When I first moved to Los Angeles, The Roosevelt Hotel was floundering. A relic from the golden age of Hollywood, it was simply known as the hotel where Marilyn Monroe's ghost was said to roam the halls. And even then people knew it was a ploy to book hotel rooms.
|Lilo's birthday at Teddy's|
Months later, I get invited to the Roosevelt for a Christmas party. While much deeper things in life give me a sense of validation, I would be lying if I didn't admit to the faintest whiff of satisfaction. It was a great meal and fine holiday fun. Sure, the interior was vintage - but not mind-blowing. I was interested in The Roosevelt the way men are interested in women; intrigued because I couldn't get in and bored after conquering it.