Life in California is full of questions big and small. Should I have a child while the temperatures are rising and the Big One is coming? Can I charge my EV at a friend’s house? Is it rude to ask a celebrity for a selfie at the farmers’ market? Why is everyone wearing “fits,” and do I need to get a fit—is fit just short for outfit, or am I missing something with all these fits?
Alta Journal has enlisted two experts to answer all of your questions: author, actor, and trusted basic-cable comedy newswoman Stacey Grenrock Woods and Los Angeles Times columnist, podcaster, and internationally recognized tortilla judge Gustavo Arellano, both of whom bring decades of hard-won knowledge and laser-sharp insights to the Golden State.
Have a question of your own? Ask a Californian!
Dear Californians,
I’m not a native to this state (please don’t judge), and I’ve noticed something that I’d like you to explain for me. Why do all California writers feel the need to include turn-by-turn driving instructions in their novels? Does anyone really care what highway exit a character took or where they parked?
—Driven to Distraction
Dear Driven,
I am native to this state and a writer (I wrote a book called I, California, in fact), and there are few speedier ways to curb my interest (in a book or a person) than to include directions of any kind. In my work, one won’t find more than vague indications of where I think things are, and those will probably be wrong. Like any classically directionless Angelena, I keep my head free of such trivialities, so I’m perfectly poised to answer your every question about my glorious, enchanting, and wildly confusing state. Welcome! I’m here to help.
I was once like you: puzzled and distressed by the mention of a freeway (we call them freeways here, by the way) or a street both in lit and in life. So I came up with some theories, the most compelling of which is this: Other people do like that stuff. They’re proud of their ability to get places and remember how they did it, and they want to bask in this space between small talk and small-medium talk with others like themselves. Don’t believe me? At your next social gathering, notice how often people talk about places: places to hike, get coffee, neighborhoods that are “over” or “about to be over.” Watch their eyes light up as the conversation turns to where things are, where things used to be, what’s there now, and what they’re going to put there next. Writers who lean on this, I guess, talent do so both to reach others and to show off, which, when you come right down to it, is what all writing is about.
Eleanor Roosevelt said, “Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.” This is completely wrong. Great minds discuss people, and everyone else talks about the ride to and from the airport. For readers who like that sort of thing, there are books full of directions. They’re called Thomas Guides, and they’re all bestsellers. And if you prefer to e-read, you can write and read your own turn-by-turn material all day long on any map program. When you’re confronted with driving directions (or anything you don’t like) in a book, simply skip ahead—all the way to the end if necessary—to see if there’s anything interesting about people, and if not, toss it in the blue recycling bin (if it’s a paperback. If it’s a hardback, google what to do with it). Because if you’re really doing California right, someone else will be happy to drive you anywhere you want to go. —SGW
Driven, bienvenida a California! Since you’re a non-native, that means you didn’t attend our elementary schools, which, at around fourth grade, teach children how to use sugar cubes and Popsicle sticks to construct replicas of the Spanish missions that started modern-day California and essentially enslaved the Indigenous people of this land. I’m sure the state’s incoming ethnic studies requirement for high schools will help end that soon, but I hope that lesson plans still teach kiddies about how those missions were connected: El Camino Real, which nowadays mostly follows the 5 freeway and the 101 freeway from San Diego to Sonoma.
Specific directions are how Californians have been able to get around this humongous state of ours from the start. It’s a humblebrag: Follow them correctly and you can surf and ski in one day while still making time for great tacos. Do them wrong and you’ll end up like the Donner party—or worse, in Huntington Beach. —GA
Dear Californians,
This is a question that’s haunted me for a long time: Why does L.A. hate S.F.? And why does S.F. hate L.A.? Both cities have a lot going for them. Why can’t their residents just be friends?
—Where’s the Beef?
Dear Where’s the,
I don’t know where the beef is, but it’s probably not in San Francisco!
Now see? That’s exactly the kind of hostile stereotyping that does nothing to allay this rivalry you mention that Angelenos are only marginally aware of. Assuming that San Franciscans are all vegetarians, or vegans, or whatever crazy health kick they’re currently into there, is unkind and unhelpful. (Also, usually not untrue.) And over time, that sort of attitude causes cold wars between superpowers like Los Angeles and San Francisco, the latter of which is cold enough already.
We may never know how it all got started, but I’d like to think I know how it ends: right here, with me.
