Jill Murray

Good morning! Today we continue our blog back in time to the distant era of March, and the mythical land of Los Angeles.

I was in LA primarily to hang out with my friend, YA author Cecil Castellucci, invade her apartment, and make it impossible for her to get any serious work done. I’m happy to say I succeeded on all three counts. (Sorry you’ll never get that week back, Cecil.)

I thought I should try scrunch as many days of this trip as possible down into one post to keep it zippy, but then I realized that we had tried to pack so many things into day 1, that it, all by itself, barely fit into one post.

I was a little worried when I woke up that day, because do you see what’s happening here?

That’s rain! In LA, where it rarely rains. This happened to me in San Diego too. They only get 7 days of rain there, and all seven of them fell on me. It was so cold, I saw my breath! I was damp the whole time. Conversely, when I went to London and San Francisco, two of the most reputably dank cities in the developed world, I had consistent sun. Conclusion: I’m a reverse weather goddess. Travel with me VERY selectively, and at your own risk.

The first thing I did was make pancakes– something I often do to confuse my hosts and make it harder for them to notice how much of a nuisance I am. (Kind of like how Douglas Adams might have always carried a towel.) The pancakes made the sun come out, and I took a moment on the balcony to pretend I was a Hollywood type, while Cecil got ready for the day.

Then we got in the car, because that is what you do in LA. You drive. Luckily, Cecil’s car is emblazoned with some pretty excellent bumper stickers:

Do you remember how yesterday I said that Lisa Yee’s book made me want a taco? Well, in an attempt to honour that want, Cecil took me to this burrito stand, which she mentioned in passing was YA superstar Rachel Cohn’s favourite burrito stand.

But Rachel Cohn wasn’t around, and they didn’t have any vegetarian plates, so there was no taco for me, so basically this photo is a photo of stuff we didn’t do– a total red herring.

This next photo is objectively boring, and yet I need it to explain LA to you properly.

Do you see that round, red “Bob’s” sign in the middle of the photo? Cecil needed to park right where this photo was taken, and I needed to go wait for her at a coffee shop behind the Bob’s sign. What is that? A block? Not even. Cecil insisted she had to drive me there. My eyes bugged out of my head and I said it was a clearly walkable distance, so I should walk. And so Cecil said to me “Welcome to LA! You’re probably right, and I don’t care.” And that’s how LA works. You either accept its inbred car culture, or you throw yourself from the moving vehicles of women who once claimed to be your friends.

After lunch we went to Hollywood Boulevard and sped through as much tourist stuff as I could tolerate in 45 minutes or so. I got close to Liberace, and found out I have the same size hands as William Shatner, but the feet of Gene Kelly, and yes, I am trying to find a way to work that into my next set of business cards.

And Cecil’s lovely friend Margo gave us a brief personal tour of the Egyptian theatre, and talked to us about art deco, which made me happy.

I’ve been berated by friends for not doing more touristy celebrity-worshipping things in LA, but to them I just have to say: remember that when I went to Paris, my priority was the sewer museum, and be happy with what I’m giving you here.

After the Egyptian, we ate dinner at Real Food Daily, one of LA’s 9,000 vegan restaurants, and I finally got my taco, and it was good, but not as good as the taco in my mind.

Finally, we capped off the day with a trio of Buster Keaton films at the Silent Movie Theatre (oh, and hey, they are still running the Buster Keaton series, Wednesdays through April, so if you’re in LA, you can go too!).

The important thing is, they still have an original old-old-school accompanist play the soundtracks to the films on the piano and organ. He needs to be helped to his seat, and he coughs as he raises his hands to the keys. He doesn’t use sheet music or other cues. He just watches the movies, and plays along, flawlessly anticipating every crash and pratfall with a look of pure love stretched across his face. I wonder how many times he’s seen them all?

Cecil and I were both so comfortable (the first two rows were couches!) and exhausted, we fell asleep for a good 40 minutes or so during the feature, but we meant only respect by it.

When we continue: LA The Weird. I asked for it, I got it…