Funny how when you have a visitor in town you become a tourist yourself. I'd never toured the city of Los Angeles, so I thought why not start off lightly with a tour of the stars...and their ten to fifty million dollar homes. Inspiration and fortune might transfer between the vacuum of my eyeball and those celebrity palaces. Or, at least, that was the hope.
Peering through the overly-sun-shaded Starline bus window, however, I was reminded that money doesn't necessarily buy taste. Yes, I'm being a snobby Brit but please, please Paris Hilton, when your reputation is already in the crapper, invest at least in a good architect: 'Twas a stony and beige attempt at an old, English manor and the mission had obviously failed- left protruding in a Bel Air neighborhood.
Courtney Cox's pad was stylish and I could see why Jennifer Aniston might want to move near her BFF (she's building a new house on the hill opposite even though she has two houses in town- you go girl!).
Most impressive? Well that would have to be a tie between Eddie Murphy blue glass paneled estate AND Steven Spielberg's grey stone work-in-progress. Does the latter know though that his neighbor is Britney? Now there's a comeback: Britney Spears in Spielberg's eleventh World War II saga, as an anorexic Jewess who falls in love with a self-questioning Nazi, played by David Spade. My imagination runs wild.
Tom Cruise, like the Queen of England, mounts his flag to declare that he's on the premises. It was interesting to hear the public outcry by fellow tourists on the bus to this piece of information: "What a tosser!" shouted one unimpressed Australian. Poor Cruise. In the 80s he was cool, now he gets no respect from anyone. Besides apparently me, who defended him admirably. Hey, when you're that rich and famous why not wave a bloody flag. Better than waving something else.
The Beckham estate was of course huge, white and vulgar. No sightings of Posh Spice but I'll live. It was actually a bigger house than I could ever imagine, so husband and wife must be pulling in more mega-bucks than I even believed. I wonder how their new lifestyle is treating them? Will their children get lost in all their spare rooms and corridors? Will they be here for the holidays?
I won't. I'm off to London in less than 48 hours and because of a nasty cold have not started packing or cleaning up the house as originally intended. I HAVE, however, managed to watch a marathon of Gossip Girl episodes, which confirmed my suspicions that this show is addictive. Don't hate the player, hate the game...of CW soap swankiness. I am now convinced that a little glitz and intrigue wrapped into the pilot I'm writing will help. But I'm too sick to write at the moment. I'll just sit back with soup, a shot of rum and let Serena and Blair do the talking.
Safe travels!
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