In another of his cotton candy columns appearing in today’s L.A. Times opinion section, columnist Joel Stein stops shopping his latest sitcom pilot to go ga-ga over his neighbors the Suicide Girls, whose HQ is apparently across the street from where he lives. So what does he do? He and a buddy whip up a batch of brownies and go bother them.
But first, for whatever reason he has to open the piece by using the under-appreciated loquat as a punching bag:
My wife and I moved from a studio apartment in Manhattan to a two-bedroom house up 30 steps on a dead-end street in the Hollywood Hills, where we hear coyotes, barbecue on a deck, go hiking from our front door and have a tree that produces a fruit called loquats, which you haven’t heard of because they are so gross they don’t even clear the lowest bar for fruit by inspiring loquatade.
Unenterprising columnists can bite me ó especially those who bash citrus that I have heard of and enjoy on occasion (usually when my neighbor’s overgrown tree bears fruit on my side of the fence and the gardeners don’t get them first). Stein seems to think that going out and finding a story involves nothing more than walking across his damn street, brownie-nosing around his neighbors and producing a few hundred self-serving words that are nothing more than free publicity. Nothing against the SGs, but heaven forbid Stein actually go out into the city and find something real to write about ó like loquats.