There are different kinds of crazy.
There is your standard, run of the mill, off of the rack crazy.
An excellent example of off the rack crazy would be my favorite homeless guy Garrett.
He may loudly argue with himself most of the time, but he does know how to keep it together when he has to.
There are friends in town that want to see Hollywood, so off we went this morning.
Hollywood has a whole different crew of homeless that are pioneering crazy in ways I never thought of.
The first one I ran into was a subtle kind of crazy.
I was standing at the corner, just down the street from the Kodak theater, waiting for the light to turn green.
In American Idol, when they say, “You’re going to Hollywood!”? This is where they send you.
“Michael Jackson was an angel.”
A dubious statement.
I was a fan of his music, but he had a nightmare, Freddy Krueger side that overshadowed his achievements.
However, his current champion is dressed in what looks like three jackets, one sweatshirt, and had three days growth of facial hair.
And SHE is rather chatty.
I love to play.
“An angel? How so?”
The next 5 minutes was an audio and visual blur that was a combination of the life story and a wholly unasked for defense of something called “his troubles.”
The light turns green and we cross the street.
There is something subtly crazy about this woman.
Was it her totally ignoring my four attempts to shut the conversation down with variations of “I need to get back to my family, you have a great day.”
She’s not having it.
She has important Michael Jackson info to impart.
Strong contender for crazy of the day.
The second entry in the contest made it into the competition by the use of performance art.
There are street performers all up and down Hollywood Blvd, plying their trade and trying to make a living.
Some of them are seriously talented.
This guy was trying to cash in on all those tourist dollars by playing the drums.
A little kid’s toy bongos perched on his lap.
The lean, hungry dress and build of a man who is on a first name basis with meth.
And the basic drumming skill of….well, he doesn’t have ANY drumming skill.
But that is not stopping him from beating on those poor drums like he is setting the world on fire.
I admire his fortitude.
He had an empty hat on the sidewalk in front of him, empty when we first passed him on the way to the fun, and nothing in it two hours later when we were on our way back to the car.
The crumpled bill I put in there went towards his next fix, I get that.
But there is a recognition of the effort issue going on here.
But the hands down winner of the “Batshit Hollywood Crazy” award of the day, went to a guy who we saw right at the end of the day.
He was dressed in raggedy clothes so bad, other homeless would not have worn them.
He was turned halfway to the side, shuffling along.
There was a very intense mumbled argument going on his head and barely making it out of his mouth.
He had that lean, crazy, don’t even THINK of turning your back on him unless you want his teeth suddenly on the back of your neck.
As he passed by, you noticed that he had been holding the front of his pants up, because the backs were down by his knees.
And homeboy’s clean tidy whities must be in the laundry, because he wasn’t wearing any.
I shuffled the visiting friend’s daughter and her friend past him and watched until they were a safe distance away.
Like Hunter S. Thompson said, you can turn your back on a man, but don’t EVER turn your back on a drug.
The competition was over at that point.
Winner, winner, chicken dinner.
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