For the past two years, the Time Out Los Angeles team has been based in Hollywood—but not in one of its few redeemable areas. No, we spent our days on Hollywood Boulevard, tiptoeing over tourists sprawled out on the Walk of Fame stars, sharing a parking garage with Spiderman substitutes and detouring around movie premieres at the Chinese Theatre.
Now, we're packing our bags and moving Downtown. Goodbye, pushy tour operators. Goodbye, terrifying Scientology buildings. And goodbye, imitation Mickey Mouse and emphysema Elsa standing across from Disney's El Capitan Theatre in proud defiance of intellectual property laws. Our parting gift to you, Hollywood: an incomplete journal documenting our final days embracing your not-so-lovable lunacy.
Aug. 10
12:03pm: Thor (not the real one) is buying his lunch at Fresh & Easy. Across the courtyard, a large tour group is led into Vegas Seafood. Lunch here is weird.
12:12pm: There is a luncheon on the front patio of the Association for Better Living and Education (aka A.B.L.E., a Scientology-run rehab). A man is smoking. Can Scientologists smoke?
3:30pm: Two seemingly homeless people are having an argument underneath the Four Ladies statue. The woman yells, "I don't have a voodoo eye. I have glaucoma you dumbass."
Aug. 12
7:22am: A man stands at the corner of Hollywood and La Brea and complains that cars in the left lane aren't pulling into the intersection. He aggressively suggests reading the driver handbook. He looks like Slash with a fuzzy top hat.
Aug. 20
11:52am: There's a family across the street wearing fluorescent yellow hats. I think they might be tourists. Meanwhile, on my side of the street, there's a table at A.B.L.E. with nothing on it but vapes. I guess Scientologists can smoke.
4:02pm: A guy asks if I am interested in taking a bus tour. He then asks if I want to make a donation—to him, I guess?
Aug. 21
12:16pm: Walk by a van tour driver closing a sale and hear him say, "This guy wrote Die Hard with me..."
Aug. 26
10:21am: There's a graffitied red carpet and pillory on the sidewalk near the Metro exit. Welcome to Hollywood!
10:24am: Someone bought a CD. With real money. I turned down four of those CD pushers on my way past Hollywood & Highland.
5:12pm: Leaving Hollywood for the last time, I take Outpost Drive—the scenic shortcut I can give up now that I'm not driving it anymore. I pass by a man who looks like a troll and is shaking his fist and snarling at my car. Goodbye, Hollywood.