The crowd took, and the hustle hasn’t stopped since. Screenwriters pitch in the shadows of the Hollywood sign. Surfers squint for the choicest Malibu wave.
Then there are the true dream-chasers, the eternal optimists who join the line at Pink’s – willing to wait hours for a bite of the perfect chili dog.
Don’t care for hot dogs? A few steps away are the healthy macrobiotic delights of M Café de Chaya, where a hot dog would be met with gasps of Juicy Coutured horror. But that’s LA – a bustling mash-up of culture, community and cuisine, where clubs-du-jour lurk beside old-school delis, ramshackle markets wobble near gleaming malls, palm trees sway over car-carrying rivers, and renowned museums preen beside bubbling tar pits.
As for the city portrayed in Oscar-winning Crash, LA’s not quite so angry – everybody’s too busy chattering on cells, checking Black berries or downward dogging to worry about the next guy. Unless it’s a casting agent, of course. Yes, the city runs a little thick on superficiality, self-absorption and sunshine, but c’mon, isn’t that the point? Have fun. Reinvent. Shop. Hike. Surf. Party. LA is yours to grab. To paraphrase Mulholland: ‘There it is. Go for it.’
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