The LA Rulebook

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There should be a rule book for people living in Los Angeles. I’ve lived my entire life here, and I find that I still make horrific faux pas in the most embarrassing ways. This book should be offered at all LA book stores, and it should cover behavior, LA-speak, personal facades, and the LA club scene. Every page should expound on dos and don’ts of the city. Why? Because there’s no city like LA, and there are no people groups like Los Angelenos. The kind of eccentricities and embarrassing scenarios one encounters here can’t be learned intuitively anywhere else. The reason is obvious: no other city has   Hollywood . Yes,  Hollywood . Breeder of fame, fortune, and political power.

As you know, it’s not uncommon to see the odd celebrity doing mundane tasks around town. We’re nearly used to it…or at least we play it off like we are. You know the LA drill. Don’t stare, take a picture secretly and go one with your life. That’s all well and good unless you don’t know they’re famous.

Cut to: Mark Edward Lewis sitting in a cafe in Burbank that he’s never been to. In walks an exotic brunette with short hair, spaghetti strap top, bright blue eyes and a saunter four feet wide.

Cut to reversal: Mark is doing everything wrong. He’s staring at her, not because she’s so striking, but because he thinks he knows her. He’s so sure of it, that when this babe looks back at him, he doesn’t flinch. He’s sure she’ll recognize him. Her frown, her wince and her look of “in your dreams, buddy” doesn’t phase him. He leaves his stool and ambles in her direction. Four feet from his fingers tapping her bare shoulder, Mark has a flicker of a memory.

Cut to Flashback: His living room, a television, late night channel surfing, seeing her chiseled body smashing thugs wearing black. The bumper before commercial reads: “VIP.” Back to cafe and a medium shot of Mark’s hand inches away. He yanks his hand back as though from a snake. His face turns shades of red, and he slinks back to his stool muttering hindu grace. No, he doesn’t know her. He had simply channel surfed onto one of television’s most exploitative and sexist shows. He’s ashamed he even knows this woman’s face at all, but he’s relieved that he didn’t make a fool of himself and repeat the most used celebrity face-slap pick-up line in the LA club scene: “Hi. I think I know you from somewhere.” Ugh.

Yes, it was Natalie Raitano. Yes, it really happened. No, I didn’t get her number. The lesson: if you think you know someone in LA (and they’re gorgeous), it’s okay to cross into their line of sight so they see you, but honestly, they don’t know you. Making this mistake with a network television star is relatively harmless compared to the more incriminating scenarios you could find yourself in…


Source by Mark Edward Lewis

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