The beauty of having a birthday around Halloween and being in LA at the same time? Four words: West Hollywood Halloween Carnaval. It is the one place my ass must be at when it’s happening. Don’t care about your night clubs or strip joints; if anything, the Carnaval is, in a way, a combo of both. You see some people “dressed” in costumes and heels that would make strippers envious. Hell some of these people dance for the crowd to where you think they may be pole-jockeying on the side. And the place also has outdoor music venues. Who needs the Avalon and their so-called EDM when I prefer to get down to a drag queen belting out “We Are Family” instead?
The Carnaval is pretty much all about the costumes. I’d talk about them, but the visuals (of which I captured a shitload) best tell the story for me. (Yeah, I can tell you about these group of kids who went out as the ALS ice bucket challenge, but my words only go so far. I got proof of that, bitches! I ain’t lying!) The best of what I captured can be seen after the jump, found at the bottom of this entry.
*Art Is Cool, Bunions Suck*
In my two years of going to the Carnaval, I never had a downer moment. But if there was one bad moment, it was from this year, and it was my fault. I thought wearing boots this time around to go walking-walking-walking would be a good idea. Plus, there was a chance that it was going to rain that night. (Which it did, right after the event, thankfully.) I was going to walk in the platform flip-flops I wore last year, which worked really well…except for the part where the straps of the flip-flops chafed the top of my feet. I think I’d rather take that abrasiveness on top of my feet instead of the bunions I got on my baby toes from wearing those boots. “Easy stride,” my grown ass.
Because of that, I had to wear my regular flip-flops the next day (to let my feet breathe from yesterday), where I was going to the Getty Center. More walking around for me! Like I was going to give my feet a rest. Like I was going to give myself a rest. I now had five full days left to enjoy LA, and no way was I going to skip this, after looking forward to this visit for a long time.
What can $10 in LA get you? If I told you it can get you parking, a cool tram ride up the LA hillsides, art exhibits, and spectacular views of the Southland all in one, you’d probably snicker. But come to the Getty Center on a Saturday, after 5PM (in which they open till 9PM on Saturdays), and you get just that. I’ve been coming the Getty since I heard of it 10 years ago, and I make an effort to come here whenever I’m in LA. (I’d also like to take this time to rant that my 19-year old self 10 years ago was quite the adventurous cat. While the other barely legals then were being slaves to their Myspace pages, I was driving all over Cali–on my own, might I add.)
Everything was going so well in my visit. I got to see an oceanside sunset, took some really great pictures with my Sony camera while snickering at the others taking pics with their oh-so-basic cell phones (seriously, people, get a damn camera, why don’t you!), and had classic 90s hip-hop in my ears while looking at some fine art work. You haven’t lived until you’ve admired Italian artwork from the 18th century while Chubb Rock raps about how a girl got Vanessa Del Rio on him one time. And it was in that particular exhibit hall that it happened: the strap of one of my flip-flops, breaking apart on me. My flip-flops, bought from Target many years ago, and this is the time and place where it craps on me.
I had an extra pair of shoes in the car. But my car was in the parking garage, accessed only by tram, and it takes around 5 minutes to get their, excluding the extra time from where I was to the tram station, along with the walk from the tram to my car. It was also around 7:30PM when that shit went down–like I was going to spend all that time to get an extra pair of shoes.
So what did I do? Played things out the ghetto way. Since the museum has polished, hardwood floors, and I had socks on with my flip-flops (a hot trend on the Paris runways this season), I went as far as to gliding along the floors. It was kind of fun–making like a kid and “skating” on the floors of this prestigious museum. But I ended up asking help from one of the ushers of the museum, who couldn’t help but look at my feet. I saw the look on his face when he saw my feet. I knew it too, and we shared a laugh. The best he did for me was allow me to walk around without any problems, since this museum also happens to be a place where you have to have shoes on. I then went to a help desk, and asked for some tape. The tape worked, and I was back in some actual shoes. I rocked those ghetto pair of flip-flops the rest of my time there, and made those Ugg boots some of the girls wore look even more basic than they already are.
Aside from the flip-flop fiasco, thanks for another great time, Getty Museum. Next time, I hope to not have bunions on my feet and bring along more sturdy sandals with me.
*The Art of Trolling*
What’s better than being a Giants fan and having witnessed another World Series win? Being a Giants fan in LA, that’s what! Yes, it’s true blue Dodger town, and I was almost hesitant to sport my 2012 WS Champions hat around town. But then I saw some Giants fans here and there, proudly wearing their orange-and-black. And if they aren’t chicken-shit scared to flaunt their Giants love, then neither should I. Besides, there’s nothing more fun than a good ol’ fashioned troll job.
See, the beauty of being a Giants fan while vacationing in Dodger town while your team revels in yet another World Series championship is that you can show your orange-and-black pride in the land of the true blue, and Dodger fans won’t do a damn thing about it. Maybe berate you, maybe think about snapping your neck off. Or, more likely, engage in a playful back-and-forth, while clinging onto arguments like “Kershaw’s the best pitcher in the game” and their (LOL) NL West division crown (LOL). In that case, just say “1988” and they’ll leave you alone on the spot.
Here I was, with my Giants hat, being a total troll around town.
On the shores of Manhattan Beach…
At the Walk of Fame in Hollywood…
…and at Dodger Stadium. If there’s one regret in my troll job, it is not taking a pic with this hat while visiting the Hollywood sign, but only because I didn’t have time to see the sign this year.
(On a side note, while walking along the Walk of Fame that one day, I saw this hot poster of Johnny Depp from ten years ago in a store, and the star of Keanu Reeves. (I thought I had to walk blocks to find him!) Both of which had me going…
Damn those Hollywood whores. Those two, in their primes, are my ultimate hole-wrecking threesome. And yes, I came a long way just to tell you this.)
There is an ending to all this, so stay tuned for the final act! I’ll do my best to not make you wait three weeks for it.