TheVocalVengeance: the la chronicals

chapter 1: the conference guys
There are a breed of men who seem to exist only in airports. They were ill-fitting slacks. The buttons of their cheap beige shirts struggle to hold over their round frontal orbs made up of angus burgers and those heart-attack salads that only America can make that unhealthy. They talk loudly on Bluetooth headsets...hoping someone, just someone might hear their business jargon and see them as the lovechild of Donald Trump and George Clooney....Well they wouldn't want people to see them for the hairplugs that they are. They are American Airlines Gold members, which means that they walk along a mini red carpet and wait behind a small gate until the flight attendant notices, announces "wait! proirity passenger", walks around her desk and opens the gate. Do you feel special now, Mr. Conference Guy? Off to Miami/Cincinatti/Dallas to meet with a bunch of other guys who never quite got over frat boy humour. Your miniture PC is not that cool, especially cuz your fat fingers are having trouble creating a spreadsheet!

chapter 2: the hike
Guess I'll never get over the Canadian city mentality that anything and everything is walkable.
Decided to go shop on melrose...3 miles away.
The woman said it would take me an hour
Ha! She doesn't know me and my freakishly long legs!
Walked passed the Kodak Theatre, along the road of stars. Wondered how they choose who's worthy....cuz there are a few questionable mentions - like Wonder Woman, she's not a real person!! Of course I found one that was right at home...

Walked past the Mann Chinese theatre and the hundreds of tourists desperate to be snapped with a look-a-like. Sure, some are okay, some are just creepy (midget as Chucky!) and some are just so good....I'm pretty sure Samuel L. just took a day off to walk down to Hollywood and make a few bucks. Love that there are now 4 MJ's fighting for their piece of his dead fame and that little old Mexican men can now make bank on selling sequined gloves.

3 miles of autobody shops, mexican furniture stands, dollar stores, strip malls and gas stations later, I arrived at Melrose.
Steal was waiting for me outside the infamous Pink's, where a cracked out meth-wreck was flashing her va-jay at errry'body!

Welcome to Hollywood.

chapter 3: the burger
If you are ever in need of that beefy fix, that clusterfuck of delicious goodness to sooth your insatiable appetite, look no further than 25 Degrees in the Roosevelt Hotel. It's a stylish burger bar that does it RIGHT.
Order the "Es Beat":
Medium rare sirloin, burrata cheese, bacon well-done, avocado, caramelized onions and garlic aoli.
And sweet potato fries, of course!
Perfection.

chapter 4: backyard, backstreet, industry jam
Dude was given a sythesizer.
So his record label decided to throw him a party.
What transpired was an open-bar rager of the hippest cats on the block, jammin out, eating cranberry cheesecake cups, and acting a fool.
There was a man in a burgendy valure jacket and pimp hat who looked curiously like....a pimp.
Others mused about whether "indie" is still a valid genre since every god damn hipster rock band is apparently "indie" despite getting a 3 million dollar record deal.
Some took shots of jack. Holler, Steal!
Some wished they hadn't eaten a huge ass burger so they could fit more Newcastle's in their belly.

The Boss

The night ended back at the Roosevelt Hotel, hoping Teddy would be open on a thursday. It was not....and apparently even Rumer Willis didn't know as she slinked up to the door, keeping her head down to avoid all those PAPARAZZI. Hey Rumer! There were none. Cuz no one cares about the unfortunate-looking child when your mom is a fucking MILF with a capital M with a husband the same age as you. Shhhwinggg....and a miss.

chapter 5: it's business time

room with a view

Took a lovely stroll around Hollywood.

S being a tourist. thanks greasy italian guys for learing at me while you took my picture. i felt special and loved.

Got bandaids for my unhappy feet.
Got Starbucks for my throbbing hangover.
Went up to my hotel roof and kicked back, looking over Hollywood Blvd.

pool that i didn't swim in.

breakfast of champions

Driver picked me up and off we went to the Canadian Consulate in Hancock Park.
It is a beautiful old home surrounded by luscious gardens.
Spent the whole day in the sunshine rehearsing for the night's festivities.

Susuki fam rehearsing

thank you, David Susuki for single handedly saving the world.

Met really awesome Canadians. Felt proud our my homeland.
David Susuki and his family were wonderful. Such grounded people with such an amazing vision for the world. Truly inspirational.

Got dolled up and ready for the event in between eating the greasiest pizza that has ever been greased.

Result:
A night of randomness. Open bar. Presented an award. Technical problems. Amazing performances. More technical problems. No smoking cuz I didn't want to pollute the Susuki air. Open bar. Event finishes. Take home a Susuki sapling to plant in my garden. Hotel bar shananigans. Attacked by a party bus full of GHETTO bootie.

chapter 6: venice
Spent the rest of my weekend, kicking it in Venice Beach with the one and only Steal.
We're talking all day happy hour, cush doctor, crackhead gazin, toes in sand, spontaneous halloween party, sleeping on a couch of someone i just met, beach vollyball and tecate.
Blissful.