Livin' Large in L.A.

G'ma and I arrived at our hotel at noon on Saturday.  This was the view from our window:

Yes, that is Graumann's Chinese Theatre.  Right across Hollywood Boulevard.

The stars' stars are there, too, stretching for miles and miles in both directions, Jack Palance and Groucho Marx, actors old and news, some of whom G'ma actually remembered.  We enjoyed watching the tourists (being in town for a wedding rendered us visitors not tourists, I decided) pose for pictures with their favorites.  Since the stars are embedded in the sidewalk, this made for some interesting photographic challenges.  More than once we were forced to skirt a seated-on-the-sidewalk-star-struck fan who was embracing a golden star.  

Further up the hills we saw this: 

Yes, we were definitely not in Tucson anymore.

Inside the hotel, there were even more signs that this was where the serious partying was going to occur:

The mini-bar had Jack in two sizes, and enough vodka to float the Russian Navy and the top drawer had some snacks and these:

That was a first for me.

I was glad G'ma was taking a nap when I found them. 

I don't even want to imagine that conversation.

The wedding took place at The Kress (Be careful if you are reading this at work - the link has sound)

It was too far to walk in heels or with a walker-assisted old lady, so we cabbed 4 blocks and then around the block and into the parking lot and past the valets and up the steps (oy, there were so many steps in so many different places) and into the elevator and then we were on the rooftop.

It was quite the space.  The gentle breeze kept us cool, and the paper parasols the bride had so thoughtfully provided kept the sun from scorching our delicate skin.  The green couches were comfy, and the cabanas on the sides had leather sofas and offered more shelter from the sun.  

The bride was beautiful, the groom was handsome, the rabbi was brief and so were the bridesmaids' dresses:

Tattoos were the order of the day, and so was eclectic footwear:

I smiled at Brother's feet (above) as we left the hotel.  The man wears sneakers every day and every place he goes.  Apparently, LA weddings are no exception.  I wondered if he would be under-dressed, but many of the other guests were on his same program:

 

 The bridesmaids wore these ankle breakers:

  G'ma commented that their heels were longer than their skirts.  

I laughed.

The were several bars and sushi and passed hors d'oeuvres and lots and lots of wine and spirits.  G'ma wanted a sweet wine, and the Reisling must have met her requirements because she was drinking it as if it were her beloved Sprite Zero.  Brother and the waitress had each brought her a glass full to the brim, and she made short work of them both.  This from a woman who might have one sweet vermouth a year.  In a good year.  I tried to cut her off but the look she sent my way as I picked up the water instead of the wine cut me to the core.  Wine it was, it seemed.

The food was scrumptious, the dj was terrific, but the cake.  Oh, dear denizens, the cake:

The wedding planner was nervous as it listed more and more as the evening progressed.  After the "Money Dance" and the "First Dance" and the toasts it was time to cut and serve the sweets.  Chocolate and vanilla layers made everyone happy -  except the structural engineers in the crowd, who were looking for an explanation for the Leaning Tower of Pisa effect.  

As G'ma and I discussed, if an a-tilt wedding cake is the only thing that goes wrong, it's a pretty successful event.

Mazel Tov, Jared and Julie.  May you live long and happy lives together.