From yesterday, in memory of the fire that almost ate the Hollywood sign:
One good thing about living in the valley is that while summer temperatures soar to 119 degress, there is minimal brush fire danger. I count exactly two forms of brush-life in the vicinity: a cactus that blooms at night and a gigantic palm tree. Today’s fire-smelling pink and gray cyclones in the sky bring to mind a classic Grossfeld tale. (One that Kapalm ALWAYS begs me tell at social events like I’m some story-telling monkey, though, she’s right, it’s always met with great reception.)
Before Grossfeld left on trips and retreats and purifs and whatever the hell he did that we didn’t want to know, he would become more neurotic than normal – as if that’s even possible. On this particular occasion he was feeling cagey that a spontaneous brush fire might roar across the canyon and devour his ’70s pink marble paradise. Sure it looked “expensive” cheesy inside but outside, to quote Cha, “It looks like ‘bama back here!” In defense of Cha, Grossfeld’s grounds were totally covered in brush because the gardeners had quit the prior week. So anyway, Grossfeld rounds us all up and takes us on a tour of Chez Loco (so named by the Guatemalan housekeepers).
On said tour, Grossfeld details, in the event of said fire, which items we should rescue: hard drives, backup discs, a Picasso. Yes, his beloved Picasso that he forces upon us with a mixture of terror and braggadocio. “It’s a real!” he flails. I believe I respond with a flippant, “Yeah, I know. My family owns one too.” And how are we to move it? Why, if we are to see a massive firewall roar over the canyon, we are to 1) rent a U-haul 2) load it up with Grossfeld prized possessions and 3) drive it down the canyon and park it at Scientology’s Celebrity Center for safekeeping.
I mean Jesus-H! At the sight of smoke, I’m getting my ass out of there, Grossfeld’s livelihood be damned.
Eventually someone, I’m sure not I, got Grossfeld to temporarily calm down. That is, until a neighbor reported Grossfeld to the city (probably the disgruntled MOW director), and a city inspector showed up at the office soon thereafter. I spoke to him but didn’t let him on the property and accordingly informed the honcho. Grossfeld then called the city and denied having a brush problem. But the LA, too smart for Grossfeld (in every respect), proceeded to fly a helicopter over Property Grossfeld, snap some incriminated photos and then mail them to Grossfeld along with a hefty ticket. Grossfeld threw a fit but the bottom line is that he was humiliated by the system and forced to reach into those cheap-ass pockets of his to make it right. And most importantly, we got a much-deserve laugh. Ahh, those days.
Hey, have I ever told you the “In the Event of an Earthquake” story? No? Well I will, as the opportunity permits. It does not disappoint.
Filed under: Film |