MONDRIAN.

On a recent trip to LA to do some television editing and sound design, I had the opportunity to stay at the famed Mondrian Hotel in Los Angeles. The Mondrian Hotel is a part of a chain of trendy hotels in hip American cities (The Delano in Miami is another one).

The new lobby, sans flowing white drapes from ceiling everywhere. Elevators are to the left. Note large mirror on way to front desk (where the orange area is.)

This place has all the hallmarks of a trendy hotel, namely rude valet service at the door with lots of European-looking poseurs clad in cream colored suits to assist you with your bags and answer what should be obvious questions like “Um, where's the front desk?”—a question every first-time guest has to ask upon entering this labyrinth of heavy-handed design strangeness.

A breakfast bar/lounge area opposite the lobby. In the evening, they roll out a full bar and it's a hangout.

Walk in the front door and you face a bank of recessed elevators. To the left is an assortment of odd white seats positioned haphazardly around the corner leading up to a full bar. To the right of the elevators is a big mirror, a vinyl chaise lounge, the concierge desk and long white gauze drapes hanging down from very high ceilings to the floor (not in front of a window or anything, just sorta in the middle of the lobby.) Obscured behind these flowing obstructions is the elusive front desk where the uber-attractive "help" charge you too much, misplace deliveries and generally void any chance of getting your money's worth during the stay.

Inside the wood-paneled elevator. Note the actual 4" color television screen inside the picture frame.

The elevators are unique in that they are recessed so far, you can't tell they're open unless you are standing six feet back. The call button is hidden on a short pole protruding from the floor way off to the right side. Once you figure the usually simple act of GETTING ON the elevator, you are greeted by one of three different framed video screens about 4” square (Mine had a close-up shot of a man's eyes looking out at you—that's all it did. The second was a windswept field of wheat, and I forget the third).

Before the flash went off, the area just off the elevator was lit like a citywide blackout.

Stepping off the elevator, you look directly across the hallway at a square cutout in the wall that glowed eerily. I looked inside and saw a TV was set up to project changing colored light on the wall that could only be seen through this cut out hole. No reason. It just did. Very odd. Otherwise, the hallway was unadorned and also barely lit.

Inside my palatial suite. Cheap, ugly furniture covered by white slip-cloths. The mini-bar lets you start the day with a bowl of cereal for a mere $4. Milk is only another $3.50.

The rooms themselves were seriously white. White couch. White tables. White walls. White everything. There was a pale green as an accent color, but other wise, white. The initial effect is impressive, but after staying there a few days, it wears off. Then it's just cold, impersonal and reminds you of a hospital. How cheery.

Some floozy I picked up in the "Skybar". (See below.)

The furnishings—though very white—were remarkably cheap. Just ugly, old furniture that had been repainted or reupholstered. At $260 a night for a single, they must make a killing on this place.

But none of the overwrought, frou-frou interior decorating is why people pay top dollar to stay there. The real attraction at the Mondrian is the Sky Bar.

A guests-and-celebrities-only kind of place where the painfully trendy wanna-be's go to be seen by the celebrities who are usually somewhere even trendier.

Aerial view of the world-famous "Sky Bar"—still considered a hot spot for L.A.'s trendy and pretentious. The large mattress at the bottom of the picture is normally reserved for only the best-looking people. The actual bar area is under the small roof in the top right hand corner.

(Our producer spent $12 on a highball. Ouch.) On the plus side, there were lots of attractive women dressed like rock band groupies. You got the impression that the door policy is “Guests-only, unless you're a really easy-looking female, then c'mon in!” Some friends believed that possibly some of the ladies were of the “working” variety (kids, don't ask). I only saw one celebrity there, J. Peterman from the show “Seinfeld” walked by on his way out. (Amy had a better brush with celebrity when we had dinner at “Moose's” in SF and saw Sharon Stone there.)

PRE-GAME.

