Friday 7 January 2011

SANDALGATE

There was a recent outrage splashed across the newspapers in the States. It wasn’t about unemployment rates rising; or a convicted killer being released early; or another church molestation scandal. No, this time it was about sandals. Yes, you heard me. President Obama was photographed wearing flip flop sandals. They even came up with a title for this latest supposed scandal: ‘Sandalgate’ of course. That is America for you. They need a catchphrase for just about everything and they're not afraid to reuse phrases unto the point of tedium (thanks a lot Nixon). And graphics. Oh how they love their graphics. When I’m on U.S shores and have to witness the media going off on one of their ridiculous tangents, as they love to do, it makes me want to pack up my suitcase and head back to England. Fast. (Not that their media is any better).

So, according to the media (which I never take as the people’s voice, mind you) when you’re President of this country you’re not allowed to show your feet. Even though he was photographed wearing these wicked sinful planks of rubber whilst he was in Hawaii. Yes, he dared to wear sandals while vacationing in a hot tropical climate. It’s not as if he was conducting a summit meeting with Putin in the middle of Moscow wearing Jesus sandals. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, Obama should have been given praise for making an appropriate shoe choice for the environment in which he found himself. That’s just intelligence and pragmatism. I think we should’ve been more worried if Obama rocked up to the beach in wingtips, a speedo and a bolero. Now that would’ve been a look.

I suppose the more alarming thing about all of this is that the media finds such utterly pointless things like this appropriate to fixate on. Talk about a slow news day. What about focusing on the real issues of the day, the ills of society, the national disasters, the economy; or here's a novel concept, what if they reported on the positive stories, the accomplishments, the things Obama has succeeded at (cynics pipe down, merely maintaining that job is an accomplishment). Let’s get past how thin he is, or what shoes he’s wearing. Next thing you know we’ll be judging politicians on their haircuts, how well maintained their cuticles are, and if they eat an appropriate breakfast in the morning. You think I’m joking but just you wait for "FruitLoopGate." It’s just around the corner, I’m telling you.

Wednesday 5 January 2011

ISN'T THAT???

The King and I were almost run over by Wayne Gretzky yesterday. We were out for a walk near my dad’s house and around the corner came this big black tinted windowed car. As we hugged the curb for dear life, I told the King, one of the hockey greats almost just took us out (I’m of course exaggerating for effect. That’s what I do. :-) I suppose it wouldn't be such a bad way to go.

That’s what you have to love about Los Angeles. You never know around what corner you’re going to run into a celebrity. They are literally everywhere, sprouting out of the woodwork when you least expect it; kind of like termites. Now, I’m not really one to jump up and down about these things. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all as far as I'm concerned, but it can become a surreal experience when you're at a department store shopping for new underwear and Heidi Klum is standing next to you. Surreal and sobering, as she after four kids looks better than most of us after one.

You also often find yourself forgetting where you’ve seen these individuals and you can't help but think that everyone looks SO familiar. “Did he go to my school?” “Maybe we went to summer camp.” “Wait, maybe he was my dentist when I six?” Of course you're not going to have this problem with the more obvious spots like Oprah. I mean, I certainly would not mistake the big O for my archery teacher Riverway Ranch Camp. But the more obscure celebs are simply hard to place. You know you’ve seen them before, you just aren’t sure where.

The other surprising thing is how much different they look in ‘real’ life. They’re almost always shorter, thinner, and older. That’s the irony of TV. You look fatter, and younger. You can’t have both people. Of course there are the exceptions to this. Halle Berry in person is just as annoyingly perfect as she is on film. I found it hard not to go up to her and ask her what night cream she uses. Although something tells me there is not a night cream in the world that is going to give me that woman’s gorgeous complexion.

The other thing about Los Angeles is that when you’re from here you quickly realize that the allure and mysteriousness of celebrity is just that. When you see your favorite film star in the laxative aisle of CVS (pharmacy) you quickly realize he/she is as human as you or I. And in L.A you see them everywhere; at the local coffee place (celebs loooove coffee for some reason. I’m thinking all the caffeine keeps them from eating. Celebs as far as I can gather, don’t eat. Period), at the mall, waiting in line for their car at the car wash. Fine, they’re often driving a tricked out Bentley and you’re not, but they’re still just as prone to get nailed in the speed trap by some overly eager cop. Unless of course they are…Halle Berry and then I have the feeling she is above and beyond such things. Damn her.

Tuesday 4 January 2011

CHECKING IN

I love hotel living. I’ve been staying at one with my family for the past seven days and when check out rolls around, I fear they might have to pry my fingers from the balcony railing, as I will be holding on in hopes of never leaving.

The most obvious of reasons is of course the full service nature of the experience. You’re hungry? You dial a phone and say, ‘hi, I’m hungry I’d like you to bring me food.’ And voila, food is brought up to your room. You’re done eating, and presto, the food and more importantly, the dishes disappear. You’re tired, the bed is clean, made, and usually lined with way more pillows than any human needs. And they even come by in the evening and turn down the sheets for you, just in case this mere exercise is too much for you on holiday. Then there is the water by your bed and the chocolates on your pillow. I mean, what is a better cap on the end of the day than chocolate. I suppose they could leave a bottle of whisky on your pillow and two Vicodin, but I’m sure that would make their insurance rates go through the roof.

Hotels are also the most brilliant way to observe society; depending on where you are staying of course will dictate what part of society you will be taking in. For example, if your hotel is really a motel, then you may have more hookers than let’s say, lawyers. Then again, there is probably not such a huge difference between the two. Just merely sitting by the pool during the day, you can see how people conduct themselves with other guests and staff, how they raise their children, what they choose to wear on a holiday – this can be very amusing – and of course the tensions that arise from traveling en famille. That can be even more amusing than the outfits. Then there is the in built class system – the staff tirelessly (and often thanklessly) looking after everyone; the ‘money’ guests as I like to call them – the ones that stay in the penthouse and are greeted around every corner as if they’re royalty. And of course the guests whose room faces the alley.

At the moment, our hotel is like a hotbed for families. There are children of every conceivable age absolutely everywhere. This can be great, more playmates for the King, and of course can also be an absolute headache, as not everyone raises their children with the same…ethos, shall we say. For example, I witnessed one exchange this morning in the café/shop downstairs that reminded me that for many, a holiday means a holiday from one’s senses. So this café serves take out coffee, pastries and the like, as well as gelato and a whole row of candy bins. I’m thinking that the hotel is either trying to narcotize their guest’s children or are strategically trying to bilk even more money from mom and dad as they know the children will demand candy round the clock. So anyway, a Mother was there with her kids at 9am and each child had a bag of candy, and a handful of gummy worms hanging out of their mouths. She would meekly suggest they eat a banana, to wash down their gummy worms, and they of course told her right where to stuff her banana. Even the King knew she was in over her head.

Then there is the sheer civility of hotel life – some hotels that is; if you’re staying at some fleabag with a posse on a stag weekend, I’m thinking civility will not really come into play. Our hotel is an island of politeness. Around every corner is a staff member with a giant welcoming smile ready to greet you with a ‘have a nice day,’ ‘can I assist you with anything,’ or ‘wow, your son is the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen in my entire life.’ Okay, fine, I made the last one up, but you can tell in their eyes that they are thinking it. I suppose that for some people this may all ring as disingenuous (Europeans cringe at the ‘have a nice day,’ factor. Go on admit it, you do), but if for one week, I can have every door held open for me, and have complete strangers ask me if they can assist me with absolutely anything before I can even anticipate what that thing is, I’m thinking sticking around is well in my favor.

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