L.A.-Day 4
Hopefully I’ll have the mojo to type this up later today or tomorrow, because I’m feeling extremely sick at moment. On a completely unrelated note, look at the stray monkey […]
I’m back in Virginia and my Ebola has mostly cleared up, meaning it’s time to write. Here are a few final stories and musings from my last two days in California.
Before I elaborate, I’ll throw out the caveat that I have yet to visit San Francisco, but I’m fairly sure West Hollywood could give it a gay run for its gay money. My hostess Furby and I passed through W.H. during her two-day hunt for the right color of nail polish. (I should slam my nuts in a mayonnaise jar then twist the lid til they pop off like I was bobbing a puppy’s tail after typing that, because my balls are obviously only ornamental in nature at this point.) The area proudly flies rainbow flags everywhere, and, being the man about town that I am, I knew that meant the area was gay-friendly (either that or they were all big fans of Dark Side of the Moon). But it took a few minutes of looking around to realize juuuust how gay friendly we were talking. I mean, call me naive, but to me, it simply looked like a bunch of fit guys having fun together at first! I felt like Homer taking Bart to a steel mill to butch him up only to learn it was a gay steel mill. It was all so manly…at first.
The moment lightest-in-the-loafers took place in a cosmetics boutique (fancy that). Furby finally found her nail polish and was purchasing it from the cashier, who was a rather fabulous fellow, if you catch my meaning. He cracked some joke which I laughed at, which then led to me getting a smile accompanied by a long, meaningful gaze. And I won’t lie: At first, I returned it. I mean, I’m a straight guy, but I’m also a complete glutton for adoration and approval. Am I really going to be that picky about the source? After about four seconds, though, it got a little uncomfortable, so I shifted my gaze from his flirty saucers to Furby’s boobs, which I figured would send the message of “I’m not the Mario Cantone to her Charlotte York, even though I feel kinda gay knowing what that phrase means.” It was received loud and clear, which is good, because Furby was about two seconds away from getting “I am straight” honked in Morse code on her chest unbeknownst to her (it’s a fact that all gay people know Morse code).
I’ll level with you: I hate improv comedy. I mean, just look at those goons. Every single one of them is making an expression that makes me want to stab a broken fluorescent bulb into their anus or carotid artery. But if you’re ever in Los Angeles, you really should check out a performance at the Groundlings Theater.
The Groundlings are famous for churning out talent that goes on to achieve greatness. Phil Hartman, Will Ferrell and Jon Lovitz are all Groundlings alums, just to name a few. (So is Jimmy Fallon, but that’s like holding Godfather III against the first two films.) To make a long story short, I caught the Thursday night Cookin’ With Gas show and cannot remember the last time I was so impressed by the level of talent in front of me. Maya Rudolph was the most famous person performing, but there was also the bald geek from Community and the butterface from Reno 911!. Most impressive by far was Gary Anthony Williams, probably best known for his work on Malcom in the Middle. I can’t understand why this guy isn’t hugely famous. Besides the fact he’s incredibly overweight, black and doesn’t resort to screaming “git-r-done” for laughs. But yeah, other than that, he’s a star, baby!
Moments after getting dropped off at LAX, I saw a mass of cameras snapping away and filming footage of an attractive, if leathery, cougar and her miniature, gray-haired consort. It took me a few moments to identify her, but it was none other than Lisa Rinna being filmed for her reality show Harry Loves Lisa (I guess the gray Keebler Elf I saw was Harry). The two of them walked back and forth in front of me multiple times as I sat on the phone so that the footage of their return to LAX could be filmed from countless angles. If you watch the show and see a somewhat slimmer, more terroristy-looking Zach Galifianakis in the background of any of the LAX shots, it’s yours truly. Or one of Los Angeles’ 4,000,000 Armenians. Either way, lemme know.
reallyprofound on October 11, 2010
Good to have you back in the East, man. The Pacific Coast can only handle so much greasiness. Or was that greekiness? Either way.
The Davie St area of Vancouver’s downtown would definitely give Homo Alley in LA a run for its gay shekhels, btw.
Mrs Payrez on October 11, 2010
Richmond has a homosexual prostitution area. Less rainbow flags. More used condoms riddled with the AIDS laying about.
I bet you’ll definitely be coming down for Halloween now.