One of the guys in Media scored some tickets to the Niners/Patriots pre-game at "the Stick". He couldn't go so he gave the tickets to me. Fifth row center behind the end zone. Sweet. We took the Ball Park Express straight from downtown SF to Candle Stick Point and 3Com park (the park that proves even an obscure computer networking company can become a household word if you have enough money). Despite free tickets, we spent lots of money on $5 beers and $5 cokes and $5 hot-dogs, etc. You get the picture. Naturally, you could get all sorts of gourmet food as well, but what's the point of that? Sitting only five rows back from the end zone, we could've spat on Steve Young. We wanted to, but didn't. We saw Drew Bledsoe, too. Got to see Ty Detmer air it out a few times. Not much else. But since it was pre-season, we hardly paid attention to the game anyway. It was pretty boring. We were just hoping to get on TV. So we cheered stupidly whenever the ball was near our end of the field, which was not very often. It was just cool to go to "The Stick" finally. No big deal. Not like going to Disney as a kid or anything. Just fun. It was hotter than hades and we were in the sun the whole game. Good thing we had SPF 100,000 on.

QUAKE.

Just lived through my first earthquake. The epicenter was a 5.3 in Gilroy, CA, about two hours south of us. And it STILL shook San Fran! Man, that's some serious earth moving. I find it mind-boggling that the motion of the continental plates shifting can shake entire states. Shock of all shocks, it hit a mobile home park. (Seriously, what does fate have against those places? Are they like some kind of magnet for natural disasters? Hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, you name it. You couldn't pay me to live in one of those death traps). It hit at about 7:15 in the AM. Luckily, I was in a state of semi-consciousness in bed listening to the radio when it hit, so I didn't have time to panic and scream like a little girl. Shook the whole freakin’ building for about 10 seconds. It was like a train drove by that grabbed the building and shook it hoping to get things to drop out. Like people. I woke Amy up and said, “Ohmigod, did you feel that?” The DJ’s on the radio station we were listening to chimed in seconds later with, “Ohmigod, did you feel that?” It was very weird. Almost like they were talking to us. Nyikes! No damage to the place or our psyche, fortunately. Just weirded us both out (...like we can afford that.)

QUAKE II.

I spend way too much my free time playing the video game Quake. And by free time, I mean the few minutes I have after I wolf down a burrito for lunch everyday. It's considered a "first person shooter" by the gaming magazines that we read, which basically means you go around and shoot at everything that breathes indiscriminately. It's a lot of fun. (Of course, being a responsible person, I realize the clear differences between a game and real life.) Sadly, I'm almost through the entire game. Not because I'll be done with it, but because it's proof positive I have no life. THE ENTIRE GAME! Do you know how much time that takes? A lot! That's the kind of thing GEEKS do...hey, I heard that. And the game gets you wired like you drank a twelve-pack of Jolt cola with an espresso chaser. I shake for ten minutes afterwards. Yipes, that can't be good for you...(EDITOR'S NOTE: I finished it.) Sometimes, we play on the network at work, against each other. That adds a new dimension to the game. Instead of killing creatures you don't know and can't identify with on a personal basis, you get to kill creatures you work with and can't identify with on a personal basis. Basically, a lot of killing and otherwise venting of frustrations goes on during lunch........that's healthy, right?

SWING

Wow, there were a lot of white people at the Brian Setzer concert. In fact, the only ethnics I saw were dates of white people. Very odd. The Warfield rocked, though. He did half rockabilly and half swing. (In my humble opinion, I preferred the swing. More chord changes, ya know. Plus, it's nice to see trombone players finding work...) Swing is huge in this town. And that used to be a good thing back when it was novel. Now, everybody plays the crap. It's even in that darn "GAP" commercial that they play every five minutes on every station I watch. Oy! You can't get away from it. Granted it's a far sight better than any of that country crap that almost caught on, but c'mon, let's not beat a good thing into the ground. I like the stuff, but I'm embarrassed to listen to it now. Here's a thought. I recommend a moratorium on swing music over the radio and TV. Let's limit it to CD's and clubs for the sake of all mankind. Deal?

TWO G's A MONTH.

Here's some interior shots of our apartment. We hope you like them. We've finally gotten the pad into reasonable shape so it looks like we actually planned it, instead of adhering to the Goodwill School of Design we've used to so far in life.