L.A.'s REAL Stars

So, recently, Bubba and I went for a Saturday afternoon cruise. We've really become taken with tooling around the Hills and such. On a clear day from the top, you can see well into the Pacific on the south side, and about three layers of mountains deep on the north side. Just spectacular. Kind of like L.A.'s version of going to the top of the Empire State Building. Anyway, this particular Saturday, at the suggestion of my friend Emei, we went on up to the Observatory in Griffith Park. Now, the observatory is one of the few genuine landmarks of L.A. It rests high in the hills, neighboring the Hollywood sign, and visible from miles around. Early on in our tenure here, we'd started towards it, only to find it was undergoing massive renovations. Now though, it's back up and running, so we figured we'd check it out.

Back in the Apple, Bubba and I lived a stones throw from the Planeterium. We'd venture there often, seeing as how observing genuine stars was none too easy, given all the smog and light pollution. More than anything, we loved the show. The old, theater in the round, lean back and stare up at the laser generated universe. So when we got to the L.A. version, our New Yorker came out as we smugly anticipated an inferior product. Our snobbery was only intensified when we were less than impressed with the surrounding museum exhibits. Say what you want about your humble narrator, but if nothing else, he can admit when he's wrong. The L.A. version was slamming. The biggest, bestest difference was the fact that they opted not for a James Earl Jones, Morgan Freeman, or Tom Hanks type of narration, but actually that of a a LIVE human being. Our celestial tour guide was an enthusiastic, knowledgeable woman who doled out a fantastic buffet of information. Couple that with some stunning visuals, some of which rivaled an IMAX virtual rollercoaster ride.

Our inner John Glenn's satiated, we strolled around the grounds as well, and were treated to wondrous panoramas of SoCal. I have to say, the views don't get tired around here. I don't know the official elevation, but it feels like being atop any number of the New York skyscrapers, where the wonder of it all is displayed over 360 degrees. Add in the fact that you can the ocean, and via a mere twist of your neck, be treated to snow capped mountains and it adds up to a pretty sweet show that God's put on down here.

Walk a Mile in My Shoes

Hello all. I'm back. I've been MIA as I try to heal up my perpetually sore hands. I've got a backlog o' tidbits to catch up on, and I'll do so as my hands permit. Anyway, on with the show.
So, one of the benefits of being unemp...er, "employment challenged" right now is that it has afforded me the opportunity to get my ass in shape. I've done the gym thing before, and may still again, but for now, I've taken to hitting the streets with my size 13's. I strap on the headphones, blare my militant hip-hop records or warning label rock and roll on the I-Pod that Bubba can't stand, and do my thing. I can't emphasize enough how good it is to do folks. I'm under the Mendoza line (that's 200 for those uninitiated to the obscure baseball reference) for the first time in 10 years. Plus, the more I do it, the more I WANT to do it. Anyway, that's my PSA for this morning.
Walking the streets of West Hollywood has shown me a few things. First and foremost, it is a deceptively small town. By that I mean, I've been able to up the ante to about 4.5 miles (2.25 miles each way), and I've discovered that the vast majority of my life was already contained within a 2 1/2 mile radius, JUST LIKE NEW YORK. I try to switch up my route to keep it interesting, and no matter which way I go, I end up within my life radius. If I go North, I could be in the heart of tourist Hollywood (Chinese Theater, Kodak Theater, Walk of Fame). If I go south, I'm at the Bev Center Mall. If I go west, I get to the border of Beverly Hills. If I go east, I get to the "wrong side of the tracks" of Hollywood, so I don't go east. Bottom line, the town FEELS bigger than it is, because that mile you usually drive in 10 minutes, is actually just a mile.
More specifically, one really gets command of one's neighborhood when you walk it every day. For instance, I've discovered there are ELEVEN, count 'em, ELEVEN Russian groceries/deli's just within the first 10 minutes of my walk. They all sell the same things, at the same prices. I know because I can always score a good deal for Orville. If one place has cherry tomatoes on sale, they ALL do. And they all sell the same bizarre chocolates, and they all sell the same media that are Scrabble players dream words (lots of Z's, Q's, K's in the words).
I've also discovered that there is a remarkably high amount of community service going on. Every day, I see a different platoon of young folks sporting the county vest, picking up trash. It's why I don't drive at night, for clearly the drunk drivers are rampant.
Also near us is the bizarro counterpoint to the Chinese theater. The Pussycat theater that I walk by apparently has legendary status. I know this because outside, the biggest "stars" are cemented in the sidewalk. Only, it's not the hands and feat of Bogart, Eastwood, and Monroe, but of Holmes, Chambers, and Jeremy. Thank God it's just the hands and feet they've imprinted.
Lastly, there seems to be a remarkable number of people "taking meetings" every morning. I swear, I walk by these restaurants and it's uncanny. You can just tell. Everyone there is pitching a script, or trying to be seen. As many BAD movies as there are that are released, God only knows what kind of tripe is being REJECTED. But, that's Hollywood I guess.