Tuesday night, my lovely friend at Paramount invited me to the premiere of 'I Love You, Man,' the new Paul Rudd/Jason Segel comedy (Rashida Jones, though I love her, is hardly worth mentioning) that takes jabs at bro-dating. Among the motley crew of stars on the red carpet were Ron Jeremy, Jerry Stiller and Jack Black. Then there was actor Christopher Mintz-Plasse--better known as McLovin--skinnier than a manorexic on dexetrin, who took 10 minutes to make it past 40 feet of fans. I believe that one man, who was creepily old for such fan antics, actually said 'I love your work.' I did not realize that one role in a college-humor film constituted 'work.'
At least three people asked why I wasn't wearing green. Who the fu*k knew it was St. Patrick's Day. Jews don't celebrate saints. Ridiculous.
On Wednesday I stayed with my visiting bestie at The London Hotel. If I were to get nitpicky, the digs are too contemporary-slick for my taste. But in general--gorgeous. The beds are like clouds. The baths have triple shower heads--enough said. And Gordon Ramsay at the London has a separate Vegetarian Menu upon request. A secret worth spreading.
I spent my Friday night at Home Silverlake. Scott T. Sterling DJ'ed. Scott Sterling hosted. It might have been confusing but for the differentiating middle initial. Cydney Robinson may be the Janis Joplin of this generation. The voices could make them sisters. But I am pretty sure this one wasn't on crack.
All in a week gone by. Cheers to the next seven days.
Parting thoughts: Facebook has been showing multiple maternity-related ad units on my account. Does it know something I don't? Are my pschographics showing signs of a baby bump only Facebook knows I have?