I don’t believe in ghosts. But, on the off chance I’m wrong about this, I try my best not to piss off any ghosts I may encounter. That means I don’t step on graves, I try my very best not to build houses over ancient Native American burial grounds, and I keep my laughter to a respectful chuckle at Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion.
So when my editor told me to cover a late night outdoor movie screening at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery, I wanted to turn down the assignment. Because LA-types drinking much box wine and smoking more pot while watching Johnny Depp in a cemetery seemed exactly like the sort of thing that would piss off a ghost… and most other entities that weren’t ghosts. But I also couldn’t explain why I wanted to turn down the assignment, because that would mean admitting to my boss that I sorta believed in ghosts and definitely believed in the fury of ghosts. And so I took the assignment. Because I fear ghosts, but I fear professional embarrassment even more.
After circling some of LA’s least parking friendly/most sex work friendly streets–
Fun fact: a gentleman frantically searching for a parking spot apparently looks almost identical to a gentleman frantically searching for a prostitute.
Additional fun fact: the sex workers around Santa Monica and Vine are surprisingly polite about any misunderstandings.
— I passed through the gates into the Hollywood Forever Cemetery.