Welcome To The Jungle
I am comfortably ensconced in room 322 of La Montrose Hotel in West Hollywood. The Roxy is just two blocks north. The Viper Room is not much further. It’s all very L.A., in an Axl Rose sort of way.
I am here on business. I wore a brown corduroy sport coat to The Rainbow, which, there in the shadow of CC Deville and Dimebag Darrell, is pretty uncool. But then, that’s how I ride.
I am in Los Angeles covering The Grammy Awards for the next eight days, punctuated by what I hope to be a restful weekend in Palm Springs. If I weren’t so tired, I’d be more excited.
I was excited, though, when my young colleague Rich and I stepped out of The Rainbow and looked west. There, hanging over Sunset, straight out of the Paramount Pictures prop department, was a giant, golden crescent moon.
Say what you will about the hours, the pace, and the miles, but the day job does afford me an occasional slice of heaven.