March 31, 2011
autumndewilde:

ANNAKIM
paper magazine
hollywood

i hate hollywood but that’s where kim wanted to go and here we are.  she looks ridiculous in that hat and those sunglasses but she’s convinced that’s how they dress here.have i said i hate it here?  because i do.we take the subway to universal city and there are more tourists there than you can imagine, fat and fanny packed and smelly.  can the midwest give off a particular odor?  i’m not sure, i’ve never been there.  but i think i can spot midwesterners from miles away: they wear hats, baseball or cowboy.we go into santa monica and this place feels like it’s filled beyond capacity.  so many people in the street and so many people looking for parking.  looking for parking is a profession here.  fake tits are the new hood ornaments, and if i see more illegible tattoos, i might want to cut somebody.i’m not always this cheery, so, you know, whatever.we walk along the ocean in venice and i light a cigarette clumsily while holding on to my sneakers in hone hand, a lighter in the other.  i’m the only idiot out here wearing jeans and a black tee-shirt.  she’s shoved her green wicker shoes in her handbag that’s bigger than my gym bag.  her shoes aren’t really made out of wicker; i only say that because she paid too much for them and was late on her rent that month.  a red truck with red buoys and two blond lifeguards drive next to me and tell me i have to put out my cigarette or i’ll get a ticket.  i do and they drive off in a wake of sand.  kim laughs.drive back to hollywood and she wants a picture in front of the kodak theater, and in front of the capital records building, and in from of amoeba records, and in front the ktla building, and along the walk of fame, and in front of the cineramadome, and in front of the viper room, and in front of the el capitan, and so on…she finds tinker bell’s star in front of a stripper supply store.(is this what these places are called?  i’m not sure.  it makes it sound as if all these garters and bustiers and stockings and boas and thongs are in a home depot for strippers.  what would you call them this place?)kim’s raised her voice telling me to take her picture and she crouches down by the tinker bell star.  i make sure kim’s out of focus and take the picture.  she wants me to take a couple more, so i do, cutting her off more and more each time.we walk until we’re at a place called real food daily and i’m drenched in sweat.  i don’t look through the menu and kim’s saying something about something.  the waitress comes by as i’m looking at the pictures from today in the camera.  i order a coffee and cream.  the waitress says something that sounds like she said they don’t have cream nor milk and i say sure and she’s off.  kim’s phone rings and she flips it open with a snap of her wrist and begins talking.i look at one of the tinker bell star pictures and think it isn’t so bad here if you imagine that tinker bell got a star after she died after she could no longer get work and turn to making porn.  i think tinker bell, the porn star, would’ve liked to get ass fucked hard from behind while a pot bellied hairy man pulled on her wings, fairy dust spilling everywhere.tinker bell the porn star makes hollywood less loathsome.

autumndewilde:

ANNAKIM

paper magazine

hollywood

i hate hollywood but that’s where kim wanted to go and here we are.  she looks ridiculous in that hat and those sunglasses but she’s convinced that’s how they dress here.

have i said i hate it here?  because i do.

we take the subway to universal city and there are more tourists there than you can imagine, fat and fanny packed and smelly.  can the midwest give off a particular odor?  i’m not sure, i’ve never been there.  but i think i can spot midwesterners from miles away: they wear hats, baseball or cowboy.

we go into santa monica and this place feels like it’s filled beyond capacity.  so many people in the street and so many people looking for parking.  looking for parking is a profession here.  fake tits are the new hood ornaments, and if i see more illegible tattoos, i might want to cut somebody.

i’m not always this cheery, so, you know, whatever.

we walk along the ocean in venice and i light a cigarette clumsily while holding on to my sneakers in hone hand, a lighter in the other.  i’m the only idiot out here wearing jeans and a black tee-shirt.  she’s shoved her green wicker shoes in her handbag that’s bigger than my gym bag.  her shoes aren’t really made out of wicker; i only say that because she paid too much for them and was late on her rent that month.  a red truck with red buoys and two blond lifeguards drive next to me and tell me i have to put out my cigarette or i’ll get a ticket.  i do and they drive off in a wake of sand.  kim laughs.

drive back to hollywood and she wants a picture in front of the kodak theater, and in front of the capital records building, and in from of amoeba records, and in front the ktla building, and along the walk of fame, and in front of the cineramadome, and in front of the viper room, and in front of the el capitan, and so on…

she finds tinker bell’s star in front of a stripper supply store.

(is this what these places are called?  i’m not sure.  it makes it sound as if all these garters and bustiers and stockings and boas and thongs are in a home depot for strippers.  what would you call them this place?)

kim’s raised her voice telling me to take her picture and she crouches down by the tinker bell star.  i make sure kim’s out of focus and take the picture.  she wants me to take a couple more, so i do, cutting her off more and more each time.

we walk until we’re at a place called real food daily and i’m drenched in sweat.  i don’t look through the menu and kim’s saying something about something.  the waitress comes by as i’m looking at the pictures from today in the camera.  i order a coffee and cream.  the waitress says something that sounds like she said they don’t have cream nor milk and i say sure and she’s off.  kim’s phone rings and she flips it open with a snap of her wrist and begins talking.

i look at one of the tinker bell star pictures and think it isn’t so bad here if you imagine that tinker bell got a star after she died after she could no longer get work and turn to making porn.  i think tinker bell, the porn star, would’ve liked to get ass fucked hard from behind while a pot bellied hairy man pulled on her wings, fairy dust spilling everywhere.

tinker bell the porn star makes hollywood less loathsome.

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