To Live and Die in L.A.

I wish they all could be
California girls.
(photo: Oliver Danner)

Here I am in L.A., taking a break from interviewing some of the Hollywood talent that is lining up to star in the forthcoming film adaptation of THE SECRET LIFE OF LOBSTERS.

Okay, so only the first part of that sentence is true.

Here I am in L.A., posing with two human-sized lobsters at the Redondo Beach Lobster Festival, where I signed copies of my book (and got in a visit with my brother, who lives in Manhattan Beach).

Okay, so the first part of that sentence is false.

Those aren't actually human-sized lobsters. They are professional lobster impersonators. (Maybe I could get a job doing that?) But they sure made me feel like the alpha male lobster of the neighborhood. My thanks to them and the festival organizers -- who run GiveLobster.com -- for the warm welcome.

I was even given a tour of the festival's custom-built lobster cooker, which is so big it sits on a truck trailer. The builder claims it's the largest lobster cooker in the country. Hundreds of lobsters were steamed to death in each batch that was lowered into the boilers.

So guess what, New Englanders: Californians love their dead lobster as much as you do. Maybe more.