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.
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| Lilo's birthday at Teddy's |
A couple of Lindsay Lohan overdoses later, and it's nearly impossible to get into Teddy's, one of her signature nightclubs. The lines outside suggest young tabloid addicts, desperate to catch a glimpse of young Hollywood behaving badly. Perhaps their panting wasn't at fan-crazed excitement as it was their corsets cutting off their air supply.
Either way, we weren't about to wait in line for a hour, only to be judged by miserable people with crappy jobs (a.k.a. the "door bitch") to decide whether or not we were hot enough to get in. I would argue that intelligence and conversational skills are vital to a social scene, but they always ensure that the music is too loud for that. My friends did the "I never wait in line!" line, but maybe they just harbored the same fear as I did; "What if I don't get picked?"
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.
