*** L.A. grew too much for the (wo)man***
Ok, since the only people who seem to read this blog have probably already heard my anti-L.A. tirade since I returned from Hell-Ay, I thought that I would regale you with some of the choice moments of my trip.
choice moment one:
Rebecca sits on Jet Blue Airlines one row behind NILE RODGERS! He gets out his laptop and fiddles with it mid-flight. I'm starstruck (hey, I have been Madonna for, like, three separate Halloweens in my life. For those of you who aren't VH1 specials addicts, Nile was in the Apollo's house band as a teenager; he was the amazing rhythm guitarist for the best licked disco band- Chic; and he produced Madge's Like a Virgin, as well as stuff by Beck, Diana Ross and David Bowie. Oh yeah, and he is ALWAYS a talking head on VH1.) and contemplate how I can weasel my way into a conversation with him. The flight ends. I say nothing.
choice moment two:
the scene: waiting in line for the Vacation's show at Spaceland. L.A.'s version of cognescenti mill around, looking like they are either trying too hard (the woman in ripped leggings, high heels and big Motley Crue-circa 1985 hair) or going to the mall in the Valley (the two women in front of me who, aside from their facial piercings could have been my first and second grade teachers respectively). I overhear this gem (and am forced to actually stiffle a public giggle):
Woman in pink peasant blouse: Well, Max's band is playing here on Thursday.
Her friend, who is wearing a nose ring and black jeans: OMigod, Max is one of my friendsters.
WIPPB: Really? It's been so long since someone I actually liked asked to be my friendster.
HF: Totally.
(Ok, maybe I'm a snob and I'm making fun of these people unnecessarily. But the cool kids in NY- and BY NO MEANS am I including myself in that group- were WAY cooler than these yahoos.)
choice moment three:
My big celebrity citing moment, Nile aside, is either seeing Real World San Francisco Judd (or a reasonable facsimile) at In and Out Burger, where I ate an amazing non-menu grilled cheese. Or seeing Nick Stahl in the pick up mecca of Barney's Beanery. C'mon people! What is the point of going to lala land if you aren't going to see Jennifer Aniston not-eating at the Ivy!
choice moment four:
Without getting into detail, let's just say that I do not like to be torn away from a morning of watching soap operas and smoking by a visit from the LAPD. There's nothing like being questioned by cops while in your pajamas. Did I mention that I was being questioned regarding a murder in the building? Well, I guess you haven't truly been to LA unless you've had some kind of run in with the cops.
choice moment number five:
Missing my flight back to New York City, because an accident on the 405- complete with fire truck action- caused me to sit in traffic. So instead I waited SEVEN HOURS at the Long Beach airport (during which I procceded to sing Leaving on a Midnight Train to Georgia to myself as I chain smoked, simply because I loved going, "OOOOh LA, grew too much for the man.") and flew standby on the red eye. On the plane I sat in between a foul-breathed stock broker who divided his time between snoring loudly and talking my ear off and a woman who just snored loudly. I couldn't fall asleep- what with the cacophonous snoring and all- so I just watched VH1 Classic and reruns of LA Law on A&E. I literally almost kissed the ground at JFK.
Remind me not to leave town again.
Ok, since the only people who seem to read this blog have probably already heard my anti-L.A. tirade since I returned from Hell-Ay, I thought that I would regale you with some of the choice moments of my trip.
choice moment one:
Rebecca sits on Jet Blue Airlines one row behind NILE RODGERS! He gets out his laptop and fiddles with it mid-flight. I'm starstruck (hey, I have been Madonna for, like, three separate Halloweens in my life. For those of you who aren't VH1 specials addicts, Nile was in the Apollo's house band as a teenager; he was the amazing rhythm guitarist for the best licked disco band- Chic; and he produced Madge's Like a Virgin, as well as stuff by Beck, Diana Ross and David Bowie. Oh yeah, and he is ALWAYS a talking head on VH1.) and contemplate how I can weasel my way into a conversation with him. The flight ends. I say nothing.
choice moment two:
the scene: waiting in line for the Vacation's show at Spaceland. L.A.'s version of cognescenti mill around, looking like they are either trying too hard (the woman in ripped leggings, high heels and big Motley Crue-circa 1985 hair) or going to the mall in the Valley (the two women in front of me who, aside from their facial piercings could have been my first and second grade teachers respectively). I overhear this gem (and am forced to actually stiffle a public giggle):
Woman in pink peasant blouse: Well, Max's band is playing here on Thursday.
Her friend, who is wearing a nose ring and black jeans: OMigod, Max is one of my friendsters.
WIPPB: Really? It's been so long since someone I actually liked asked to be my friendster.
HF: Totally.
(Ok, maybe I'm a snob and I'm making fun of these people unnecessarily. But the cool kids in NY- and BY NO MEANS am I including myself in that group- were WAY cooler than these yahoos.)
choice moment three:
My big celebrity citing moment, Nile aside, is either seeing Real World San Francisco Judd (or a reasonable facsimile) at In and Out Burger, where I ate an amazing non-menu grilled cheese. Or seeing Nick Stahl in the pick up mecca of Barney's Beanery. C'mon people! What is the point of going to lala land if you aren't going to see Jennifer Aniston not-eating at the Ivy!
choice moment four:
Without getting into detail, let's just say that I do not like to be torn away from a morning of watching soap operas and smoking by a visit from the LAPD. There's nothing like being questioned by cops while in your pajamas. Did I mention that I was being questioned regarding a murder in the building? Well, I guess you haven't truly been to LA unless you've had some kind of run in with the cops.
choice moment number five:
Missing my flight back to New York City, because an accident on the 405- complete with fire truck action- caused me to sit in traffic. So instead I waited SEVEN HOURS at the Long Beach airport (during which I procceded to sing Leaving on a Midnight Train to Georgia to myself as I chain smoked, simply because I loved going, "OOOOh LA, grew too much for the man.") and flew standby on the red eye. On the plane I sat in between a foul-breathed stock broker who divided his time between snoring loudly and talking my ear off and a woman who just snored loudly. I couldn't fall asleep- what with the cacophonous snoring and all- so I just watched VH1 Classic and reruns of LA Law on A&E. I literally almost kissed the ground at JFK.
Remind me not to leave town again.
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