I spent a day in Beverly Hills last week, primarily on Rodeo Drive.
(The sculpture in yesterday's post stands in the middle of Rodeo Drive. I'm in love with the sculpture, and would take it home with me if I could. I would name it Naked Pain and put it … I'm not sure where. Maybe Naked Pain would have to stand in the middle of my kitchen?)
Rodeo Drive street sign.
I hadn't visited Rodeo Drive in awhile, but little has changed.
Did you know very few locals actually shop on Rodeo Drive?
It's primarily a tourist destination.
Now that summer has ended, it wasn't too busy.
Rodeo Drive – palm trees and Mercedes Benz.
One of the shopkeepers talked to me for a long time. She was bored because the bulk of tourists are gone.
Rodeo Drive is charming, pristine, and arrogant about flaunting its materialism.
You think I'm joking don't you?
(They are damn serious when they say no cameras allowed!)
I met a French photographer who spoke little English.
He was very handsome, but he creeped me out.
He kept following me.
It isn't uncommon really,
A photographer spots another photographer and thinks,
"If he/she is taking a photo there, then I should too."
He kept following me, and following me, and following me.
Finally, I told him he was scaring me.
He then tried to have a conversation with me, but it didn't go too smoothly.
Maybe he just wanted American-Woman-Rodeo-Drive sex?
Who can say ….
He didn't speak much English, and I only know about three words of French.
Did you know the entire (very famous) area of Rodeo Drive is actually a very small shopping area?
South Orange County is a lot like Rodeo Drive, except on steroids and with a lot less charm.
I apologize Orange County …
But, you know, it's true.
© Twenty Four At Heart