Jere-Rigged

City of Angels, Day 1

This is the continuation of the saga:

We were delayed even more in Phoenix. The plane that I was to transfer to was arriving from Newark and was even later than my plane from JFK. But after being on the ground at Sky Harbor International Airport for an hour, I was finally en route to L.A. We arrived two hours late, meaning at close to 2.00am local time. I felt so badly for my friend Mike who was picking me up. And it gets worse.

Apparently, the good people at America West saw fit to leave my luggage in Phoenix. I have no idea how this could have happened, considering that there was all the time in the world to make the transfer and that the planes were right next to each other in the terminal, but the America West representative in L.A. treated it as a matter of course, as if the airline routinely decides to do this and screw its customers.

Mike and I left the airport and he drove me to his lovely West Hollywood condo and we arrived at 3.30am local time. And, of course, he has to work in the morning. I felt so bad about this. Argh!

The next day, I slept in and waited for the airline to deliver my bags, which they did in the early afternoon. After showering the changing into something fresh, I proceeded to take a walking tour.

The condo is located on a residential street in West Hollywood, smack dab in between Santa Monica Boulevard and Sunset Boulevard (in fact, I am literally down the hill from the Mondrian Hotel and the House of Blues. I set out walking on Santa Monica Boulevard and walked clear down to Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. Later, Mike was amazed that I’d traversed so far, but it was fun and easy. I know that LA has the reputation as a complete car culture, but it’s really not. West Hollywood has wide sidewalks and cute little shops and restaurants and Beverly Hills has public parkland along the Boulevard with a wide path for walking or jogging or whatever.

After reaching the famous shopping street, I walked around Beverly Hills a bit and headed up Beverly Drive toward Sunset Boulevard. Now, I know that Beverly Hills has quite a reputation, but many of the houses I saw were simple, ordinary homes that you might see in any suburb in any part of the country. Of course, some of them were palaces too. And many of them were ensconced behind iron gates and fences.

Upon reaching Sunset Boulevard (right at Will Rogers Park and across the street from the Beverly Hills Hotel), I turned left and walked over Sunset back to West Hollywood. Naturally, I was on the lookout for Norma and Joe, but, alas, I found no gothic noir during my afternoon sojourn. I did see one huge mansion that struck me as Desmond-esque, but it was difficult to see, shrouded, as it was, in fences and trees.

I saw a lot of houses from Sunset that I liked better than those I’d seen from Santa Monica. There was one on the corner of Sunset and Elm that was even for sale (I think) that would be a simply dreamy place to live.

As I got into the Sunset Strip area, it became less residential and more populated with clubs and shops and other businesses. I passed the famous Viper Room, where actor River Phoenix died about 15 years ago or so. I also found a terrific bookstore called Book Soup.

On a side note, in my short time here, I’ve found so many wonderful little bookstores here in L.A. I know this town is supposed to have no culture and be filled with vapid, silly people, but there are more independent bookstores here than anywhere I’ve ever been. And I live in New York City, folks.

Once I returned to the condo, I met Mike on the front stoop (how’s that for timing?) and went upstairs, changed clothes and took a dip in the pool. Aaaahhhhh…such is the life. Actually, pools seem to be almost standard equipment with buildings here, something I very much envy.

Then we went out and had dinner at Hamburger Mary’s, a gay-oriented sort of diner that you’ve probably seen advertised as a franchising opportunity in The Advocate. It really was quite delicious and I wonder why we don’t yet have one in Chelsea or Hell’s Kitchen. If I had the money and/or the know how, I’d buy the franchise rights myself and open a location on 9th or 10th Avenue. The food was delicious and the drinks tasty and the bill was delivered in a red pump of unknown size, but way too small for my size 12 feet.

West Hollywood is a terrific neighbourhood, and a very central and convenient location. While it’s not quite as “neighbourhoody” as any given area in New York City, it’s not for lack of trying. For all the tales I’d heard of a Chelsea-like hard body culture, I have not yet found that to be the case.

Posted by Jere at August 5, 2005 02:41 AM | TrackBack