Dirty Spiderman

I am sure I have mentioned in these pages the phenomenon that is Hollywood Boulevard.  I refer specifically to the stretch between La Brea and Vine where one finds Mme Tussaud’s Wax Museum, Ripley’s Believe It Or Not, the stars on the Walk of Fame, The Kodak Theatre and dozens upon dozens of tour buses offering the chance to see the privacy fences and garage doors of places that may or may not have been owned at some time by a celebrity you may or may not have heard of.  This area has been in my orbit from the very start of my adventures here.  I first sublet a place a few blocks east of the main drag and my little pixie palace was about 10 minutes south.  That said, I have always avoided the area like the plague.

One of the main attractions is Grauman’s Chinese Theatre which is where the famous hand and footprints can be found.

You can also find about one million tourists all wandering about like they are emerging from particularly heavy dental anesthesia –  unsteady on their feet, curiously etherized yet edgy at the same time.  They are rivaled in number by the locals who are attempting to liberate some of the tourist dollars from the shutter mad masses.  There are buskers and beggars and be-costumed actors, the latter of whom are generally turned out in various degrees of success as characters from the current blockbusters on order at the cinema.  Loathe though I am to haunt the area it is also where one finds DSW (that would be Designer Shoe Warehouse to the uninitiated or “Mecca” as I am prone to calling it) so a trip there is occasionally necessary. I espied a Johnny Depp pirate, a Transformer and someone who I think may have been Thor if Thor had access to a fake fur supplier and a surplus of baby oil.  It is a well documented phenomenon that at any given time in this area you will see at least two Spidermen (often more) and one of them could easily be distinguished as “Dirty Spiderman”.  Not that any of the specimens would be described as scrubbed like a newborn babe, but usually there is one particularly grubby one.  For the first time today I actually tossed one a couple of bucks for the pleasure of taking his picture.  He was an especially lithe fellow, and he was wearing a costume obviously crafted from his own hand that looked like this:

He was flipping around like an freshly landed and unusually coordinated  trout,  loaded with unbridled enthusiasm.

Take a look at that sucker.  Then add this little dimension.  It was 100 degrees today.

One.  Hundred.  Degrees.

And this little guy was spinning around all day in a black petroleum byproduct with a mask on his face.

I think I need to be a little more thankful about the life I lead.

Anyway, tonight is my last on the West Coast. Breakfast tomorrow with my pal Ethan in West Hollywood then off to the airport I go.  I look forward to discovering if and how the airline will manage to blame the inevitable delay in a hurricane occurring several hundred miles from my final destination, but I have faith that they will.

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