OS ANGELES - Los Angeles is in love with the idea of its own self-destruction; it's hard to think of another American city so similarly possessed.
Actually, no. New York publishers are in love with the idea of destroying Los Angeles.
This view of Los Angeles is really quite simple: A landscape of car-obsessed kooks and cult members who live in Malibu and only venture beyond the San Diego Freeway for breakfast at Farmers Market or lunch at Du-Par's (ever eaten at Du-Par's? The food is lousy and the service is terrible). They earn pallets of money producing crappy movies or crappy albums (or starring in crappy movies and making crappy albums). Or the South L.A. version: bling-swaddled gang members who only venture north of the Santa Monica Freeway for Lakers games and produce crappy movies or crappy albums (or star in crappy movies and make crappy albums).