Fucking Up Los Angeles

Today I spent most of my day in East Los Angeles (or East L.A. as it is known by the locals) doing more investigative research. During my downtime I took a picture of the mural above. I was hoping this was a restaurant but it turned out to be a youth center or something along those lines. Still, I liked the mural a lot, even if it didn’t point me in the direction of delicious snacks. Sometimes I wish every building had a cool mural on it. Visual stimulation leads to mental stimulation. Check out enough cool murals and next thing you know you’re curing some crazy disease or inventing some awesome new nose hair clipper or something. Anyway, something to think about.

I had hoped to get some Mexican food while I was in East L.A. (I am practically local at this point) but it didn’t happen. I did get a chance to duck into some store that sold a vast array of meats. That’s where I took the second picture, which is of cow feet (to the left) and cow stomachs, which look like a bunch of wet towels if you blur your eyes a little bit. The cow stomachs are called menudo apparently, just like the popular Mexican boy band that once counted Ricky Martin among its ranks. A hilarious pun I thought of that pretty much covers all the bases on this one is “If you can stomach menudo, you can stomach anything.” Outta the park.

Since I didn’t want to seem like some weird guy that just walks around taking pictures of meat (which, to be fair, I am) I ended up buying a bag of peanuts in the Mexican meat store that had the piles of menudo. Behind the counter where the cashier lady was working was a big swordfish on the wall. It made me think of my Uncle Don, who was a great fisherman and had a big swordfish that he caught hanging on his living room wall. He, like the swordfish, is no longer with us. Maybe he’ll catch it again in heaven. But I’m guessing they throw everything back up there. Catch and release for Jesus. That sort of thing.

After finishing up my investigative research in East L.A., I headed over to Little Tokyo for lunch. That’s where I took the picture above. I can’t tell whether the Chop Suey sign is in fact a cool old sign or a new sign made to look like a cool old sign. Never got close enough. Anyway, I ended up eating at some Japanese place down the street. Some BBQ beef, some sushi, a Diet Coke (I’m giving it a try. Kill me.) and I was ready to get back out onto the streets for some crimefighting.

Instead of crimefighting though, I stumbled upon this Hummer with a license plate that read “Nirvana”, only with a heart for the V. I don’t know if it’s referring to the transcendental Buddhist state or the popular rock band. Either way, I’m guessing both Buddha and Kurt Cobain would not be into this.

After all of the above, I headed back to my room at the Le Parc Hotel in West Hollywood, from which I write to you. Due to some error on the part or someone or another, I have been booked into some ridiculously large suite that I don’t quite know what to do with. Even the picture above doesn’t do it justice. I could play racquetball in here. But I probably won’t. I have a lot of walking around naked penned in for later tonight when I have nothing better to do though. There is a huge flatscreen TV that comes out from the wall and tilts all over the place too. Perhaps I will watch some programs whilst I am walking around naked or something. Too soon to tell. Despite being really massive (it even has a fireplace and a balcony), there is no minibar for some reason. What the fuck? I really had my heart set on some Toblerone.

Dave Hill