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February 01, 2006
More L.A. Shite from Bob
Bob Massey
I did a total effing triple-take the other day as I passed this cemetery down the street. It’s called Hollywood Forever. Do I shit you? I do not. It’s like Hell and Hollywood switched doormats. The only thing missing in this scenario is a sign arching over the 101 as you drive into town that reads “Relinquish hope all ye who enter.” Because over the door to the netherworld it clearly reads “Hollywood Forever.” God I hope not. Maybe something like Fish Tacos Forever. That I could get with.
Only rating a double-take was the neighborhood pole-climber for SBC (our phone/DSL provider). She’s totally hot. She’s rocking a utility belt and a helmet, too. Shexshie. This neighborhood must be her beat because I’ve seen her on this street a couple of times. She’s so hot, in fact, in that baby-tee and tool belt, that I kinda sorta wondered if I wasn’t witnessing some kind of B-roll to a porn shoot. You know, the big twist is that instead of the hunky male repairman at the door, it’s the hot – uh – pole climber. Here to fix the cable. Sir. Oh, are you having trouble with your pants?
Which brings us to blimps. There’s a lot of them in this town. I don’t know why. So far I’ve seen the following blimps: Sanyo, Goodyear, Met Life and this multi-colored, vaguely Keith Haring-style blimp. Which turns out to be the Ameriquest blimp. Five thousand school kids painted it. As blimps go, it rules. Which is saying a lot because blimps already ruled pretty hard. But the greatest thing about blimps is that you can hear the low drone of their engines for several minutes before they pass directly over your house. This gives you time to run out to the front yard in your boxers like a panting idiot and stare up at the sky, giggling with unmanly excitement. If you’re so inclined. Not that I am.
http://www.soaringdreams.org/news_051205.html
I am, however, inclined to declare that every song ever written about Los Angeles in general, and Hollywood in particular, is shit. I submit as evidence: “Ventura Highway,” by Crosby, Stills and Nash; that stupid Sheryl Crow song where she sings about Santa Monica Boulevard and which springs to mind unbidden whenever I turn onto the damn thing; “Free Fallin’,” by Tom Petty, which shut up already, I can hear you protesting from here, but, I’m sorry, Tom Petty mostly sucks; some Bob Seger song that I forget – no wait, every Bob Seger song. I’m considering the obligatory exception for Tom Waits.
I saw a guy who looked like Tom Waits, actually. He was pushing a grocery cart packed with scavenged household items towards Sunset from Silverlake Blvd. Three sheets to the wind. But really cool leather coat on. Come to think of it, it probably was Tom Waits. Just practicing his act.
Maybe I’ll come to see that as the problem with Los Angeles. Everyone practicing their act all the time. Like hummingbirds. You probably didn’t know this, but hummingbirds are digitally-rendered animals created by Hollywood and unleashed into the wild. It took me this many years and a move to California – where the hummingbirds flit and flicker outside my window, in Matrix-style bullet-time, every day – to realize. I wonder which effects house created them? ILM? ESC? Or maybe they’re animated by Pixar or someone. They’re really impressive. I see them and my mind hears Aphex Twin. There’s nothing in nature that makes me hear Tom Waits though. Unless bourbon grows in the wild.
Okay, I take back that snippy comment about everyone practicing their act. It was really cool to talk to this guy on Sunday -– someone I see in the neighborhood every weekend -- who’d just gotten back from Sundance. He was so unfashionably excited because he’s in a new movie that premiered there. It’s “Art School Confidential,” the new Terry Zwigoff joint written by Daniel Clowes. He plays an art student accused of murder. He was so pumped because he said the movie’s hilarious, and the crowd laughed at his scenes, and it was a thrill being there of course, and so on. And then the guy refilled my coffee mug and brought me some silverware. I welcomed him back and we both grimaced.
[Ed. note -- see last week's Hot House 5 for JGP's view on Art School Confidential. Small world, yo.]
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New to the Massey? Get stuck in the tractor beam of rawk! that eminates from his previous letters:
Los Angeles. Hell Yes.
This is Los Angeles: they paved the river
This is Los Angeles: they paved the river (part 2)
Snow Is Overrated
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Too much blimp? No such thing. |
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Posted by Rock Heals at February 1, 2006 12:00 AM
