Don't Piddle On My Parade, or, Easter: The West Hollywood Edition

Though I work in it's environs three days a week, I rarely hang out in West Hollywood.  Having turned 50 this year, I usually feel like I'm about, oh, 32 years too old when I'm there.  However, this week I was given a post card advertising an event (more on this in a minute) that I knew I had to see.

So I took off to spend a leisurely afternoon of it.  Arriving a little before one, my first stop was the delightful little (faux) french cafe and bakery, "Champagne".

Here I enjoyed a delicious custard brioche and a cafe latte.   To make the experience more authentic I brought the book I'm currently reading:  "Jazz Cleopatra, Josephine Baker In Her Time".

Afterward, it occurred to me that there would be lots of leftover ham from my Easter dinner to make lunches with next week and, already in a french mood, I walked to the supermarket to get a couple of baguettes.

  What can one really say about the West Hollywood Pavilions?  Well, it's an upscale market in the city of West Hollywood.  There.  That about says it all.  And lest you forget that you are, in fact, in the city of West Hollywood, while browsing the flora outside the entry, there is a gentle reminder.

Now let's go in, shall we?  If you're from the provinces, you may want to buckle up.
Immediately upon entering, you are greeted by the giant 18 foot flower-phallus.

This is merely to let you know that it's going to be another 10 yards or so before you come upon anything edible because until then, it's flowers, flowers, flowers.

Once through that, (heaven help those with hayfever) you pass the sushi bar and deli sandwich counter.

Just to the left of this (despite the fact that there is another one across the street) is the Starbucks counter.

Now, if callalillies, a smoked turkey on 7 grain, and a half-calf-grande-percent-mocha-with-whole-milk-foam was what you were after, but you're afraid you'll miss the deadline submission for your article on "Are Skinny Jeans a Thing Of The Past" to Details Magazine, just hop over to the WiFi lounge.

After fighting my way through the entire length of the store, and the 9 employees who asked me if I was finding everything ok, I arrived in the bakery department to get my two, fresh-from-the-oven loafs, I made it out of there.  I stashed the bread in the car and headed over to the Main Event Of The Day.

I had been thinking about this for days.  The thought of a bunch of queens putting their dogs in drag was just to much to resist!  Well here's what I found:

Maybe 2pm is a little early on a Sunday for the gals but there were no sequined and feathered pooches to be found!  There was a bartender in his traditional native garb.

The customer is explaining to him that the fabric wrapped around his torso is called a shirt and that "this part is called a sleeve".  The bartender just laughs and laughs, 'people come up with the craziest ideas when they get a couple of drinks in 'em.  No one realizes how difficult life can be when you're an actor, model and bartender, especially when it's simultaneous and all at the same time.'  These thoughts make the bartender sad.

I did come across two dogless chaps who were, never the less, in the spirit(s) of things.

There was a fellow dressed like Austin Powers (or this being LA maybe it really was Austin Powers!) handing out fliers to passers by, and begging everyone with a dog to hang out and those without dogs to go find one somewhere.

He finally met with some success and was corralling the contestants on the patio bar where the bartender gladly served them.

There was one in a pink seersucker dress:

One in military camouflage  with a posse in army garb:

And a little white poodle who was just there to drink and find a trick:

Well by now it was almost an hour after the proposed starting time and I had really seen enough, so I decided to leave.  This made the bartender cry:

Maybe they finally got something going and had a parade.  I don't know.  Another defeat based on my life long shortcoming of punctuality.  Well, maybe next year bitches.