I have ventured once more out to the strange and marvellous world that is the west coast. I have two weeks ahead of me in Los Angeles, primarily shuttling around between Westwood, Beverly Hills, and anywhere else the Wilshire Blvd. bus can take me. Here are a few initial notes on my L.A. experiences over the past 24 hours:
You know you're on a plane to L.A. when a guy sitting in your row pulls out his screenplay for in-flight reading material. Good Lord--does it get any more L.A. than that? It was all pristine and crisp-cornered, with impressively shiny brass brads. I'm thinking, great, excellent, good for you--I mean, hey, I've got one of those kicking around myself--but it's soooo much less pretentious to just kick back with a vacuous magazine like the rest of your comrades in coach. You ain't gonna run into Jerry Bruckheimer at the back of the bus, buddy--better off snagging an FHM.
I actually saw people break into a car-fight today over entering/exiting a parking garage on La Cienega. I think that the car-fight might be an L.A.-specific phenomenon. It's like any other kind of fight, except the participants never get out of their cars; they just yell and gesture wildly as if they were within striking distance of their opponent. What happened was one car exited the parking garage at the same time another car was about to turn into it. They very nearly ran into each other--then both slammed on the brakes and started raising hell. I don't believe it had been resolved by the time I got to my bus-stop. They very well could still be out there.
Rodeo Drive actually sparkles. I think they use Crest Street Whitener (TM).
My cab driver yesterday told me he once gave Ashton Kutcher a lift before he was famous. Except the cabbie wasn't sure of Ashton Kutcher's name. He just said "You know--the guy who's with Demi Moore." Ooooh....SNAP!
More instalments are forthcoming (I'm hoping to write enough L.A. blogs that they can go into blog syndication).
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