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- 6:01 p.m.

LA, LA love you, don't mean maybe. Actually, DO mean maybe since I've only been here about 8.3 minutes and most of that has been spent contemplating heavy traffic. So. Then. Los Angeles. City of Pelicans. Or was that Alcatraz? My impressively-wangled posh-nob crash pad is a tateful mix of spacious beige panache (quite stylish if you're happy to use 1983 as a decorative zenith) and eatern-bloc bathing facilities, the shower being only slightly less penetrating than a thrusting light sabre. Kind of retro-sales-rep chic. Which isthenewblack, natch. And though the food is slightly less than "a steal" (dry toast is about $148.99) you have to love a hotel where the concierge calls you "bro". Tomorrow I get to go to a Hollywood memorabilia museum that boasts a spoon from the film "Adams Family Values".

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