a night at the Roxbury

Once more the sun rises on the steep, grassy hills of Los Angeles. Once more in to the breach of its heathen belly I climb. It´s Cinco de Mayo motherfuckers.

          Celebrations at 7825 Torreyson Drive started early - more specifically last night. A visiting dignitary from Hong Kong had us all dressed up nicely and wine poured in containers made of real glass. I initiated a joint performance of the swedish battle cry hymn "I natt jag drömde" at the onset of dinner and things more less went downhill from there. At the bottom of the hill lie Sunset Boulevard, the pumping, gin-perforated vein of West Hollywood and home to numerous chapters of modern folklore. In search of our own contemporary legend we ended up at Chateau Marmont, a place where many a stronger men and women of the entertainment industry have perished over the years. John Belushi speed balled his way into history here in 1982 and I think F Scott Fitzgerald called it quits here too back in the day. But then again, what Los Angeles hotel hash´t played host to a number of celebrity deaths? (Bobby Kennedy - the Roosevelt, Whitney Houston - the Beverly Hilton und so weiter). Nobody died last night (although I had to check several times this morning when I woke up) and we had the grandest of times.

         Brunch was enjoyed at the standard diner (see enclosed picture) and after I´ve finished posting I will take a shower and get myself ready to bash some Pinatas and wear myself a sombrero. Blog language is now back to english. Why? My girlfriend told me so. Also, if I do happen to end my days tonight, I prefer to go down speaking the kings. Death rather than dishonor. Happy Cinco.