Friday, May 2nd, 2008, 6 AM: Up early for the Americana shoot. Spend a hour in the shower. Does the beard need a trim? Nah.
7AM: My hair person late again! I am so going to give that bitch a piece of my mind!
8 AM: Hair person never showed up. Now the limo is late, too. What else can possibly go wrong? Lee says we’d better drive. I agree, and jump in the backseat. Traffic horrible all the way out to Glendale. Forced to do my own make-up on the way out.
9:30 AM: Lee says parking pass never arrived from the agency. By now resigned to a day filled with horrors. We find a space by the library, blocks from the Americana.
10:30 AM: Photographer is now thirty minutes late. Was supposed to meet her in front of Prada. Spent the time examining some lovely handbags.
Opening
day at “Americana at Brand,” newest mega-haute-extravaganza by
Rick Caruso, the man who built that dreadful extended
K-Mart “The Grove” over on Fairfax, by the tacky old
Hollywood Farmer’s Market.
First impressions:
move
over Sears, Roebuck, you’ve got a new competitor. A
Cheesecake Factory,
if you can believe that. Plus all the usual suspects:
BCBG,
Kate Spade,
GUESS,
Martin + Osa,
Tiffany, Marciano,
Cole Haan. It’s
all so … so
Kira Plastinina, if you get my
drift. My God! There she is! The 15-year-old milkman’s
daughter, Russia’s answer to Paris
Hilton, clothing-wise. She’s opening another of her
stores for pre-pubescents. Don’t stare, Lee, it only encourages her.
11 AM:
Finally!
A young woman approaches us, cameras dangling all over, and asks if I’m
John. I admit that I have the good fortune to be he. She introduces
herself as Christina von Messling.
She has a German accent. What happened to
Annie Leibovitz?
I ask. She couldn’t make it. (Hah! Still hiding out from that
Miley Cyrus fiasco, I shouldn’t doubt!)
I thought we should begin the shoot on the horridly overdone faux “streetcar” that rumbles through the place every few minutes, but no, my Teutonic handmaiden wants something more rural. Rural, in Glendale? Oh, well, sigh. We find a tree somewhere.
“How about some socks?” von Messling suggests. Socks? With REI sandals? White socks? Labor Day is months away, sweetie. It’s not even Memorial Day. But she’s insistent, says it’s the coming thing. Sigh. Whatever.
11:10
AM: Oh, well. Sigh. She tells me to look next week at
Racked LA. But I thought it was for
Vogue. Lee, didn’t the agent say Vogue? No?
Oh. Well, about the check … ah, yes, look for it next week.
Monday, May 5th. No sign of me on Racked LA.
Tuesday, May 6th. Nothing yet.
Wednesday, May 7th. No.
Thursday, May 8th. Anniversary of Mt. St. Helens eruption. Ready to erupt myself.
Friday, May 9th. NOTHING!
Monday, May 12th. I’ve never been treated this way. Never!
Tuesday ….
Oh, God, Wednesday …
Thursday, May 15th. Finally, there I am! I … ohmigawd. WHO DID THIS TO ME?