When I moved to Hollywood over a decade ago, my favorite little hot spot looked a little something like this:
Photo by P.S. Zollo
It was exciting, and magical, and thrilling for the hopeful little ingenue that I was...
I had first dates here.
My 25th birthday party.
A night out for no particular reason.
I met director's here and discussed roles (then realized he wanted to discuss something else entirely, and snuck out the back door!)
I learned lessons.
I had growing pains.
I had my first dirty martini here...
(And shared many other types of drinks and stories with girlfriends as we gushed and crushed over that current silly boy.)
I celebrated my very first film here...
as well as my last.
Photo by Steven Damron
For me, Formosa Cafe represents the remaining part of my heart that still belongs to Hollywood. Not the place. The dream. Yes, I still live in LA. Yes, I still dabble in the film industry. But that part of my life, those naive and wonderful dreams are in the past now... chipping away, like the red paint on the exterior of this building.
When I drove by it yesterday, on my way to meet my writing partner to watch the work of a possible director for our very own film, a little part of me ached - seeing this cafe, old and tired looking, lost within a superficial strip mall, almost forgotten entirely.
If you find yourself in West Hollywood this weekend, on Santa Monica Blvd... give a little nod to the last remaining heart and soul of Hollywood, California.