My LA day...

So today was probably the most fun I've ever had by myself (the guy from my dorm is out of town this weekend, and I didn't feel like finding anyone else). Since I was alone, I got to do a bunch of inane things that probably would've made other people bored or impatient. My L.A. tour theme was: Streets I've Heard Of Before (you can already see why being alone was a plus.) I kicked off the day shopping on Melrose, which is pretty much block after block of trendy clothing stores, and managed to find some threads that weren't too slutty (as opposed to the miniskirt I saw that was five inches long.) I moved on to Sunset Blvd., made famous in music and film, and found it not so spectacular. I did go to the Guitar Center and pick up a box to ship my Strat in, after which I got accosted by a bum. It happened when I was trying to fit the box in the car.

Bum: Need help, princess?
Me: Um, no, I'm ok.
Bum: But...Ok.
(longish pause)
Bum: Hey, did I ever tell you I love you? What do you think of that?
Me:...
Bum: So do you have any spare change? I've got all my alcohol, I just need food.
Me: No, sorry.
Bum: So you're saying you don't have a conscience?
Me: No, I'm saying I don't have any spare change.
Bum: (mutters swear words under his breath) What about a $20?

I'm not above helping people in need, but come on, that was a damn questionable situation. I drove off to Hollywood Blvd., where I visited the Kodak Theater (site of the Oscars!) strolled along the Walk of Fame (I stepped on Martin Scorcese and Nicole Kidman!) and checked out the handprints at Grauman's Theatre. Arnold Schwartzenegger wrote "I'll be back" next to his. Guess he wasn't kidding.
The corner of Hollywood and Vine, lauded by Kid Rock, wasn't as interesting as I'd hoped. Damn misleading rap-rock artists. I bet breaking stuff isn't as fun as Fred Durst makes it sound either. I moved on to Santa Monica Blvd., immortalized by Sheryl Crow. I stopped in the middle of the Russian area and wandered around from store to store trying to be mistaken for a Russian. I found that as long as I don't open my mouth, shop owners will speak to me in their native tongue, but the moment I say something they'll start over in English. It's like, when they hear my American accent they forget that I had understood everything they'd said to me and responded with a grammatically correct, albeit improperly intonated and enunciated, answer. Because--duh--all Americans are stupid and don't take the time to learn other languages. At any rate I got authentic Russian candy out of it.
My final Street I've Heard Of Before was Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, home to the most expensive stores this (or probably any other) side of the Mississippi. Construction proved an impediment to parking, so I just drove really slowly, trying to take in the swankiness of it all without causing a pileup--and no doubt infuriating the cars behind me. I'm hoping there won't be a "No Rachels" sign on the entrance to the town next time I go.
So the moral of this story is: Sightseeing and shopping are more fun with other people (provided, of course, that they're people you like), but it's still a really good time alone. And you can listen to N*Sync in the car without complaints from passengers. Did I say N*Sync? I meant...ummmm...that sweet new underappreciated indie band. Yeah.