Walk a Mile in my Shoes - Part Deux

So, I haven't had any new, profound L.A. experiences to chronicle of late. But what I can do, is revisit a topic from before, with a deeper understanding of the dynamics in play. I started exercise walking around January or so (I've lost over 20 lbs. I might add!) Ordinarily, I take the same route, heading West down Santa Monica Blvd. towards Beverly Hills, usually culminating in my reaching the border. So, you walk it 3-4 times a week for 6-7 months, you pick up a few things about humanity, and specifically, West Hollywood humanity. I've grown comfortable with this route. I have specific landmarks I can use that are good points of accoplishment. Plus, if I go east on Santa Monica, it gets dingy and more "wrong-side-of-the-tracks-y." And, it's always interesting.
A half mile in, I pass Fairfax Ave. This is basically the line of separation between Russian W. Hollywood, and predominantly gay W. Hollywood. Cross that street and all of a sudden, there's an abundance of clearly gay establishments. (this is where the Gay Pride parade runs, for example). Gay gyms. Gay bars, like "Trunks." Gay clothing stores, where I'm inundated with things like, cut male torso mannequins, advertising the skimpiest of male thongs and such. And there's also a lot of restaurants featuring outdoor, patio seating, that aren't necessarily gay, per se, but are dominated by a gay crowd. I'm not passing judgement, it's simply what is. So, one thing I find somewhat hilarious is when I see obvious tourists from middle America, knee deep in the festivities. I have to ask myself the motivation, and it boils down to, either some Nebraskan couple's wanting to "take a walk on the wild side," or, an overall cluelessness as to what's going on around them. I suppose it's conceivable that someone heard that the chicken sandwich at some otherwise forgettable restaurant is stellar, but I doubt that's the norm. Regardless, both scenarios make me chuckle. Maybe it's just me, but seeing some good old boy from the midwest, baseball cap in effect, whooping it up with his girlfriend at one of these bars just kills me.
I am prone to people watching during my walk. There's a lot of characters to observe, as well as a lot of eye candy. I mean, this IS Hollywood. But when the lights go down, things get a little funny. See, there's also a lot of queens in W. Hollywood. And after sunset, one's gotta be really careful. There's a legitimate danger of seeing someone approaching in the distance, thinking, "she looks nice," only to notice, (in my best Austin Powers voice), "that's a man, baby!" That's never fun. You can at least begin to see how Eddie Murphy got in trouble a few years back.
Closer to Beverly Hills, there's a few upscale restaurants like Dan Tana's, a steakhouse I see on TMZ a lot. Lots of beautiful people, valet parking and velvet ropes. Lots of movers and shakers, and one sweaty walker shouting Public Enemy lyrics from under his headphones. Anyway, I'm walking by recently, and I see these three young dandies putzing around on the curb, waiting for daddy to pull up in the Range Rover. Alls I could think of, as I saw these three Brody Jenner looking types was, "it's just a matter of time before these kids finish their metamorphasis into full-blown, Hollywood p*cks, living their entitled lives to the fullest, and making everyone around them miserable." Terrible. Terrible that that's how I feel, and terrible because it's probably true.
I do enjoy my walks though. Immensely. I'm always a fan of observing the human condition, good, bad, interesting, ALWAYS hilarious. It's completely just as reasonable for any of the lot I've described to have a chuckle at my disposal over there dinner. "Who's this putz walking up the street doing air-turntables with his hands? He thinks he's all that with his Hendrix t-shirt with the cut-off sleves."