more than gossip.

Last night, I ate dinner at a fancy restaurant named Ketchup on Sunset Boulevard. I ordered a soy-tofu burger ($17, cha-ching) and took in the ambience of the red lamps, the red carpets, the white tables, the unbelievably good-looking waiters. As I was looking around, I noticed I was sitting across the room from Marlon Wayans. I almost had a White Chicks moment-induced heart attack. Then, when he stood up to leave, I noticed he was sitting beside Omar Epps. Heart attack number two.

Later, as my friend and I stepped outside, we saw a bunch of paparazzi running toward a white Mercedes. We asked them what was going on. "It's Britney Spears' car!" they shouted. Inside (as I learned this morning), was her paparazzi boyfriend. I feel bad for the girl, really. He had just dropped her off inside and went around the back to park. But, seriously, I can't imagine living a life like that - hordes of men with cameras flashing as you attempt to grab dinner at a small cafe. According to Portfolio magazine, the girl is worth $120 million to the U.S. economy. I guess there's some security in that as stock prices plummet and the real estate market crashes.

In conclusion, I hate L.A.