Los Angeles Adventures Part 3 – Ads For Medication In America Are Weird, Venice Beach Is Cool, And So Is Entourage. Legal Action From Strippers Would Be Interesting If It Actually Happened
Sitting in Hollywood Hostel, watching TV. An ad comes on.
“I used to have serious problems with asthma. It would stop me doing all the fun things I wanted in life. Every time I wanted to go for a jog or a swim with my friends, I would have to make excuses and say ‘No, sorry – I have to stay at home and watch my toenails grow’. Then I discovered Asthmatix and my whole life changed!”
“Asthmatix may cause diarrhoea, bloating, severe respiratory disorders, lung infection, lung bleeding, constipation, anemia, increased toenail growth, reduced toenail growth, cholera, and increased chance of asthma related death. Please consult your doctor to see if Asthmatix is right for you. Now I can do the things I really want in my life!”
That was weird.
Aster came out and we went for a walk.
We navigated the public transport system to Venice Beach. We stopped a bus. Asked the driver how to get to Venice Beach. The bus driver said “Oh… Gee…” Eventually we got there. It only took us about ninety minutes.
As we walked along the path next to the beach, a gentleman up ahead stopped a family of three to ask “Excuse me – have you seen my clitoris? I think I dropped it just up that way.”
The family shuffled along.
“Excuse me fellows – want to buy a genuine Picasso?”
“No thank you.”
“Can you give me a dollar so I can buy a hot dog from this stand?”
We kept walking. Aster said “That’s an old scam. They do it in India. You go up with him to the booth and give him the money for the hot dog, then he just keeps ordering things off the menu, and the shopkeep expects you to pay for them. The shopkeep is normally in on it.”
We walked further up the path. There was a man completely covered in pigeons. Markets of people selling various junk or artwork.
It reminded me of when we were walking along the pier in San Francisco – there was a black guy on the footpath. He had a whole bunch of jazz chord charts, scales written in “do re mi” form, a music stand with something that looked like sheet music on it. And a violin in his hand. He started to play – and it sounded like absolute ass. He had no rosin on the bow, so it just sounded like he was sawing the string in two. I took a video and gave him some dollars for the comedic value.
An ugly fat black woman stopped us “Hey guys – can I have a dollar for a hot dog?”
We kept walking.
“How about a photo? I’ll show you my girls.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they’re fantastic,” said Aster.
We explored the whole place, seen the guy on big-ass rollerskates playing Jimi Hendrix on guitar with a portable amp. I could have sworn I saw this guy in Vegas as well. Maybe he’s setting up franchises. When we got back to the markets, they were filming Entourage there. The magic of television.
I was kind of disappointed that none of the main characters of the show were there. No Vince, no Turtle. No Johnny Drama. Just some fat kid in a tie dye T-shirt.
“Okay, let’s get that again.”
Skater boy walks past in the foreground.
“Think about it – what’s the only thing that’s missing in our place?” said the hipster, as he unveiled a canary in a cage.
“OH my god!” said the cute girl in a beanie as she rushed over to it.
Hippie woman walks past in the background.
“That skater guy is the real talent of this show,” I said. “I think you should go up to him and tell him what a great job he did.”
They had a bunch of traffic cones on the ground to keep the public out of their way. Behind them were some people in director’s chairs.
“Man – that casting director keeps making eye contact with me,” I said.
“Through her sunglasses?”
“Yes.” I hoped she was going to say that she thought I had star-quality, and that I should replace skater guy in the scene. Or that I should be wearing the tie dye T-shirt instead of the fat kid.
She looked over again. “Hi!” I said, and waved. “How are you?”
“Good!” she said.
“Okay – let’s get that again!” said the stage manager, or whatever you call it.
Skater guys walks past in the foreground…
When we’d had enough of the magic of television, we walked off to find the bus again.
“Hey – you look like Michael Cera!” said some eighteen year old girl as we walked past.
“Who?”
“Ever seen Superbad? He’s the dorky one.”
“Oh thanks. Normally I get Kyle from Road Trip, but that’s nice.”
“Oh my God – you’re from Australia!”
“I sure am – I’m famous and stuff,” I said, randomly.
“If you’re famous, then fuck me!” said the girl, as she hopped into her friend’s car and started to leave.
“Pretty much sums up LA doesn’t it?” said Aster.
We got on the bus.
