Today the creative department rented a bus and drove around LA to find "creative inspiration." As cheese as it sounds, we had a blast, and not just because all the food and alcohol was free. For one thing, the weather was ridiculously perfect: 77 degrees, sunny, and miraculously smog-free. Secondly, I got hammered by 5 PM.
The day began at the Bergamot Station. Based on the name, one can only assume it was a space station of some sort when Santa Monica was colonized by alien beings. Now it's packed with dozens of art galleries. I was particularly intrigued by this Chinese guy who glued hardcover and paperback books together and then carved classic Asian statues out of them. The picture on the bottom right is one of the art directors standing in a room completely plastered with magazine pages, many of which were of the pornographic variety. He's still in that room.
We ended the day at the rooftop bar over at the Standard Hotel/Downtown. Jamie Foxx was walking around with a do-rag, White Sox cap and a cellphone attached to his head - that's one busy noggin. I still remember the night I saw him audition for "In Living Color" in which he did an impression of his AIDS-phobic grandmother. I've been following his career out of curiosity ever since, while occasionally sending him anonymous packages with dead rodents inside.
Yes, you might call it the prepubescent version of the Guggenheim in Bilbao, but the Disney Concert Hall is still pretty impressive. Like Brooke Burke, it's stunning from every possible angle and a testament to what man can accomplish with the right tools.
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