Driving My House Down Sunset

I love Los Angeles. I haven't been to Sunset in a while, a place I used to frequent. The Sunset Strip is a collision between Beverly Hills and and the rest of L.A., similar to the great continental collision between India and the rest of Asia millions of years ago. Rich meets poor, trendy meets trash, punk meets smooth jazz.

This dichotomy was symbolized perfectly at my gig last night at the House of Blues. Downstairs, the Misfits were playing to a sold-out audience of leather & chain clad youngsters, while upstairs in the 'Foundation Room', I played with a Frank Sinatra style lounge act for a bunch of millionaire doctors. I was fortunate to be sitting directly one floor above the bass rack for the Misfits, so during our sound check I caught most of their set through vibrations in my rear.

Driving home I took Sunset to the 405 (or Sunset to 405 for my NorCal readers) and was sandwiched between a spanking new Rolls Royce and a Bentley convertible. At one point I was surrounded by over a million dollars worth of cars. Unfortunately, I couldn't figure out how to make them all hit me without making it look like it was my fault.

I looked up the Rolls Royce and found out that it cost about as much as my house. I imagined driving my house down the winding part of Sunset cruising comfortably back and forth over the dotted line. When I become a lawyer, I'm fairly sure I'll be making more money than I am now, I still couldn't picture driving my house down Sunset.