We woke... at 9.30am. Whoa. 12 hours of sleep. Mum insisted on lots of rest. I feel really bad that she has to take care of her two silly, sick daughters on top of everything. She brought cereal and cocoa back from the breakfast room. Bundling up, we spoke to the receptionist, who had a strange, unplaceable accent. He arranged for drivers to take us wherever we wanted - all of them drivers being his buddies. After a couple of minutes, a posh, mafia-like black car pulled up outside the Inn, and our driver came in to gracefully invite us out. As we drove past graffitied walls and hiphop dudes sauntering about, we found he is Armenian, speaks seven languages and knows precisely where Singapore is. When my mum pointed out several Americans think Singapore is somewhere in China, he said dismissively, "China different, Taiwan different, Singapore different!" He also let me snap his mafia car.
He dropped us at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery, as requested, mum complaining about our morbid interests - particularly when I insisted on taking several pictures of the mausoleum interior. It is less structured than Forest Lawn, but we caught it on a busy day - it being Sunday, many were paying their respects. A majority are Jewish graves; large, blocky and emblazoned with the Star of David. I find it intriguing that the infinity sign is the central symbol of the cemetery. 
The oddest part was a section off by itself, filled with strange, Thai-influenced statues and pagodas in place of the traditional gravestones - cordoned off alone as the occupants' souls 'go to different gods'. It's a funny way of resolving differences.
We called another cab to head for the Capitol Records Building, only to find it - closed! We cut through a parking lot littered with pamphlets advertising a rave and waved to security guards through the wire, but as it turns out, it doesn't open on Sundays. WELL. We trail down street after street of the Walk of Fame instead, stopping every few seconds to exclaim over anything vaguely familiar. Engraved to honour the best in drama, music, TV, directing - Walt Disney and Mickey have separate stars - you're caught by different things. A group of young men stood bonding over a star unknown to us, raving about a "great jazz pianist".
Quickly, it was lunch-time, and spying a Thai eatery across the street, we zipped over at the prospect of good Asian food. And it was - we had grown smart enough to remember how unapologetically large US portions are. Down-home shrimp fried rice, mixed vegetables and green chicken curry we cleared happily. The restaurant also had free-postcard racks with American-poster versions of Kungfu Hustle and Ong Bak. I do not think they are necessary in the least.
The streets are badass here, yo. At first I literally walked trying not to draw attention to myself, sliding past strip clubs and tattoo parlours, all matter-of-fact. A bald, black-clad dude with earphones and guitar slung over his shoulder shouted "[insert incomprehensible name] I love you!" every few steps; two guys across the street were having a screeching match. The one with the 3/4-shaved head and stripey fringe was apparently very rude about something 'cos his companion growled, "Watch your fucking attitude, man!"
But how could you not love this town?
Fliers are shoved in our faces everywhere we turn. But we hit a double whammy with the Guinness Book of World Records and Hollywood Wax Musuem across the road from each other. I find it both fascinating and sad that the world's smallest woman and the world's tallest man both died very young (at ages 19 and 21 respectively), as if their lives weren't meant to be that long, being so scrutinized and pigeonholed. And did you know that the world record for number of stacked golfballs is eight? Surely it should be more, I thought; crazier things have been achieved simply for the sake of setting it in stone e.g. creating the world's largest ice-cream sundae.
:)
A Sylvester Stallone lookalike was posing as Rambo outside the Wax Musuem, complete with bulging muscles, gun and fake cuts. Avoiding him, we slipped past a Neo-and-Trinity statue at the entrance and -
HEY! Isn't that Russell Crowe in Master and Commander, bearing down on us from his mighty ship? So they have to continue with the ship theme, right? Who's that coming up? It's JOHNNY as Captain Sparrow! It is nice to note that no Orlando or Kiera are in sight. We run to point, snap and giggle.
Forrest Gump, Austin Powers, Stevie, Beatles, Jack and Rose, Seinfeld, Muhammad Ali. Some of these statues are very good. Leo in particular looks a decade obscured. But this is all too fun, anyway - aside from the fact that I DON'T SEE ANYONE FROM MIDDLE-EARTH OR HOGWARTS. What is with these people? Oh, that's right. Those aren't American enough, or at all.
