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24 Hours To Go?: How We’d Like to Spend the Last Day of the World
And no, we don’t all have tomorrow off
Forget last minute Christmas shopping—last minute living is on our minds. In case you haven’t heard, the world is scheduled to end tomorrow—at least according to some interpretations of the Mayan Calendar.
Even if you are convinced tomorrow will come and go like any other, it’s still amusing to ponder how you might spend your last 24 hours. We provided tips for those who anxiously await cataclysmic changes, and now we’ve asked Los Angeles magazine staffers to share how they would spend their last day in L.A. From sneaking to stealing to picnicking outdoors, its safe to say we’d mark the end of days by doing what we love to do on all others: eating, drinking, and enjoying the city.
Julia St. Pierre, Production Director:
You’d find me at the Farmers Market at the bar with all my friends.
Chris Nichols, Associate Editor:
I would head for the biggest crowd, maybe in front of the Chinese theater, and squirm around the human lobster tank there.
Eric Mercado, Research Editor:
I would take the kids to Disneyland, buy more than the two-drink minimum at the Laugh Factory, dine at Patina, and check whether any of my favorite bands are performing.
Shayna Rose Arnold, Online Content Manager:
It’s a no-brainer: I’d grab a suit, a towel, and something to read (the chairs are already in the car) and head to the beach with my husband, who’s a career beach bum through and through just like me. And screw the “no dogs” policy—the pets are coming with us.
Macho Show Queen, Culture Files Blogger:
My last day in Los Angeles would be spent at the Hollywood Sign drinking a fine bottle of wine, listening to "Epiphany" from Sweeney Todd (which has the lyric, "We all deserve to die") and watching the whole world disappear.
Leilah Bernstein, Associate Editor:
I would pick up the short rib sandwich with melted jack cheese, arugula, and sweet red onions from Joan’s on Third and spend the day outdoors—picnicking and walking the trails at Griffith Park or Will Rogers.
Linda Immediato, Senior Editor:
I'd steal a brand new Dodge Challenger HEMI, black with orange racing stripes, right off the lot, head to the Alexander McQueen store on Melrose and pick out the most exquisite gown you could imagine, if there was time I'd head over to Louboutin on Robertson for shoes, otherwise barefoot would be fine. I would need a tiara from Solange Azagury-Partridge on Rodeo. I'm going out like Marie Antoinette. I'd pick up a magnum of Veuve, and triple crème cheese, cured meats, and miscellaneous treats from The Cheese Store of Beverly Hills. On my way back east I'd pick up a dozen cupcakes from Georgetown Cupcakes. Then, I'd grab my dog, my cat, Jon Hamm, and my guitar, and, assuming the freeways would be clear (where would everyone be going? There's no escaping Armageddon, right?), I'd open up that HEMI engine on the 110 Freeway (aka the Pasadena Autobahn) hugging curves likes it's my last day on earth and head up the 2 to the top of Mt Wilson. From there we would have the most decadent picnic, sing songs, and, come evening, I'd break into the Observatory and direct the giant telescope into the heavens to remind us of our place in the universe. I think it would be comforting. I would, of course, say goodbye to my friends and family somewhere in there too… oh, and try to get in bed Jon Hamm.
Denise Philibert, Production Manager:
I would try to fly to be with loved ones. If that wasn't an option, I would have friends over for a LOT of cocktails. Maybe play a real game of truth, telling our deepest, darkest secrets—things that you would otherwise take to the grave. Or I would drive out to Joshua Tree with friends, sit on a rock out there and wait.
Kari Mozena, Associate Editor:
I would spend the day with Javier Bardem if he was in town, married or not.
Israel Lemus, Online Producer:
I would get in a boat, sail out to sea, and try to survive.
Andrew Cho, Editorial Intern:
I'd sneak into the Huntington Library at midnight, and open my arms wide in the middle of the Japanese garden as I watch the meteors descend.