LA1: Beachwood Canyon and Eagle Rock Chalet

I sat tonight by a fire in an air-conditioned room modeled after an Austrian ski lodge. The floor was a carpeted tartan. The weather outside was approaching the 80s.

Welcome to LA.

Flew out today from JFK to Burbank Airport (named Bob Hope). The flight was full of gay couples and one even had a baby. One of the fathers was sporting a "native baby carrier" that I think I have seen on Angelina. Sadly the Native Baby web site features no pot-bellied gay men.

Went to dinner in Beachwood Canyon at a place called Birds. My friends and I sat in a red booth below a large picture of Alfred Hitchcock. The food was delicious and the restaurant was right across from a large Scientology complex. The air smelled of honeysuckle or dogwood or magnolia. My nose is apparently only able to decipher between Canal Street and 59th Street subway odors.

Gained three hours. Lost an hour. I am not sure whether I have lost or won.

Before I jump into bed I thought it appropriate to depart with this quote in honor of my dining companion tonight. Hope you enjoy.

[Dressed in safari hunting gear and pith helmet]
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to darkest Hollywood. Night brings a stillness to the jungle. It is so quiet, you can hear a name drop. The savage beasts have already begun gathering at the water holes to quench their thirst. Now one should be especially alert. The vicious table-hopper is on the prowl, and the spotted back-biter may lurk behind a potted palm. To take me through this most savage of lands, I have hired a native guide.

[Snaps his fingers. An old man joins him, wearing a billboard sign that reads, "Maps of the Movie Stars' Homes - For Sale"]

He claims to know where I can find the big ones.
-A.H.