The many faces of Arnold
We emerge into a souvenieur shop- Johnny! James Dean cups! Framed pictures of - Marilyn Monroe, the Beatles, Johnny, Frank Sinatra, James, Johnny and Johnny. We get the message. We buy two.
It's a very Johnny day
Examining our map, we decide to head towards Grauman's Chinese Theatre for the handprints/footprints, eyes on the starry sidewalk along the way. There is a crowd milling about in front of another prominent building - the Kodak Theatre. Register, folks. It's the OSCAR SHRINE! And what's that across the street - a Clone and Darth Vader wandering around? We dash over.
Drawing closer, we note an impressively wide range of movie characters popping out from the woodwork. They pose with tourists for tips. Two Spideys. One Heather-Graham-from-Austin-Powers in genie suit. Catwomen. IT'S CAPTAIN JACK SPARROW IN PERSON! We wish. He's convincing enough, though. I approach him.
"Put 'em up, imposter!"
These people are getting scary. A Catwoman accosts Han and amiably asks, "What's 'hello' in Singaporean?" I am attacked by Spidey who insists on giving me a bone-crushing hug and smashing my shopping when I in no way encouraged him. Zorro won't leave Han alone, being all flirtish and batty [hanyu pinyu-less "ni hen piao liang!"] till we cave and agree. HELP! THESE PEOPLE ARE DESPERATE! We escape, but not before Jason (Freddy vs. Jason) tries to shellshock Han.
We were not as happy as we look.
"Spidey #297, sneakers are NOT part of the dress code."
Ah. It is all better inside the Kodak. The famous staircase the Hollywood folk sweep up annually unfolds before our eyes. We find marquees dedicated to listing each year's Best Picture winner - Million Dollar Baby is freshly added.
Then there's a shop that sells only beanbags ('sacs') to collapse into, very lovely message tee (their logo being 'Represent') and dress shops, a courtyard with a bluesy band playing, stalls offering to bling up your cellphone by glueing sequins to it. Everything is ultra-trendy, hipness seeps into your brain, and you don't feel at all dwarfed, because you are part of it as well.
Autographs from satisfied customers;
When you look closely, people can be very, very interesting.
And they sell clothes!
When we finally find the cemented handprints, they're a bit of a letdown - most of the names are too old for us to remember to love. At the same time, it is history to see Marilyn's prints alongside Morgan Freeman's, Arnold's (HUGE) hands next to Judy Garland's little ones, Eva Gardner's, Bing Crosby's. Decades of the famous.
We decide to head back to the Kodak for dinner, passing an open tent decorated with Star Wars posters, packed with people sitting on the kerb with laptops, some leafing through what looks like... a script. Could this be auditions for bit parts in the last Star Wars flick? Isn't it already in theatres? You never know. A black guy with backwards-visor and chains swoops by, bobbing his head emotionally to the strains of Boyz 2 Men's Mama which drifts out of a nearby streetside store. We choke back snorts of laughter.
Not the best place in the world to breakdance
Koji, the super-chic sushi-and-steamboat joint we choose, is packed with angmohs and busy staff. The walls are decorated with digital star portraits. Our server, Dave, looked very much like a Dave, tall with curly blonde hair and the beginnings of a beard. He was taken aback by our bird-like appetites when we ordered just one Beef set and shrimp roll for the three of us. 'is that all right?" my mum questioned, in that ice-smile way she can, prompting him to agree, of course, of course, I don't know how much you guys can eat.
While we wait for our table... and wait for our table!
The food was very good, nothing to be sniffed at, particularly the shrimp roll that packed just the right balance of taste. And Kobe beef is entirely amazing in its own flavour. Of all the trendy Asian food I've eaten so far this is the most impressive. I bet stars eat here all the time. It was so strange, waiting, steam from the pots pouring into our faces, watching other customers enjoy this fusion food, which need only have been improved with one thing: chicken cubes.
We don't know how that fit in the photo.
We walked back to our hotel after that, stopping by 7-Eleven to buy fever medicine, having run out of it. It was complicated examining the non-drowsy labels and extensive words of caution - this can cause stomach bleeding, inflammation etc. Don't they know how threatening that sounds? I forgot to mention that when Han accepted a flyer from one Latino guy as we left the theatres, he said arigato. I said, "You should have yelled in his face - I AM NOT JAPANESE!"
