Sunday Morning
Take a drive with me on a gorgeous Sunday morning, through the leafy sides streets of Hollywood. Here is the perfect way to spend the hours of
I’ll tell you what weekend means. It means following handlettered signs that say YARD SALE up Beachwood Drive, on the hunt for groups of people standing around, peering judiciously at lamps and boxes of CDs laid out on blankets in the small, landscaped yards of the apartment buildings leading up to the HOLLYWOOD sign.
Drive carefully, for Beachwood is rife with tourists who want their picture taken with the sign behind them, and they will stand right smack dab in the middle of the street for that picture, oblivious to the glares of the yard-saling locals who want to get to that pile of sequined throw pillows before that old Armenian lady making her way determinedly up the sidewalk, cane in one hand, purse in the other. She’s eyeballing those pillows and some putz from Tulsa is blocking my way. One more second and that’s going to be one hell of a picture (“Here’s Heather getting run down by some bitch! OMG!”)
After combing Beachwood, I like to head into Weho to Duke’s Diner, a seedy little place right next to Whiskey A-GoGo on Sunset Blvd. They have awesome huevos rancheros. For dessert, I take a drive up into the bird streets, and drool over the ultra expensive movie star homes that cling to the mountainside between Sunset and Mulholland Drive. There’s always one for sale and open houses are on Sunday. We can go in, look around, and pretend we have $4 million lying around and are pondering an investment. Hm, ceiling’s a little cracked on this one…
To finish my morning, I go down to the corner of Gardner and Santa Monica Blvd to my favorite carwash, and listen to Dave Matthews “Crash Into Me” nice and loud as the suds pound my car. I come out with my ears ringing and my car glittering clean. Now it’s
