I’m headed to LA this weekend. Gonna spend a bunch of time with Kat. Yes, that Kat.
Anyway, LA people historically weird me out. Hanging out in LA is kinda like panning for gold in icy creek water; mostly there’s slime, but sometimes there is a hint of real beauty. And no matter what you do, you’re gonna end up terribly uncomfortable, lose your footing and up to your knees in crap.
Now, there are some VERY REAL people in LA. And some VERY REAL artists mixed in with the people simply hoping for a glimmer of celebrity, some kind of recognition rather than accomplishment. And I really despise fame-seekers and false artists. I really can’t stand false happiness, false laughter, false teeth, false boobs, false hair, false eyelashes even. I’m as real as it gets.
I found LA as a child to be a place full of many different kinds of people, some are truly fabulous. And some are total and complete wackadoos.
How many times when I was a small child in LA did I meet celebrities and their friends or entourages? Plenty. How often was I impressed. Only once. I think her name was Bertha Kitt or Eartha Kitt or something. I found her turban seriously impressive.
Oh! One more. Geoffrey Lewis’ forehead is amazing. I was highly impressed. Just not the same on film.
All of this before I was two, mind you, so my view of things was rather toddler-centric.
But, to this day, celebrity doesn’t impress me. I got pissed at a celeb you sometimes see in magazines because she cut ahead of me in line once. And at another shall-be-unnamed celebrity for somehow forgetting I’ve known her since we were tiny. (Probably got asked for money by one too many childhood friends.) Plus I have had a few good run ins with celebs. One held the elevator door for me once. I like him now. And another seemed very nice after I stayed at her house one weekend a long time back – one of my relatives worked for her and we were housesitting. Everyone should be judged on their actions. Not flim flam. And certainly not given special treatment.
But the thing about LA is that, along with real artists, real powerful movers and shakers, it draws people who are so delusional that they seriously believe they are artists and movers and shakers despite that they can’t string three complete thoughts together without refusing to notice the obvious or making someone else feel inferior.
False artistry does not impress me.
Long soliloquies on your own merits do not impress me.
Refusal to even look upon me because I am NOT a world famous artist or a relative or assistant to an a-list celebrity is just gross.
Wearing hippie clothes and speaking in a whisper about how much you love everything when it is totally out of context (say, at the gas station) kinda weirds me out.
And pretending that you’re listening while you aren’t, well I hate that.
And I found so many many many of those kind of people in LA when I was growing up.
So, let me just say that while I don’t really like the average LA person, Kat is AWESOME, I may spend most of my time in LA just hanging around her house and helping her grow hydroponic tomatoes and dancing with Colin.
Because I seriously seriously hate that city. I’d rather be almost anywhere.
At least the weather’s nice when the smog rolls away…
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