LA.

George Clooney, maybe a legend someday, but for now, all I wanted to see was Bette Davis' impressions. If you haven't seen "All About Eve" you should be slapped in the face. Hard.

Relaxing at the Roosevelt. A long week of traveling will tire you out.

In the lobby I heard a voice, looked up and saw Bradley Whitford. Whattup weird, fakey crush.

We celebrated my impending 24th birthday with a vegan dinner, since he'll be in the UK on the 28th. Then we tried to go see Across the Universe, but the effort was futile and we grabbed some beers and headed to Tony's for dvd fun.

I enjoyed the comforts of Tony's apartment much more than the pretentious bars and restaurants LA had to offer. I should say the places; I should say the people.

In New York I think you can disappear into the dark recesses of dimly lit restaurants or bars, you can disappear in the crowds on the sidewalks at any time of day, and nobody really gives a crap who you are. In LA, every time the door jingled all faces were up, ready to scrutinize anyone who walked in. I got quickly sick of it.

But Jesse promises if we had spent more time in North Hollywood, and less around the tourist-y downtown and Roosevelt, I would've seen its charm. Maybe one day.