TOURISTS

Tourists get off on star gazing; they hop on these TMZ tour buses like rabid bunnies going into heat, and push and shove each other to obtain a window seat.  In an orgy of sorts, tourists grind up against one another, dripping in the summer heat, just to catch a glimpse of Snow White's star on the Hollywood walk of fame.  Dignity and shame evaporate into the toxic waste bucket that is Los Angeles as adults run wildly through the streets, disposing of their clothes, imbibing le liquor, and taking pictures of each other holding fake oscars.  Time and time again, visitors troll the Hollywood and Highland mall, hoping for one celebrity spotting, and waiting patiently by the stars of their deceased idols, praying for a resurrection.  In viewing their public displays of insanity, obscene and unnecessary sexual acts, and disillusionment, I feel completely and absolutely violated!  

I love to hate the Hollywood and Highland mall.  I frequent the location on a weekly basis, and find myself both incredibly delighted and stressed by the outset of my visit.  On any given day, the mall attracts celebrity seeking tourists, aspiring superstars, screaming children, and the occasional prostitute.  Each and every human labels himself either an actor, director or producer, although experience demands otherwise.  I once spotted a homeless man whip out his package and, while occupying a public bus bench, fondle his genitalia in the middle of bustling traffic.  Passerbys were unfazed by this display, continuing their friendly banter as the man violently thrusted his pelvis into the air.  Although I experience shock with each similar display, the tourist bubble blocks this behavior, focusing only on finding and caging of celebrities.  

Few celebrities occupy the Hollywood and Highland mall, choosing, rather, to indulge in a steak at CUT in Beverly Hills, shop along Rodeo Drive, or hike the Calabasas hills.  Every so often, though, a B list actor, looking to rectify his ego, casually struts across the mall, nonchalantly addressing his fans and pocketing compliments.  This pathetic display is thoroughly entertaining; I pull up a portable seat and nibble at my cupcake as tourists engulf the somebody actor.   

My Night With Steve Tyler...

Blurry photo of me and Mr. Tyler

In a strange confluence of events, I showed up at an --undisclosed name-- lot for a live taping of an --undisclosed talk show-- and ended up at an exclusive Hollywood premiere party, sipping Ginger Ale next to Steve Tyler while watching Johnny Depp serenade an audience.  After overcoming the initial shock of receiving an invitation to the premiere itself, and then exchanging glances with Michelle Pfeiffer en route to the after party, I watched my boyfriend attempt communication with Tim Burton, calling him the "saving grace of the studio system".  Tim Burton nonchalantly rejected this exchange, and continued shmoozing with his glass of something- or- other.  And as I came to terms with this reality, and accidentally elbowed Chloe Moretz on the dance floor, I navigated toward the dessert buffet, casually opened my bag, and shuffled a tray of treats inside (just kidding, but the desserts were phenomenal).


In short, I know some people who know some people and, under the influence of my date- en- arm, I skipped the taping in favor of venturing the --undisclosed name-- backlot.  On our journey, we delivered resumes to the head of recruitment, stopped by various casting offices, and negotiated our way into a free screening.  Once the screening finished, and after chatting up Adam Levine outside 'The Voice' taping, downing two double shot espressos at the on- lot Starbucks, and successfully strolling the entire surface area of the lot, the boy and I wandered back towards my parked vehicle, discussing our shared inspirations and passion for all things entertainment related.  We then received the call: "you kids available in an hour to see such- and- such 'Premiere' in Hollywood?"  Thus, an hour later, we entered the Chinese Mann Theatre and took our seats behind Johnny Depp's camp.

I, a twenty- year old go-getter and uninhibited dreamer, sat amongst Hollywood's elite entrepreneurs,  coveting their successes and achievements.  I formulated various universally acceptable introductory phrases, yet I remained silently star struck when approached by any and all individuals!  I recall navigating the route from the Chinese Theatre down Hollywood Boulevard and to the party destination, and immediately spotting Steve Tyler at the onset of the party.  I silently shadowed Mr. Tyler for a good half hour, cultivating various acceptable approaches.  

Alice Cooper

My first attempt to talk with Steve Tyler was unsuccessful; I opened my mouth, and felt an unfamiliar pinch rising up my throat...  I then shut my mouth, regained my composure, and wandered the party premise like a bewildered child at Leggo Land... I hit up the sundae tray and watched Alice Cooper perform as my of- age boyfriend stabilized himself with a kettle one on the rocks, and then we reconvened by the cheese fondue fountain.  I promised my bf to approach Steve Tyler if he approached Tim Burton, and thus, an unwavering deal was made.  On my second attempted interaction, no words came out of my open mouth, and my presence in Tyler's sphere of existence was intercepted by three models.  Finally, I approached Steve Tyler, got a quick picture, a subtle pat on the back, and, in a matter of seconds, scurried off in sheer ecstasy.  That, my friends, was my night with Steve Tyler.