We’ve been away for just under a month, but that’s all the time that you need to have LA drawn into sharp focus. Plus the place is just a minefield of awesome and dumb. My favorite things since our return:
– Seeing dozens of people pushing around shopping trolleys. None of them were in supermarkets. It’s not uncommon to pass three or four a day, I’d forgotten how normal that seems here. I’m surprised that the parking cops don’t ticket them.
– They are already starting the warm up for the 2012 election on all the news channels. Someone remarked on how late a start it was. If hearing Xmas carols in September pisses you off, live through a US election campaign, I dare you.
– My parking mojo is back on. There’s a weird beginner’s luck every time you come home, you’re so used to getting around easily overseas in taxis and public transport that the LA parking war doesn’t enter your consciousness. It’s great, for a few weeks you get Doris Day parking all over town. Until you think about it, then you’re doomed. Oh, shit. Oh well.
– Our Latina housekeeper has redecorated our entire loungeroom in easter themes complete with hidden easter eggs. Which we found and ate before Sunday. Jetlagged and sugar deprived at 4am, we raided the candy eggs like crackheads looking for a fallen rock in the sofa. Mea Culpa Christina.
– And finally, no return to LA is complete without a star spotting. Paul and I went to see Plan B, a great British band, at the El Rey. The best thing about seeing foreign bands in America is that no one knows who they are. $20 a ticket in a two-thirds filled theatre to see a band that sell out arenas in the UK.
Paul and I are enjoying the show when all of a sudden a couple brush by us; a tall leggy blonde and Zac Ephron. Now, I have to say that I quite like Zac Ephron. Not his movies, but his attitude. I read an interview with him where he talked about how there are literally a thousand guys that look like him and can act, sing and dance like him. He’s not special, but lucky. Nice to hear from a young star these days.
But when he came by and scoped out Paul’s beard, all the gloves were off. Paul has been growing a beard for a year ever since he closed his last company. The amount of attention it gets it may as well have its own FB page. Particularly from guys.
Now Zac may have been having the usual reaction that straight guys do, the internal monologue of which goes something like this:
“Fuck, look at the beard on that guy. That’s awesome. I wish I could touch it. Is that gay? That’s a bit gay. I wonder who he is. He must have his own business or something. Or maybe he’s rich. My girlfriend won’t even let me have a three-day growth. He looks like Grizzly Adams. I always liked that show. I want to touch it. He looked at me! He knows I want to touch it. Look away, look away…”
Zac was hypnotized by the full force follicle attack that was just an arm’s length away.
Then it occurred to me that he may be gay. I don’t know, maybe his is, maybe he isn’t. But if he is, then that’s a whole different thought process. One that steps onto my turf. Back up kid, or one of those thousand other guys that looks like you is going to get his shot.
We’ve been trolleyed, election-ified, parked like rock stars, done lines of Easter eggs and my boyfriend’s been scoped out by a film star at a gig.
Yes Toto, I think we’re home.