0552 - BareMinerals

Years back, feminine cleavage (frontal) was much esteemed, and refined ladies referred to their “Décolletage”. This last week, the OO, with only limited Staff support, flew to Los Angeles and stayed on Sunset in West Hollywood. Here, the view of the younger female L.A. set was frightening. It is the rear that is now décolleté, with all pants far below the belt, and with the ... er ... point above the cleavage adorned with a tattoo. In front, the belly button is on display, again adorned with a tattoo, while all space on the ears, nose, and sometimes lips is pierced as if by a mad torturer. Frightening!

L.A. is the city in the world that contrasts most sharply with Anguilla. Walking down Sunset (not of course representative of the whole city), signs advertise what are either very loud bands or very bad films. These are called names such as “Severe Tire Damage”, or “Baaadaass” [probably bands] or subjects you don't want to think about at all. Groups of the grungy young hang about outside, smoking stuff and exuding (they hope) decadence. Meanwhile, wonderful restaurants abound everywhere, as do tattoo parlors and a store called Hustler's” (don't ask).

Unlike Anguilla, L.A. has all kinds of shops packed with good stuff. There's the great Book Soup, showing a whole section of Bush-bashing releases. And, of course, there are upscale cars everywhere, particularly in Beverly Hills. The Lexus station wagon is prominent, as is the BMW same, along with Range Rovers for exploring the local veldts, and the usual herds of monster Detroit SUVs doing all they can for the oil refiners. Roads are constantly clogged, particularly the superhighways, with thundering herds of giant 18-wheeled trucks terrorizing the meek Anguillian driver who keeps mumbling to himself “Drive right”.

And then, and then, there is the air. After visiting Atlanta recently, the OO thought that L.A. air was better, but not this trip. On most days, a bitter gray fog is provided for breathing purposes. Our advice: don't. Save up your breathing for the pure crystalline supply on Anguilla. But, the plants seem to love the air, [is it the carbon content?], and the display of flowers and trees is wonderful. Furthermore, whoever is growing the stuff for the tables of the L.A. restaurants is doing a great job. An evening at Campanile is an education in super-fresh salads, veg, and fruit. And the wines and service? Superb.

What, you patient Readers ask, has all this to do with Bare Minerals? Well, that seems to be the name of a line of cosmetics sold on TV, and the hint of sexiness makes it a good name, too. [By the way, have you noticed how many TV ads these days have women with bare feet in them?] The point is, though, that the company's slogan is: “Covers all your imperfections”. Although we can't say much for California air or architecture, the California attitude tends to cover the city's imperfections. Everybody is polite and smiles a lot. Feel good is prevalent. We felt good.

Yet, we end with a sour note. Getting to LAX requires visiting San Juan airport both ways, where food is inedible, prices are ridiculous, and everything closes by 7:00 p.m. so you can't even get a drink. Airline food (sorry, AA) is both terrible and tiny (never saw a two-inch bagle before), or simply non-existent, even on a 5 hour LAX-MIA flight. And the LAX airport scene, even pre-dawn, is frightening, with multiple inspections and long, long, lines. Thoughts of the need for population control, or at least check-in redesign, spring to mind while one shuffles along.

Next time: EternalMoment [OO #553]

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