The Most Famous Cracked Pot In Hollywood

We walked here. It took more than an hour from the subway station at Western. It didn't seem that far on the tourist map.

Also, it looked like there could be plenty more around, like decent shopping. Which was how I lured my brother into going here in the first place.

Let's get this straight.
Larchmont is one block action.

The rest is residential housing or a hospital or non-descriptive space, where people in cars stare at you for being on the side walk without running shoes or dog. I wore heels.

My brother chopped my feet off with his mad photo skillz, but for the record, I wore heels and dark red lipstick.

I come from a place far, far away, where heels are shunned for being impractical and red lipstick is used only by wrinkly old aunties. But if there is one place one the planet where I was overcome by a need to use both, it was in Hollywood. I even fixed my hair. Both days.

We had checked out and had to carry our luggage. My brother had a tiny backpack. The stylist within had ordered me to carry all my stuff in a black canvas bag. The kind favored by cool bank robbers in movies. Bank robbers only carry their bags under short rushes from the bank to the getaway car. They don't do hour long walks in heels through residential areas. If they ever had to, they would switch to backpacks too.

At last we found Larchmont, and then we saw that there was a tourist shuttle bus stop right at the corner. It only cost a quarter. Starbuck's was easy to find. We were pretty exhausted when we sat down at a table outside. A skinny young guy was talking in an obnoxiously loud voice to to his cell about four auditions he'd done this morning, and how fantastic he'd been. Brother and I rolled our eyes behind our sunglasses. Everyone else seemed normal, as in regular, boring normal.

Another man passed us twice. He looked like that long haired guy in "Lost".
"He looks just like that guy in "Lost" said Brother. I agreed. In the end we decided it was probably "Lost"-guy's body-double. He lacked a specific kind of intensity, according to my brother who is the "Lost" expert. I argued that actors probably do intensity at work, and are just regular people the rest of the time. My brother looked skeptical at that idea and I wasn't in the mood to argue. People inside didn't seem to be on celebrity watch either. Perhaps it was a celebrity day off.

I did find what I was looking for though.
"There it is!" I told Brother. I was getting very excited.
"That's the cracked pot by Starbucks!"
My brother, of course, rolled his eyes.
And, feeling mighty silly, I had myself photographed next to the most famous cracked pot in Hollywood.

P.S. Nowadays maybe famous people have their coffee at Aroma Cafe in Studio City instead? We met ex-Spike body-double, now our brother-in-law, 's twin and his wind-tunnel girlfriend there in the morning. It was a far more interesting and beautiful neighborhood. If I was Wentworth, there's where I'd buy a house. Just saying. By the way, the pastry was excellent too.