June 8, 2007

I hit up my boy Hot Carl who lives in Clarksville, Tennessee and tell him about Los Angeles. He’s enthusiastic and asks a lot of questions, which makes me feel like a baller. But not as much of a baller as he is. Fist pound, Carl. Keen Hall for life.
Get to Crenshaw with no problem and call up Crunch Fitness in West Hollywood to follow up on my job application.

“Can you hold?”
“Sure.”

One minute goes by. Two. No music or anything. Just dead silence, except for all the fucking noise on the street. I’m waiting for the Rapid 710 bus that will take me North to Santa Monica Boulevard, but since the bus isn’t so rapid I decide to play a boring game – will the 710 show up before somebody answers or will somebody answer first?

Five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten… ele-

“Crunch Fitness. Who are you holding for?”

The 710 loses, but not by much. It shows up a minute after the woman tells me she’ll call me next week to set up an interview, which is probably bullshit.

It’s hard to get a low-level job in a nice part of town. I figure that, if you’re white, places want you to be tan and perfect-looking. Glossy. A fucking Ken doll. Surf’s up, brosephs. If you’re Hispanic, you’re on the cleaning staff. If you’re black, kempt, and not a complete thug then congratulations, the job is probably yours. Not that there’s anything wrong with diversity. Just don’t forget about crackers like me who don’t have cars and walk everywhere and have sore fucking necks, backs, shoulders from lugging around a 25 lb backpacks.

We need low-level jobs, too.

As the 710 pulls up, I see a little dog running around in the middle of street barking at the traffic. People honk, but that only makes it bark louder. Is this a metaphor?

Get to the gym. Lift. Am weak as hell. The sun is draining me, I think. I’m the opposite of Superman, which I’ve always suspected to be true.

Also, why do gay guys lift in jeans? What the fuck is that all about? Is it homage to the construction guy in the Village People? Is it code? I know in some richer areas of Northern Virginia, if you have white rocks in front of your house it means you’re a swinger. Are jeans the gay white rocks? If you wear jeans in the gym are you single and/or a versatile bottom?

Get on a bus that stops infrequently and take it too far. Walk down Western street or avenue or whatever looking for a drug store or somewhere I can buy batteries since I can’t take pictures. And there is not shit around but furniture stores. I count almost twenty. Furniture stores are to Western whatever as liquor stores are to everywhere else in the city
.
I finally find a bodega, but the dude wants $5 for one Ray-O-Vac battery. $5. One battery. Fuck you. I’ll make my own battery.

I walk some more, and come upon a “warehouse” store called Smart and Final, which is basically a ghetto Costco in case you couldn’t tell. I think it’s hilarious that the name of the store straight up tells you that you can’t return shit.

“’Scue me, sir? I bought a milk a jaysterday and it no good. Mal.”
“Fuck you.”

I get some batteries at Radio Shack, and, of course, I get raped on the price, but it’s not nearly as bad as $5-a-battery, so it’s more like date rape than homeless-man-gutter-rape.

I can live with date rape.

Speaking of homeless men, I see one at the bus stop. Here’s a picture of his foot.

I feel bad for the guy because he’s OCD and I think that has something to do with his lack of having a home. He has a bent-up, bundled-up coat hanger that he keeps passing around his back like a basketball. He does it three times. Then he passes it around his hand like he’s reeling in a fish. Three times. Repeat.

A cocky Hispanic teen with Gotti-boy hair walks by with a couple of his lackeys. He tags a dumpster.


I think it says Nick Sbius. He’s probably practiced this a lot in school.

I get on the bus and take it to Fairfax because I think the Beverly Center is on Fairfax, but it’s not. It’s on La Cienega. So again I fucked up, but it’s cool because I get some nice pictures on the way.

And now, Carl, Jeremy and whoever else is into hip-hop or sneakers or urban fashions or whatever, prepare yourselves for fucking this. I know Alex can’t wait to blow some of his money on this shit.




This is a sneaker store near the corner of Fairfax and Rosewood. As far as I can tell, it has every color of every “cool” shoe ever made. I don’t see what the big deal is since a lot of the shoes look like a fucking first-grader dumped his paint set on them, but whatever. I know other people are into this shit.

All of the shoes are shrink-wrapped and over $100. Easily. The first shoe I pick up, a Jordan, is marked at $250. In LA, that’s probably per shoe. I pick up another shoe, which looks kind of like a Penny Hardaway from when I was in middle school. That’s $150. I leave and see that the store doesn’t even have a name, which is probably best considering people will call it whatever the hell they want to.

Head down a few more store fronts and see a hat store. Fitted-caps.

Rare hats, I guess. I really can’t believe people will pay out the ass for a fucking hat that has an extra stripe on it or some shit like that, but I guess that’s the world we live in.

I make a right on Beverly and pass restaurants and boutiques and spas. And an alley that’s reminiscent of the “suck my dick” scene in Training Day, even though that alley probably wasn’t near Beverly Hills.



The homeless guys look like they’re enjoying their cat nap. That might be me some day.

I finally get to the Beverly Center and have dinner at Chipotle.


Walk around the Beverly Center. Three stories and upscale as a motherfucker. Lacoste, Gucci, LV, etc.

I walk into Lacoste with my backpack on and the guy at the door looks like he doesn’t want to let me in. He watches me the whole time. I touch a lot of shirts and look over my shoulder a lot to keep him on his toes. Fuck him.

I really want a smoothie or a milkshake or something, but I don’t want to spend over $5 dollars, which means I don’t want a smoothie or a milkshake bad enough.

There’s a deck on the third floor of the Beverly Center with a nice view of the city. Fade out on another semi-productive day.



Shit List:

June 1: Held it
June 2: Walgreen’s on the Miracle Mile
June 3: Best Buy Culver City
June 4: Gold's Gym Hollywood
June 5: Wood Ranch at the Grove
June 6: 8000 West Sunset Boulevard (Birthday shit)
June 7: 7-11 at the corner of San Vicente and Hauser
June 8: 7-11 at the corner of San Vicente and Hauser