Hollywood: How Very

Friday night we saw a new flick and then went to a party at the writer/director's house. He wrote Heathers. I wandered his Hollywood home thinking, "OMG! My junior high self would lose it."

I loved Heathers back then. Watching this new film piqued my curiosity. Is this writer/director...feminist? Or...not? I kind of can't tell. The only that's for sure is that he has pretty evolved and complex thoughts about women which is more than I can say for most of the stuff Hollywood cranks out. He ran around the house all night (into the smaller house in the back to grab bags and boxes of drinks) so he wasn't exactly in chat mode, like, Ask me about feminism, would you, already? However, fridge was always stocked.

This party was totally different from the party I went to last weekend in Silver Lake. First of all, it's a gigantic Hollywood home with showbiz lore: Orson Welles died there. There's a beautiful pool with steam rising off it (it was a chilly night), several decks and overall, it rates high on the fancy-meter. But people weren't exactly mingling and it was like there was some unwritten rule against dancing, even though the music was totally danceable. Boooooo.

The whole time I wandered the house, I thought, I have GOT to tell Jaclyn I was here and that there was all this art on the walls that she would LOVE.

Other than that, J and I had several TV marathons this weekend. One of the only times I left the house was to watch a TV show at a bar (it was a celebration). We also hiked every day this weekend, which was gorgeous. Amanda took me on a different route than the one I take with James. From the top of the hill, the bumper-to-bumper traffic on Sunset looks like a string of twinkling jewels. It's mesmerizing and beautiful. Then I think about what the twinkles really are close-up (just the very real and mundane lights on cars with drivers sitting inside fuming because they are inching along in traffic). Hollywood.

Ok, here's a Hollywood story for you. It's actually J's. He had a meeting at a literary agency this morning and the guy greeted him with a hearty, "So you're a snowback!" J said he was confused. He'd never heard the term before. Neither had I. As he was telling me the story, we kind of looked at each other incredulously. Does snowback mean...like, wetback? Like a racial slur?

So we Googled it. Answer: Yes.

Who greets a stranger with a slur? J was really stunned but I hate to say that I'm not. Not to be overly dramatic but please - don't all non-white people know what discriminatory words feel like? It's disgusting because I know this guy felt it was okay for him, as a white dude, to say this to another white dude but please...like he would say what crosses his mind when he sees a face like mine. What a xenophobic, grosstastic caricature of a Hollywood sleaze. J and I both can't believe it.

Oh, and another thing that disgusted me today. That schtick gets this guy gets job OFFERS? Local news is always such a disaster but this is just COME ON.

Isaac and I chatted this weekend and he requested more photos of me on the blog. I've complied with a photo he took of me doing what I do so much of down here: beep beep!