All along Hollywood Boulevard there are people dressed as celebrities and superheroes. Superman, Spiderman, Batman, Marilyn Monroe, The Incredible Hulk. They will pose for pictures with your children if you tip them $2. Superman really looks like Christopher Reeves – he looks dead. Some of them are homeless. Some of them are also alcoholic.
There is a small bar just off Hollywood Boulevard. Phantom said that most times when you walk in there, you’ll see Spiderman with his cowl pulled back, Peter Parker style, sipping on Pabst Blue Ribbon.
We went in and got a beer.
“We’ve got two hours till our flight. I guess this is the end of our magnificent journey,” I said. “There’s just one more thing I have to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Text every girl that I’ve met in America telling them my website.”
“Brilliant! Wait – you’re not going to text Taylor and Capone are you?”
“Well, yeah. Why?”
“You can’t do that – they’ll read it and figure out who I am in the stories.”
“So?”
“I just don’t want you to do it. You’re not going to text Creanza, are you?” My favourite Vegas girlfriend…
“Gee, I wasn’t going to. But now I have to just to prove a point.”
“Nooo, don’t text her, it’s fine.”
I texted every phone number of every girl I’d met in the states, except Creanza and Taylor, and Taylor’s friends. “Yo, it’s www.troubleinabubble.com.”
But after that, I wanted to text Creanza to see what would happen. I thought I’d be tactful about it – which is to say, I thought I’d be wussy about it.
“Hey what do you think of Tucker Max?”
“I don’t really like his stories. He’s a bit of a dick.”
“Okay. I’ve been working on my site, it’s kind of in a similar vein.”
Five minutes passed.
“I know! You mentioned it and I looked it up and I’ve been reading it and it’s fantastic!” Oh. Oops. Turns out I’d already told her in post-coital nimbus and forgot about it. “I was worried what you were going to write about me in it, or what if you didn’t write about me in it, but then I read it and it was great!”
See, women don’t mind being reduced to “the brunette with the amazing breasts.” E-F cups… Two tattoos on her back…
I got a message from Elizabeth. “What? Who is this? I don’t have access to the net right now – what is on that site?”
“You,” I texted back.
“I’m on that site? What am I doing on that site?” And then, “Who is this? What is this?”
Aster and I giggled. “That doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you believe in yourself.”
“What? Why does that matter?” And then, “And why do you know me well enough to care about whether I believe in myself, but not well enough for me to have your number in my phone???”
I thought it was somehow appropriate that this stripper was so reactive. Incredibly reactive. I’d texted her about 15 words. She’d texted me about 100.
“Why am I on the net and how did I get there? What the hell?!?” This continued for about half an hour. We went back to the hostel, picked up our stuff from the lockers. Got on the Metro and got to Rosa Parks station at LAX.
I got a text from Elizabeth “Jones, I do remember you. You have to take that photo and that story down. It’s illegal.”
“Haha. No way.”
“I’ve already contacted your web-hosting service in Texas and told them to take it down. You can take it down or I can take legal action.”
“Nah, I think my site is fine as it is.”
“You can’t post a photo of someone on the Internet without their permission – it’s infringement, a crime.” Aster and I giggled again. How did this retard ever outsmart me.
“You can take the photo down or you will hear from my lawyers.”
I texted back “No problem.” I expected her to text back saying “So you’ll take it down?” And I, of course, would write back “Hell no. I meant it’s no problem that you get your lawyers. You can’t do shit.” However, she never texted me back. So I guess she believes that her vague legal jargon worked on me.
It was funny, I rang her up about a week later from a house party in Fitzroy. It must have been about 6 a.m. Vegas time. She stayed on the phone for about two minutes in a sleepy trance. It got awkward… because I thought as soon as I told her who it was she would have hung up.
“What if she does sue me?” I said.
“Don’t worry – she wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. Her grasp of the legal system is laughable.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I almost wish she did sue me though, for publicity purposes.”
We found the V Australia terminal, and escaped from LA. I watched LA confidential on the flight back. What a cool movie.
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Comments (3)
[...] Continued – Los Angeles Adventures Part 3 – Ads for Medication in America Are Weird, Ven… [...]
I LOOOOOOVE being your favorite. You know what’s even better? Is that I’m still your favorite girl, no matter what “beautiful relationships” you may form away from me.
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haha yes you’ll always be my favourite vegas girlfriend. until ii come back to vegas – then all bets are off
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