San Francisco, you are not inferior to Los Angeles in any way. You are a beautiful city worthy of the love your big, cool sister city enjoys. And even though you’re not our actual sister city—that privilege belongs to Athens, Auckland, Beirut, Berlin, Bordeaux, Busan, Eilat, Giza, Jakarta, Mexico City, Mumbai, Nagoya, St. Petersburg, Taipei, Tehran, Vancouver, and others too numerous to mention but which I am happy to visit if Alta Journal is paying—we see you. We’re sorry for whatever it is that got you worked up, and we won’t do it again. Please accept this olive branch on behalf of all Angelenos. Don’t worry. It’s organic.
As for you, Los Angeles, allow me to explain something: there’s a city in Northern California called San Francisco. (You take the 101 North to the 5 North to the 580 West for about six hours and then turn right on Market Street. Or you could take Highway 1 [PCH] all the way up the coast, which is prettier but takes longer. Or, if you want to avoid traffic on the 5, you could take the 101 to the 5 to the 99 through Fresno to the 132 West to the 580 West and get off at Market Street. If you get lost, ask a local writer.) This city, San Francisco, is actually really nice: it’s old and pretty, with lots of hills and cool buildings, and the food is excellent. There are stunning ocean views, and it’s chilly all year long, so, yes, it’s the perfect place for us all to move if this blasted heat keeps up. One thing to know, however, is that the people can be a bit touchy. Rumor has it that they’ve got some ancient axe to grind with us about being second best or something, so it’s vital that we’re really polite to them, until we can get them to sign their apartments—yes, the ones with the cool Bay windows!—over to us. So if it ever comes up, say nice things about the people of San Francisco (San Franciscans? San Franenos? Oh well, it doesn’t matter—soon the place will be called New L.A.), and please, please practice your hill parking. That’s going to be the tricky part. —SGW
I thought a truce was declared in the war between Baghdad-by-the-Bay and Lost Angeles in 1990, when legendary L.A. Times columnist Jack Smith paid homage to his fellow legendary columnist, San Fran’s own Herb Caen.
“The alleged feud between San Francisco and Los Angeles columnists was largely a fraud,” Smith wrote. “I have always liked Frisco and said so, and Herb apologized for applauding a license plate that said ‘NUKE LA.’”
The only people who truly believe in this “rivalry” nowadays are hipster-class Angelenos and Friscians. The working class among us reserve true hate only for when the Dodgers and Giants play. Yet who was there in 1999 when the teams played their last game at Candlestick Park, to blow kisses and tell the booing sellout crowd, “You don’t hate me. You hate yourselves because you love me”? Hall of Fame Blue Crew manager Tommy Lasorda, of course! (The Dodgers won, by the way, 9–4.)
Lasorda was right: we need to hate each other to feel better about ourselves. SFers eventually have to take in a concert at the Hollywood Bowl to complain that it’s no Cow Palace. We in SoCal need to drive across the Golden Gate Bridge just to complain it’s no Four-Level Interchange. While hate is never good, pretend hate is essential. It has allowed each side to sharpen our tongues now that Red America is increasingly painting us as modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah. To that, we can stand together chasing a Dodger Dog with an It’s-It and proclaiming: Hey, at least we’re not Huntington Beach. —GA
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Gustavo Arellano is the author of Orange County: A Personal History and Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America. In 2025, Arellano was named a Pulitzer Prize finalist for his work as a columnist for the Los Angeles Times. He was formerly editor of OC Weekly, an alternative newspaper in Orange County, California, and penned the award-winning ¡Ask a Mexican!, a nationally syndicated column in which he answered any and all questions about America’s spiciest and largest minority. Arellano is the recipient of awards ranging from the Association of Alternative Newsweeklies Best Columnist to the Los Angeles Press Club President’s Award to an Impact Award from the National Hispanic Media Coalition, and he was recognized by the California Latino Legislative Caucus with a 2008 Spirit Award for his “exceptional vision, creativity, and work ethic.” Arellano is a lifelong resident of Orange County and is the proud son of two Mexican immigrants, one of whom came to this country in the trunk of a Chevy.
Stacey Grenrock Woods is a regular contributor to Esquire and a former correspondent for The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. She writes and consults on various TV shows, and has a recurring role as Tricia Thoon on Fox’s Arrested Development. Her first book is I, California.
