Although, I was not planning to see Hamilton at the Hollywood Pantages, that’s how it worked out. Not everybody is a big fan of musicals. My husband is one of those people. He lets me drag him to shows that he otherwise, left to his own devices, would not see. Such a good sport. Mostly we go to shows in San Francisco at a Sunday matinee. We can drive into the City for brunch, catch the show and be home in time for dinner. However, we could not get tickets for Hamilton when the show was in San Francisco.
With such limited time in Los Angeles last weekend, we were very lucky to squeeze in time for Sunday brunch at Yamashiro Restaurant. We were there about noon, and the place was empty. I wondered if it was because they charge $10 to valet park. We grabbed an Uber from the Hollywood Dream Hotel to the top of the hill in Whitley Heights where Yamashiro Restaurant is located. It was only $6.00. But the brunch itself was expensive as compared to a brunch in Sacramento, for example. Our tab, without mimosas, just soft drinks, was $120 for the two of us.
Another place I had never visited in Los Angeles when I lived next door in Orange County is the Griffith Observatory. Named for a guy whose mother couldn’t come up with a better name than Griffith J. Griffith. I don’t know why I missed this as a place to go because it’s such a fascinating experience. Odd as it may sound, in the middle of planning my future while in 5th grade, I had developed an intense desire to become an astronaut. Or, at least to study astronomy. My mother pooh-poohed that idea. She said it required too much science, and I would never stick with it. So, the decision was clear to me. I would become a bank robber. That was the other choice in my grade school kid’s mind. I suppose that’s not so far off today since I sell Sacramento real estate.
There are some pretty scary neighborhoods I go into when selling Sacramento real estate but I didn’t think an assault in Carmichael would happen. Certainly not while driving down a one-block, dead-end street in Carmichael in the middle of the afternoon. But from here on out, I will be doubly vigilant about dead-end streets. If you encounter trouble on the way in, there is only way out. This dead-end street was also located next to an upscale gated community. So I don’t know what was worse, the fact the residents might not care for those who live in the gated community, or the fact this Sacramento Realtor drives a Mercedes, or a combination of both.
We all joked about the La Brea Tar Pits for years. It started for me in the 1970s. I lived in Newport Beach for 15 years; owned Real Estate of America and sold homes there. Whenever we wanted to downgrade an experience, pick on another person or make fun of tourists, we would suggest they visit the La Brea Tar Pits.
Granted, at the time, I don’t think I knew what they were. For one thing, I thought they were in La Brea and not on Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles. For another, I thought it was one giant football stadium with overturned, jumbled asphalt, like a blacktop driveway that exploded during an earthquake. In any case, yet another place I had never seen but that did not stop me from participating in the mockery. I was such a kid, in retrospect.