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The L.A. experience desired for the Lashes was doled out in spades.
Hollywood Hollywood Hollywood. Tourist Hollywood. Hipster Hollywood. And a wee wee bit of Skeezy Hollywood (I'm likely the only one glad that jerk threw a bottle from a moving car.)
I knew the Roosevelt had been spiffed up since the days when I'd been a guest of the establishment. The beautiful 20's architecture and trappings benefitted nicely from the TLC. But I was astonished to find the Hockney Pool area, a sparsely populated relaxation zone in days of my stays - - had become Club Kid Central and an unparalled bastion of hip L.A.
The classic abstractions at the depths of the blue pool, masses of lush palm trees swaying over the swank proceedings, off-switchless firepits dotting the lanscape, the plexiglass flying corridor of 50's groovedom and the red-lit Roosevelt sign of 20's stardom towering overhead ... and everywhere, filling every nook and cranny around the pool and beyond ... the hip kids of Hollywood - - young, trendy, dressed to the nines.
And then there was us.
We may have been interlopers of a sort ... but it was as extreme the L.A. scene as I could have hoped for.
I have in mind some future swankings at this sight. But I hesitate to ask lightning to strike twice, I hesitate to pretend I'm younger and more hip than I really am. Yet sometime in the future when our wallets are plump, we should head to the Roosevelt for an evening of swank. We may not be young enough or hip enough, but as with last night - - the green is our ticket to the scene.
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