Hollyweird and the Republican hotel
A random collection of stuff that’s happened so far…
|Lee Judge||Dec 27, 2019|| 3|
Holy crap! I didn’t mean to start with this, but just got a look at this picture which should be next to an LA Times story headlined: “Serial killer stalks Grauman Chinese Theatre.” Clearly, I need to smile more. I look like Lee Harvey Oswald’s cousin.
So anyway, I check into my cheap hotel half a block off Hollywood Boulevard with very low expectations and so far the hotel has met them.
That’s OK, I picked it because I was going to stay here nine days and didn’t want to owe them my first-born male child when I check out which would suck for my son Matt, but would actually be kinda convenient because he’s along on this trip and I could let him know about his new living situation by simply saying, “Guess who’s not going to the airport?”
The hotel is clean and well-located – just down the street from my son Paul’s apartment – but the key cards don’t always work, they hand out toilet paper like it’s got $50 bills printed on it and the free coffee sucks.
Pretty sure you get the picture.
So with my low expectations and luggage I was surprised to open the door to my room and find this on one of the beds:
That’s right, towel origami.
Which makes me wonder what employee has time to make towels look like two swans about to get it on and why that employee can’t find time to drop off an extra roll of Charmin.
But the swans were topped by this bad boy in the bathroom:
Clearly the hotel people have seen some of my cartoons and this is a personal insult and if half the rooms don’t have a towel donkey in them, Motel 6 has some ‘splainin’ to do.
Last night we went to Paul’s favorite sushi restaurant, a place called Sugarfish.
Two things about that; when your son has a favorite sushi restaurant it feels like he’s gone just the tiniest bit Hollywood, but after eating there I can see why he likes it.
The chances of getting a fresh piece of fish would seem to increase dramatically if you can see the ocean out your hotel window and that chunk of yellowfin tuna didn’t have to take planes, trains and automobiles halfway across the country in John Candy’s suitcase to make it to your plate in Kansas City.
Also, Sugarfish serves your meal a single course at a time which forces you to slow down and actually enjoy your food which as we all know is completely Un-American and ought to be investigated by Congress. True patriots want all our food brought at once so we can inhale it in whatever order we choose and if the serving is so big it hangs off the edges of the plate, so much the better.
Matt, Paul and I had dinner and drinks and I was pleasantly surprised when I got the bill and it was only 70 bucks.
Matt rechecked the bill and informed me that because it was one of those restaurants so dim they provide seeing-eye dogs at the door, I had missed the “1” in front of the “7.”
Still worth it, though.
If you’re considering starting a small business on Hollywood Boulevard you might try selling “selfie sticks” because I’ve seen more of them in 72 hours in LA than I have in 39 years in the Midwest.
The other day some dude went by on a skateboard wearing a backpack and a Santa Claus hat while using a selfie stick to make a video of himself.
As Paul has pointed out, pretty much everybody out here wants to be famous for something even if they can’t do anything. And now that we all have access to social media a lot of people think that’s their path to fame and if they do something moronic enough someone will notice and unfortunately, the morons just might be right.
Apparently, entertainment industry execs who wouldn’t know talent if it slapped them in the face and choked them out are handing out contracts to people who have large internet followings.
So people who can’t carry a tune in a bucket even when someone else provides the tune and bucket are given recording contracts just in case all those internet followers decide they want to hear this person sing.
And if that seems unlikely, suck on this:
Paris Hilton has an album.
Dude looks like a lady…and vice versa
Maybe I’m a dimwit (and the only thing wrong with that statement is the maybe) but since arriving in Hollywood I have mistaken women for men and men for women on more than one occasion.
Frankly, that doesn’t bother me and generally I consider how someone decides to dress in public none of my business, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering about some of their fashion choices.
As I waited on the corner for a light to change a dude or dudette – I still don’t know which – pulled up next to me dressed like a construction worker (boots, stained jeans, plaid coat and knit hat), but with a face made up like a Las Vegas showgirl.
Made me wonder just what look this person was shooting for and why they didn’t pick a lane, but I gotta reluctantly admit whatever team they were playing for he or she had an attractive face.
You go, girl-and-or guy.
Also, if you’re doing everything possible to look like a guy and I make the mistake of thinking you’re a guy, at least some of that is on you.
After Sugarfish we watched “Once Upon A Time in Hollywood” because it’s:
A. A good movie, and…
B. Paul and Matt had not seen it and…
C. Parts of it were filmed in Paul’s neighborhood.
The Playboy Mansion party scene made Paul a little wistful because it appeared everybody at that party was having fun and working hard to get high or laid, preferably both.
Apparently, Hollywood parties these days are considered opportunities to network and are grim, desperate affairs with the wanna-bes trying to get five minutes of facetime with the already-ares.
Turns out our generation not only had better music than the one that followed, but we also did a better job of partying, so the next time some Millennial drops that, “OK, Boomer” shit on you, go right ahead and tell them to shove their iPhone up their ass.
And while they’re at it, they might wanna use a selfie stick.