Megan is a complex girl. One minute she’s happy and the next she’s happy . . . er? Actually, Megan is easy on the mind not to mention the eyes. So, as a celebration of her birth (day 2 — still making up for my Comic Con disappearance on her actual birthday) I’m taking her to Venice for dinner. Yes, beautiful Venice . . . not Venice Italy, people. Venice, CA. Like we’re that rich.
I mean, we could own this water soaked crap hole, but then again, I own Assassin’s Creed 2, so what’s the need?
I had visited Venice a few years back with my old pal Danielle Uhlarek. At the time, I found it to have a really cool vibe. Kind of like Chicago’s Wicker Park but with less hipsters . . . A LOT LESS HIPSTERS. Hell, now Wicker Park is like Lincoln Park 2. For all you unfamiliar with Chicago neighborhoods, exhibit a and b:
Exhibit A: Wicker Park residents mid-gentrification.
Exhibit B: Wicker Park residents post gentrification.
Venice has lots of privately owned stores and boutiques. When I was with Danielle, Venice felt like getting off the beaten path of Hollywood. HOWEVER, on this trip, Megan and I came to an astute conclusion about “Venice.”
It’s more like a trendy yuppie’s Rodeo Drive. Everything there is a small, hip business or restaurant that is way over priced. The people who live there feel like hippy parents who decided to throw out their tie dyes for boat shoes and ironic t-shirts. Not exactly hipsters but not exactly executive types — a weird cross section. Essentially, they embody the LA specific trend of spending a SHIT TON of money to look casual, sometimes unkempt but always microscopically trendy.
In LA, this guy could be the owner of The Gap.
Needless to say, we didn’t fit in at all. Every store we went into was like sticker shock was a nervous condition. I mean, 80 bucks for a crappy sweatshirt. Sorry, but because you put a “crazy different” LA logo on your t-shirt doesn’t mean I have the money to act like I’m a “crazy different” LA guy. The prices were outrageous.
Oh, so you put some stripes on this hoodie it costs 170 bucks. Now I understand.
When we finally took a money to really look at the people shopping, it was pretty clear — we’re out of our league. And I don’t mean that in a self depreciating way . . . Actually, forget leagues. The better expression would be, we’re in the wrong sport.
Yeah, something like that.
So after a FANTASTIC dinner — Megan got a pecan encrsuted Chicken breast which was AAAAAMAZING (that must be sung in falcetto to be fully apprecauuted) — we decided to visist the beach a few blocks away. Now, the one thing that was in the back of our mind the whole time we strolled around Venice was the random skater kids flying by us. They fit in less than we did, yet there were enough of them to make us question their presence. Where are these guys coming from? Then we got to Vence beach that we realized the dichodemy of the whole Venice area.
Where Venice proper is rich and trendy, Venice Beach is like a circus freak show. Beach bums, gypsies, surfers, homeless, street performers . . . an a la carte of crazy. We strolled the boardwalk to the views of peddlers selling incense, awful paintings and even cardboard signs for the homeless to purchase. Really. Already made homeless signs. Insanely brilliant.
Okay. But which ones are homeless?
The probalem — it was somewhat clauterphobic. Just too many weird smalls and people. Again, we did not fit in. Megan started to feel ill so we jetted out of there. The only saving grace . . . We say this girl:
Alex Mack!
Megan and I turned our heads simultaneously and whispered, “Alex Mack.” Yep, the Larisa Oleynik passed us carrying a crate and rushing to the beach. She looked about as worried as we did — that feeling of, “Um, none of this feels right.” And none of it did. So we went home. We’re so old.
287/365 – Venice; A Social Dichotomy
Megan is a complex girl. One minute she’s happy and the next she’s happy . . . er? Actually, Megan is easy on the mind not to mention the eyes. So, as a celebration of her birth (day 2 — still making up for my Comic Con disappearance on her actual birthday) I’m taking her to Venice for dinner. Yes, beautiful Venice . . . not Venice Italy, people. Venice, CA. Like we’re that rich.
I mean, we could own this water soaked crap hole, but then again, I own Assassin’s Creed 2, so what’s the need?
I had visited Venice a few years back with my old pal Danielle Uhlarek. At the time, I found it to have a really cool vibe. Kind of like Chicago’s Wicker Park but with less hipsters . . . A LOT LESS HIPSTERS. Hell, now Wicker Park is like Lincoln Park 2. For all you unfamiliar with Chicago neighborhoods, exhibit a and b:
Exhibit A: Wicker Park residents mid-gentrification.
Exhibit B: Wicker Park residents post gentrification.
Venice has lots of privately owned stores and boutiques. When I was with Danielle, Venice felt like getting off the beaten path of Hollywood. HOWEVER, on this trip, Megan and I came to an astute conclusion about “Venice.”
It’s more like a trendy yuppie’s Rodeo Drive. Everything there is a small, hip business or restaurant that is way over priced. The people who live there feel like hippy parents who decided to throw out their tie dyes for boat shoes and ironic t-shirts. Not exactly hipsters but not exactly executive types — a weird cross section. Essentially, they embody the LA specific trend of spending a SHIT TON of money to look casual, sometimes unkempt but always microscopically trendy.
In LA, this guy could be the owner of The Gap.
Needless to say, we didn’t fit in at all. Every store we went into was like sticker shock was a nervous condition. I mean, 80 bucks for a crappy sweatshirt. Sorry, but because you put a “crazy different” LA logo on your t-shirt doesn’t mean I have the money to act like I’m a “crazy different” LA guy. The prices were outrageous.
Oh, so you put some stripes on this hoodie it costs 170 bucks. Now I understand.
When we finally took a money to really look at the people shopping, it was pretty clear — we’re out of our league. And I don’t mean that in a self depreciating way . . . Actually, forget leagues. The better expression would be, we’re in the wrong sport.
Yeah, something like that.
So after a FANTASTIC dinner — Megan got a pecan encrsuted Chicken breast which was AAAAAMAZING (that must be sung in falcetto to be fully apprecauuted) — we decided to visist the beach a few blocks away. Now, the one thing that was in the back of our mind the whole time we strolled around Venice was the random skater kids flying by us. They fit in less than we did, yet there were enough of them to make us question their presence. Where are these guys coming from? Then we got to Vence beach that we realized the dichodemy of the whole Venice area.
Where Venice proper is rich and trendy, Venice Beach is like a circus freak show. Beach bums, gypsies, surfers, homeless, street performers . . . an a la carte of crazy. We strolled the boardwalk to the views of peddlers selling incense, awful paintings and even cardboard signs for the homeless to purchase. Really. Already made homeless signs. Insanely brilliant.
Okay. But which ones are homeless?
The probalem — it was somewhat clauterphobic. Just too many weird smalls and people. Again, we did not fit in. Megan started to feel ill so we jetted out of there. The only saving grace . . . We say this girl:
Alex Mack!
Megan and I turned our heads simultaneously and whispered, “Alex Mack.” Yep, the Larisa Oleynik passed us carrying a crate and rushing to the beach. She looked about as worried as we did — that feeling of, “Um, none of this feels right.” And none of it did. So we went home. We’re so old.