Been out a lot more this month than usual, but very little of it was blog-worthy, so I just jammed them all into one.
Went to Disney Hall to see my fave violinist Hilary Hahn play the Neilsen concerto, after the Phil almost put me to sleep with the most boring composition ever. Here’s how the sky looked at intermission.
Those who know the indie music scene in El Lay will recognize the Coffee Gallery in Altadena, where my buddy Jimi Yamagashi has a showcase every third Wednesday, but also brings in a speaker every first Wednesday. This is Paul Zollo, a famous author of rock music tomes, whose interviews are legendary.
Let’s play two at UCLA’s Easton softball stadium, though I only got there in time to see three innings of the second game, just long enough to see a freshman named Spaulding–at Easton, get it?–hit her first collegiate home run to give the Bruins the 2-0 win. BTW, my favorite player of all time, Amanda Freed, went on twitter to announce the birth of her daughter, so fitting that I was in the place of her past glory when I got the news. . . and thank goodness the wifi reaches al the way out to the stadium!
The reason I had to leave the game so early–besides the fact softball had become as long-winded as baseball–was because there was a fundraiser for the Spirit Squad–cheerleaders, dance team, yell crew, and mascots–and I’ll already paid my $50 to attend. While waiting in line to go in I spotted a game on the intermural field that I finally figured had to be Quiddich, because they had brooms between their legs. Anyhoo, my main reason for going, though, was to see women’s soccer coach Amanda Cromwell, whom I’ve known since her playing days with the National Team, and the championship trophy, #110 in UCLA history but the first–finally!–for women’s soccer.
The cheerleaders and dance team look even better in person, of course, and since they got into UCLA they were smart enough for interesting conversations. One of them had a sister at my table who was even cuter, but I digress. I put in my free raffle ticket for the lifetime alumni reward, but lost out to some lady who instantly came over to my table to crow about it, damn her. On the other hand, I had no intention of participating in the silent auction. . . until I found myself winning a ridealong with the Redondo Beach PD! You can bet that’ll be a huge blog, when I get around to it. . .
So, twice in the past few weeks I’ve been in Denny’s and saw that my beloved country-fried steak was on sale, if it comes with a skillet, so let’s do it! I did not expect the damn skillet to be hissing at me when it came! Damn, that thing is hot! Of course the second time I knew better and asked for a separate plate so I could dump the steak, then the eggs, then the hash browns onto it and not burn myself or wait an hour for it to cool down.
Fun fact: the wallet that I’ve been using for about twenty years now–it was originally a gift for my uncle, but we ended up not going to his Christmas party, so I appropriated it–finally broke down, so I went over to thinkgeek.com and got myself a wallet that looks just like a bunch of bacon strips! No one has noticed yet, or been too polite to say anything, but I eagerly await the day. BTW, I reached in to pay for some new shorts, thinking it was a $20 bill, and got back a helluva lot of change. . . and then remembered I had a $100 in there. . . right before I was going to give all that change back. . .
Speaking of cute girls earlier, who would have thought that the ladies at my pharmacy and the one who drew my blood at the doctor’s would end up being even cuter than the models I shoot? I really do fall in love at least four times a day. . .
So what did I miss? I was going to see Alicia Witt’s movie at the Pasadena Film Festival, but never got there. And I regretfully did not attend the Scots festival at the Queen Mary, oh well. . .
And to end this, here’s an iconic painting at downtown’s Union Station that I keep taking for granted, forgetting to look up. Not much of a shot with the little camera, but later on I’ll take a portrait of each character. . .