So John came over on Wednesday night to help me plan my trip to California. Being from LA, he had quite a few tips, like, for example, how to get around, where to eat, and how to pronounce the names of the streets. So when telling me how to get to Pink's famous hot dog stand, I said, "Okay, so I need to turn right on La Bree-a?" 

"La Bree-a? La Bree-a?," John says. "It's La Bray-a, Dawg. You're gonna die. I don't even know why I'm telling you all this. You're gonna get lost."

Ok. It's true. I did get lost. It could have been worse. I saw Bel Air. I saw the Beverly Hills Hotel. And I saw all the sorority girls at UCLA and that gorgeous campus. 

But eventually I made it west down Santa Monica Blvd., past La Brea, and onto Wilshire, where I stayed an awesome night at the Hotel Palomar, happy at last in LA.