Unlike New York where one hops in a cab to lunch wherever one desires, here in L.A., we don't leave our neighborhood for anything less than an invitation from an A-List celeb. And then only if they're paying. Today, I decided that my old work buddies were A-List. A few of them were getting together for no reason in particular and they invited me.
So I jumped in my Toyota Echo and I braved the trip from the beach where I live to downtown, which involves taking the 405 to the 105 to the 110 to the 101 S, then off to loop back on to the 101 N, then exit at Union Station to transfer to the Red Line subway to meet my friends at a California Pizza Kitchen exactly like the one a mile and a half from my house.
If I hadn't been doing this life list, I wouldn't have bothered, which would have been a shame.
Because here's the thing: Whenever I see these guys, they treat ME like a celebrity.
And as it turned out, they did pay!