It took only a few months of living in Los Angeles to learn that many unemployed actors and writers spend their days at Urth Caffé, hopelessly hitting on women. Over the past decade of stopping for my morning coffee, I have watched the same faces grow older and more pathetic with time. It seems their dating strategy has failed.
The other night at Osteria Mozza, a man with an English accent approached me. He was divorced, lived in the Hollywood Hills (not in the Bird Streets, like DiCaprio) and worked in finance as a consultant – an entrepreneur of sorts. What’s that expression? Entrepreneur is French for unemployed? I don’t know what vocations he was currently entre, but it was obvious he wanted to get entre the sheets avec moi. For those who didn’t study languages, that would be a French/English dictionary you’d require at this time. I like Brits. They are salt-of-the-earth people who know how to make a proper cup of tea, so I gave him my number in exchange for his card. He was going out of town until Tuesday and promised to be in touch upon his return.