In a company town

Along La Cienega Boulevard, every other building sprouts a billboard, and every billboard shouts the introduction of a new movie or TV series. "Whiteout," "The Vampire Diaries," "Melrose Place," "The Office" (with a photo of Ricky Gervais--is the BBC version coming back? Or is he invading the American series?).

Surely the audience for these ads can't only be the people whom the producers hope will visit their local cineplex or program their Tivos. It must also be the egos of the stars and their managers that are being targeted. Or perhaps it's an attempt by the producers to instill confidence in themselves, knowing that the labor of the past few years--the endless long days and nights of shooting, the wheedling for money, the fretting over rain days and cost overruns, etc.--will soon be subject to the whims of opening weekend or the Nielsen ratings.

It's a uniquely company-town phenomenom that repeats itself in other industry-dominated towns--like beer ads in Milwaukee or as car ads once proudly dominated Detroit.

At the Sunset Marquis, the bellman gives a short introduction to the hotel, informing us of its 1963 origin and current status as a "rock and roll hotel." "It can get loud," he says with pride, but I am not too happy with this information as my room is on the second floor. He reassures me that the noise will be at the opposite end of the floor, toward the area near the bar.

The only signs of rock and roll in my room are the copy of Guitar Aficionado on the coffee table and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke--even though I am in a non-smoking room. I try to imagine myself in a less rock-and-roll world and retreat to my copy of The New Yorker and a biography of Samuel Johnson. There's certainly nothing less rocking than that.