Based In - Los Angeles
Throughout our journey we've consistently heard that LA is more of a transport hub than a destination and that we should spend as little time as possible here because it's crap. Well after spending three nights here I can honestly say that we've had a Lucile (Ball) and although I wouldn't want to live here (because I can't afford to, because I am not beautiful enough and because the traffic would drive me, slowly, to an early grave), we're going to leave with nothing but good memories of the place...and not just because it was the place where I watched Everton dispose of Man Utd to reach the final of the FA Cup. Still, I'm going to put it in the same bracket as Singapore as a great place to visit but probably a naff place to live unless you are uber-rich. At least it only took me three nights to work it out this time rather than two years in Singabore. I guess coming in with such low expectations can only lead to pleasant surprises but that's really not an excuse for going through life with a permanent sou
r puss.Still, if I was going to live here, and assuming that I've not won the lottery or found some hidden performing talent that I've kept hidden for the past 32 years (although I never really have seriously tried yodeling) I would plonk myself somewhere in Hermosa Beach as it maintains that relaxed surf town feel that seems a million miles from the hustle and bustle of LA. The downside is that I would HAVE to get fit as playing beach volleyball seems the equivalent of darts here and nobody wants to see 250lb of moobs caked in sand. It would be tough, however, as the jovial staff at Micky's Deli would be forever tempting me with their incredible bulging subs that come on a chewy roll reminiscent of a bagel and come laced with banana peppers as standard. Yum.
Now onto the serious touristy stuff. Hollywood, Beverly Hills and Bel Air. Of c
ourse it's possible to buy a $5 map detailing the homes of the stars but
as that would involve one of us to drive and the other to nav
igate (a sure recipe for a speedy divorce), we decided
the safest approach would be to take an open top SUV tour and, apart from being baked alive in 102 degree sunshine for two hours, it was pretty awesome stuff. The tour starts on Hollywood Boulevard which is where the star's stars litter the pavement and the opportunity to have your pic
ture taken with random dressed up characters (Superman, Marilynn Monroe, Gene Simmons...complete with 7'' tongue) is never more than a step away. I thought that there would be maybe 100 of these stars to forever memorialise the acievements of Hollywood's true great performers (Charlie Chaplin, Robert DeNiro, Judy Garland etc) but actually there are 2,300 of them and it looks like you only need to have stared in a Verizon commercial and have a spare $25,000 to get one. Most of the names I didn't even know but seeing Ryan Seacrest's star really diluted the achievement of having a star for me...I mean, he only talks to stars and speculates on whether or not they are pregnant. It's probably just jealousy on my behalf. Still, the 'stars' need to stump up the 25 grand from their own pocket and a nice story is that Liza Minnel
li refused to pay the fee so her fan club held a bake sale for 7 years to raise the cash. By way of thanks, she has promised to continue to perform terribly on both stage stage and screen until she dies. Outside the Grauman's C
hinese theater (next to the Kodak Theater which hosts The Oscars every year) are the iconic hand and footprints of the stars and I now know that I have the same size hands as Tom Hanks and it looks like I have my own set of handprints if I kneel down at a certain angle (with apologies to the estate of Cary Grant).
Onto the tour proper which starts around the beautiful suburbs of Beverly Hills where houses cost somewhere between $4m and $8m. The nice thing about the houses is that, despite being mini-palaces, they are all unique and manage to maintain a real homely, cosy feel. Don't get me wrong, there is the occasional display of vulgarness (like the owner of Guess jeans who has a squadron of gleaming Ferraris lined up outside his mansion) but somehow it doesn't seem in bad taste. As we moved into the hills of Bel Air (where the
mid price for a house shoots up to $20m), what struck me as weird was that amongst the superstar owners (Jennifer Aniston, Michael Jackson, the sticky Christina Aguilera etc) were houses owned by 'normal' people. Clearly they will be minted heads of commerce but if they aren't in and Fed Ex needs to deliver a package then ticking the 'leave it with a neighbour' box will mean that you have to pop over to Matthew Perry's place to retrieve it. All right, I know it doesn't work like this in practice but you get what I mean. Amongst the highlights for me were the pink Hotel California (actually called the Hotel Beverly Hills) which is what The Eagles were singing about, a house with a 1/4 mile swimming pool that has been left abandoned for 20 years and the ex-home of The Osbournes that was used in their reality show which we were addicted to for a while. But the real highlight was turning the corner and being faced with the house Will Smith upgrades to in the Fresh Prince. Ah, memories.
For entertainment in the evening I enjoyed putting on dresses and completely sha
ving myself. Obviously that's not true but I couldn't think of anything more embarrassing that what we actually did and I can't think of a way to make it sound less lame so I guess I'll just have to blurt it out. We went to see Britney Spears. And it gets worse. They were supported by The Pussycat Dolls. My testicles only re-emerged a few hours ago but my ears will never stop ringing thanks to the screams of 20,000 pre and post pubescent females. As you would expect from America's most successful product since guns, it was quite a show although I was a bit miffed that, unlike the PCDs (as anyone in the know calls them), she didn't actually sing. The general excuse for miming is that it's not possible to put on such a dance show and be lyrically perfect but, from what we saw, it looked like she just wandered around the stage whilst her backing dancers did all the acrobatics. It was still surreal when faced with her (and we were only 11 rows back despite booking the tickets just a few days earlier) as...well, it's Britney bitch and she's a bit of a legend no matter what your musical persuasion. Yet another sign that velvet elbow patches and dementia are just around the corner was the pure relief at the concert ending as my head was going to explode with the shear volume of the whole event. I'm adding it to the ever-increasing list of "I'm glad we did it but I won't be doing it again".We leave LA tomorrow following the coast north to Santa Barbara. On the way I get to kick sand in the faces of the dweebs at Muscle Beach...wish me luck.
No comments:
Post a Comment