Hollyweird. What can I say about you? Your traffic sucks for one. You really think it’s a good idea to give your stuck-up, timid-yet-aggressive, sixteen year old daughters ginormous SUV’s? Really now? This was cause for swearing. And the jams! Man I saw more traffic than I’d seen in the whole trip.
I didn’t really know where to go. I had no interest whatsoever in even being here. I drove down Mulholland Drive, only because it sounded vaguely familiar. It was boring. Gate after McMansion after gate after McMansion. Big whoop. I declared if I were that rich I sure as hell wouldn’t live there… I’d buy a house with land!
Anyway, it was time to visit a guy going by the name of Trash, which I think is pretty self-explanatory. He brought me around Hollyweird. He showed me the Hollywood sign (I got to see the H driving by as I was texting my mother at the time… something about, “Don’t worry, I’m not with a serial killer”) and I also got to see Frank Zappa’s old property (which looked like shrubbery) and Bing Crosby’s old house (also looked like a lot of shrubbery,) some place Jim Morrison stayed for awhile with his “crazy” girlfriend (that actually looked less like shrubbery) and the Brady Bunch House, which creepily enough has not changed. He pointed out a lot of other things but since I pay very little attention to anything in popular culture I had no idea who most of the people he was talking about were. That’s fine. I did drive down Sunset Boulevard, Vine, saw some clubs, went by the Hollywood graveyard, and eventually stopped for a pizza.
I left the city after nightfall saying good bye once and for all to the traffic, the glitter, and the generally odd atmosphere of the place… but only after taking a fucking shower. I know I seem to be harping on the shower thing but seriously… when you only take one shower every three weeks something’s terribly wrong! WATER! IT MAKES ME MELT!