I see you, some weekday mornings, making your way down Highland Avenue from the Renaissance, or, more often the Holiday Inn, excited for your day on the town; Hollywood, USA! "HOOray for HOLLywood..." (as my late grandfather used to greet me after my Angeleno relocation).
Hollywood isn't the shithole that it used to be, but it's not exactly the newly PG, Giuliani-ized Times Square either. I always feel bad for the tourists who don't understand this, don't know what they're getting into - the good folks who have come from somewhere in the Republican Party's "real" America - Missouri or Oklahoma, bringing their high-waisted, light blue denim and oversized t-shirts with them, expecting glitz, magic, sparkle - or at least NOT a recently shuttered Borders and the BCBG at the Hollywood and Highland mall as its flagship attractions. What they encounter, sadly, is dinge. Dinge and smut - not necessarily of the pornographic kind, but of the cheap, touristy kind - capitalizing on an image that is as stale as the bread at the still-chugging Musso and Frank's.
What must you think of us, Real Americans? As you troll the boulevard, yearning for your Shape Ups to tone your sizable behinds? You probably have some conception that celebrities aren't going to just be out walking on the street, but what you don't know is that no celebrities will ever actually BE in Hollywood proper - other than for the Oscars - as it is essentially one of the dingiest, non-ghetto neighborhoods in the city. They are squirreled away in Brentwood or Santa Monica or Ojai - not out for a quick trip to the Chick-Fli-A at Sunset and La Brea.
What you just might be able to tap into in Hollywood is the energy. In a city where so many want so much and so few will attain it, the yearning and the posturing is as potent today as it was in the days of the Locust - and although Hollywood might not be the nexus of showbiz anymore, it will forever be an emblem of it. The truth is, Hollywood is a state of mind; a moveable feast - But a difficult one to access while wearing Skechers.
Sincerely,
Dear Crabby
