Is everything glorious for you?

Date: 16 June.

Location: so very LA right now, by the pool of über trendy The Standard.

Notable sightings: the Hollywood sign, walk of fame, Sunset Boulevard, lots of Darth Vaders.

The levels of trendiness and elegant, entitled joie de vivre here are obscene. To my right, a girl with purplet hair and a mismatched fluro green/leopard bikini (who may or may not be Ke$ha) is drinking a caprihina and discussing the Bergdahl prisoner swap with a bronzed Apollo in microshorts. To my left a threesome in bikinis and oversized hats is working through study material labelled ‘Berkeley MBA’.

The whole place is inspired by budget motel chic. The floor is neon blue AstroTurf. The white tables are decorated with cacti. The mean age is 32, the mean weight about the same. There are white tents and bean bags by the turquoise pool. Impossibly cool French music is blaring. Apparently theres an artiste who sleeps in the completely transparent coffin-sized box behind the reception desk every night. And theres a DJ in the lobby from 9pm. A poolside staff member just checked in on me: “Is everything glorious for you right now babe?”

Actually it is.

This morning there was a family scramble to get the Palm Desert house clean and locked down for summer (the off-season in the desert) then drive 2 hours to Hollywood, LA. We had brief sightseeing time along the walk of fame and then the zoo had to stampede north again, home to Calgary and responsibility.

Meanwhile, I’m staying at The Standard, a boutique hotel across the road from the infamous Chateau Marmont in West Hollywood. To get there from where I said goodbye to Vixen, Badger, Cub and Papa Bear should have been a simple 3 mile cab ride along Sunset. If only there was one to be had for love or money. Dressed like a sweaty blue turtle with my pack on, I begun to migrate west. As previously discussed, walking is viewed as weird behaviour here in the US. Walking with a rucksack with a pair of cowboy boots tied to the outside is borderline justification for institutionalising. About half a mile from the hotel, a cabbie took pity on me and scooped me up.

Now. 24 hours in LA: let’s go

Edit: Good start. First ever Trader Joe’s (trawled it, eyes wide, for an hour, like a homeless person) and tasted tacos at the trippiest little taco joint, Pink Taco on Sunset, accompanied by Mexican craft beer (apparently that’s a thing now).

Edit: the girl is in the box behind reception now, on her laptop. It’s weird. Do I look, or not?

Love

Alex

Oh yeah. The Standard.

LA, you’re so weird.

My spirit animal.

Sightseeing on Hollywood Blvd.

Le Lohan’s fave spot.

Girls girls girls in Sunset.

Pink Taco. Hola!

Fish tacos. How do you live without fish tacos?!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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