Tales and thoughts from my second day in the bastion of conservative American values that is Los Angeles:
-My gracious hostess Briana, aka “Furby” due to her massive eyes (I didn’t come up with the nickname so I can’t get into trouble if I overuse it to the point of annoyance), started the day by driving me around a few of the more palatial estates in Hollywood, including the houses of William H. Macy, Charlize Theron and Ben Stiller. I cannot convey how massive and spectacular these mini-palaces looked (which is fine, given that I’m trying to make a living as a writer and writers tend to employ the written word to, I don’t know, convey things). Let’s just say each of these houses, if moved to a remote island, would have been perfect for hosting Enter the Dragon-esque competitions hosting hundreds of the world’s most brutal martial artists. I guess making movies about museums that come to life at night and magical negroes (it’s a literary term, look it up) should totally pay more than anything my dad, God rest his soul, could have wet dreamed about earning while working as a locksmith 60 hours a week to support our family. That sounds fair.
-After hours of pleading, I was finally permitted to eat some of the delicious West Coast fast-food I’d been dying to digest and store under my disturbingly large areolas as manboobs. My first stop was In-N-Out Burger. The verdict? Better than McDonalds, Wendy’s and Burger King, not as good as Five Guys. Still, the classic Double-Double burger was only $2.99 and, apparently, not made of pure filth (unlike Jack in the Box, which is owned by Purina. Yeah, let that one sink in), so I give it a thumbs up.
Later in the day, I was treated to a milkshake from…Jack in the Box (hey, I called into question their meat, not their dairy). They were serving both eggnog and pumpkin pie flavored milkshakes in addition to the standard chocolate/vanilla/strawberry array. How is that even fair? We on the East Coast get a fucking Shamrock Shake every March which, let’s keeps it real, is just a vanilla shake with green food dye, yet the West is rocking eggnog and pumpkin pie (with optional whipped cream on top, no less)? It filled me with a tremendous jealoushunger (a new emotion that I’ve copyrighted) that was only cured by the swift and total consumption of a medium pumpkin shake. Verdict? Bueno.
-In front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater, a man was walking his dog. Sounds pretty standard practice, right? Well, let me blow your mind: The dog was wearing sunglasses. And people were going batshit for it. For those of you unaware, the Chinese Theater is home to tons of people that make a living dressing up as celebrities and charging a few bucks if you wish to take a picture with them. I saw Jason. I saw Spider-Man. I saw Marilyn Monroe. And all of them were alone and and staring daggers at this dog as throngs of people crowded around him like he was Christ arisen. It’s not like he even looked like a famous dog, either. I could understand if it was, you know, Lassie or Air Bud. But there they were, dying to get a picture taken with the dog in sunglasses. And you know the worst part? I wanted my picture taken with him, too. I never knew a dog wearing an article of clothing normally reserved for a human being would affect me in such a visceral way, but that’s what my trip to Los Angeles was supposed to be about in the first place: Discovery.