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The following entries are real and accurate scientific observations made by State Press Magazine reporter Gib Manrique. He is currently stationed in Los Angeles on a research mission and has reported back with details of his findings. In this record, you will come across knowledge not previously seen by the public eye, and it may change your perspective about the world around you. Proceed with caution.
Entry one
Hi. My name is Gib Manrique, and when I arrived, everything was on fire.
This is not a metaphor. Los Angeles was experiencing some of the worst wildfires in history.
It was definitely not the most encouraging time to be sent on a research mission to LA. All of my parent's friends called and asked them, "Are you sure you want to let your child go to LA right now?" "Do you hate them?"
While I have no way to confirm that my parents do not secretly hate me, I can tell you that I came here regardless because I am in the pursuit of knowledge; I am a goddamn explorer. In a way, I'm just like Kurt Russell in the classic 80's film "The Thing." I look just like him by the way — no need to look at my Instagram.
I will continue to document my findings about this distant land and share how it is different from the place we all know and love (or deeply despise), Arizona. If you have ever wondered if LA is the place for you and you're thinking about coming here on your own excursion, I'll give you the deets.
I was sent here not by the United States government, but by a higher, more important power. I'm not talking about God either. I'm talking about the editor-in-chief of State Press Magazine, Savannah Dagupion.
Your bravest little explorer,
Gib Manrique
Entry two
Today, I will be describing my first round of findings from this terra incognita.
First, climate change actually exists here. Now, that may seem obvious due to the fact that this place was actively burning a few weeks ago and mudslides have swept all the debris into the local drinking water, but that's not all. It actually exists in people's consciousness — they are trying to do something about it. It's not like where I'm from — if you talk about using a paper straw, you'll get shot.
I first came across this phenomenon at The Egyptian Theater, a place where locals flock to for entertainment. I settled into my seat to watch "Wallace and Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl," my personal "Best Picture" winner, when a voice boomed over the loudspeaker with strange instructions: When exiting the theater, you could a.) throw away your items in the trash, b.) recycle your paper cups, paper straws and popcorn buckets, and c.) compost any of your leftover popcorn.
The fuck? COMPOST? Has anyone heard the word "compost" since the second grade when your elementary school had its own garden? The instructions might as well have been in an ancient language.
The craziest part is that everyone did it! The entire theater got their asses up after the movie and threw their slightly stale popcorn down the compost chute. Even I partook, though it was mostly out of fear that the LA residents would take out pitchforks and impale me if I didn't comply — and then proceed to recycle their pitchforks.
It's not like I'm against composting or don't support efforts to stop climate change. I'm not stupid; it just felt very foreign. Many places in Phoenix don't even give you the option to recycle, let alone compost.
I also can't help but think: Would those plants even want movie theater popcorn? It was kind of mediocre and had far too much salt. I also might have a deep misunderstanding of what composting is, but my point stands.
Anyway, the weather situation out here is just nuts. Yes, the fires, but also the weeks of continuous rain that followed. My Arizonan ass didn't bring an umbrella, so I have shown up to several of my classes at the ASU California Center looking like a teddy bear that was left outside for several years.
Also this isn't technically weather-related, but I experienced my first earthquake a few days ago. The Earth literally shook beneath me as I was sleeping. That was so scary!!
Your soggiest and most terrified explorer,
Gib Manrique
Entry three
I'm going to jump right into today's entry because honestly, I'm pissed.
In yet another excursion into the dense wilderness of piss-smelling metros and gum-covered Hollywood stars, I stumbled upon a grand marketplace called Amoeba Music.
Amoeba Music is essentially Zia Records — an Arizona staple — but it's cooler older brother who is in a band and does coke only socially. It's a multi-story warehouse with every single vinyl, sticker, patch, CD, DVD, poster and book from every decade you can think of. It's an absolute gold mine filled with things I could only dream of finding at Zia Records, all in one huge building.
I was venturing to this physical media paradise for normal, non-egotistical reasons. I wanted to purchase some local wares and vinyls from punk bands if you will. But I would be lying if I said that was it. I also wanted to prove to myself that even in LA, I was still very cool and very different, like those who frequent record stores.
Let me explain. I am pretty hot shit in Arizona — in the alternative sense, I mean. Not to act like I'm special or whatever, but I get enough dirty stares from old people to know I must have nailed the homosexual vibe I'm going for. I wear Doc Martens' platform loafers everywhere. I have a black and white knit hat covered in pins that I got from a local queer art market. You can take me to any gay bar in the Melrose District in Phoenix, and I'm going home with someone who has a tattoo of a cryptid and piercings in places you have never heard of.
I am very aware of the fact that besides Bushwick, New York, LA is the place to be if you're queer and weird-looking. I wanted to prove to myself that even in the land of homos, I am still just as hot and different here as I am in Arizona, and I will not fall victim to the "everyone is hotter in LA" curse.
WELL APPARENTLY NOT. Every other weirdo in a 100-mile radius had the same idea. In this place, everyone was either as hot and different or more hot and different than I was. In this hellscape, I can throw a rock down the street and hit 15 gay people. Having he/they pronouns in my bio just wasn't enough.
In LA, everyone wears platform Doc Martens, or better yet, they have boots custom-made by their ex-situationship who is a leatherworker. You can't just wear a knit hat; your whole outfit needs to be multi-colored and knitted by hand, and your whole body needs to be covered head-to-toe in ironic pins and patches. You need to have 48 pieces of accessories on at all times, and I fear the 27 pieces of jewelry I'm wearing as I write this just don't make the cut.
I feel discouraged in this new land. The City of Angels is an unforgiving landscape, and it exists in a vacuum of overpriced JNCO jeans, raccoon tail hairdos and despair.
Your most basic and boring explorer,
Gib Manrique
Entry four
Everyone here is really rich. If I see one more Cybertruck, I'm blowing it up. This is a joke by the way. I'm sure I don't need to do anything to a Cybertruck for it to blow up.
Anyway, everyone here is really rich. Not your casual Scottsdale rich, but real, actual wealth. Honestly, the richest parts of LA feel more deadly and dangerous than anywhere else. The flora and fauna is all plastic, and it feels like there are more shops dedicated to accessories for dogs than clothes for humans.
I think I saw a Goodwill somewhere in Beverly Hills during one of my expeditions, but it might have been a mirage.
Teslas pollute this city. I know they technically can't because they're electric, but their vibes alone are polluting. Every person who drives a Tesla could probably hit you with it and have enough money to cover it up — and then have money left over to buy dozens of single-packaged Erewhon strawberries.
This kind of wealth feels more malignant than it does in Arizona. While the wealthier areas in my home state are still places of terror, the bloodlust of the millionaires here feel all the more apparent.
I think the reasoning behind this is that the disparities between those in wealth and those in poverty are much more apparent here — as they tend to be in larger cities. I currently live in the Fashion District, which is a few blocks away from Downtown LA's infamous Skid Row, an area everyone and their mother warned me about before traveling here.
I have been in that area a few times (they have great pizza over there!) and let me tell you, there's nothing like seeing heroin needles scattered around a Starbucks. There's nothing weirder than seeing homeless encampments right next to million dollar studio lofts with an artisanal french bakery in the lobby.
It all feels much more in-your-face than in Arizona, and California Governor Gavin Newsom's decisions regarding the unhoused community are not making the situation better.
This is the type of place that makes you understand why those people did what they did in the movie "Parasite." If my friends and I could find a way to all sneak into a millionaire's home and trick them into hiring us, I'm sure we would go for it. Unfortunately, no one is hiring 20-year-olds to hang out in their house.
All I'm saying is that if I have to see another menu with $15 avocado toast, I'm asking a Tesla driver to hit me. If I tell them who I voted for, I'm sure it won't take much convincing.
Your $40-sea-moss-from-Erewhon-eating explorer,
Gib Manrique
Entry five
Hello everyone. I think this is going to be my final entry. While I am not done with my expedition in LA yet, I don't feel like writing about it anymore. I feel as though my painstakingly accurate observations have made me a bit cynical toward this new city, so I am ending the project here.
Don't get me wrong. What I have said about LA is true, and it should be considered when discussing the city as a whole, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't also having the time of my life.
It is very different from Arizona, yes, but that is not necessarily a bad thing. I feel as though many people are scared of what they don't understand, and I hope this research helps broaden everyone's understanding of this place.
I hope when I return to my home and share my findings with the rest of my team of expert scientists over at State Press Magazine, they can appreciate the lengths I have gone to provide this absolutely necessary and critical information.
That is, if I don't die via an earthquake or from the shame of not being the hottest person in West Hollywood, which is always a possibility.
Your LA resident,
Gib Manrique
Edited by Savannah Dagupion, Leah Mesquita and Audrey Eagerton. This story is part of The Contrast Issue, which was released on March 26, 2025. See the entire publication here.
Reach the reporter at amanri14@asu.edu and follow @iamGibManrique on X. Like State Press Magazine on Facebook, follow @statepressmag on X and Instagram and read our releases on Issuu.
Gib is a junior studying journalism and mass communication with a minor in film and media. This is their second semester with The State Press. They have also worked at Blaze Radio and The Chic Daily.
