Mondays Really Are No Fun Days

Ever have one of those days where both good and bad things happened, and you can’t decide if overall it was a good day or not?
Yeah, it’s like that. . .
Usually after 40 minutes on a bus I get off at Union Station to take the subway, but I was feeling good enough–i.e. not needing to go to the restroom–to keep going the extra 20 minutes through downtown traffic to my first destination, the Yorkshire Grill, near the corner of 6th and Grand. I’ve been there enough times so that most of the waitresses remember me and know my order, especially Belinda, who as usual jokes about extra pickles. . . still not funny, babe.
From there I walked over to 7th and Metro to catch the Expo Line to Exposition Park, hoping to avoid walking anywhere near U$C this time on the way to the podiatrist. As it turns out the Rose Garden is closed till March, even though you can see plenty of blooms, so I drifted left to go around it, walking past the African-American museum and coming out near the Science Center. . . where I saw a Blackbird. By that I mean the awesome plane from the 60s, so I had to pause to photograph it. With that done I retraced my steps to exit the park through the gate, only to find it locked; how different my day would have been if it hadn’t been.

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So I went back to the Blackbird and saw someone walking through the parking lot and out of the park, so I followed. Crossed the driveway toward the Coliseum, and got onto a gravelly sort of walk paralleling the sidewalk on Figueroa Blvd. Reaching back for my wattle bottle on the side of my camera backpack, I didn’t see the hole–I took a picture, you can’t see it anyway–and stepped right in, causing my ankle to planch forward and straining the ligaments, though I wasn’t aware of that at the time, falling onto my hands and knees, sending the water bottle, the backpack, and my MP3 player flying past me.
So yeah. . . I’m sitting there in major pain, and of course no one walking by asks if I’m okay. Perhaps my rueful grin discouraged them, but finally I manage to ouchie my way back up, brush off, settle things back in place–if my cameras are damaged I am so suing–and limp off to the corner and then into the podiatrist’s office. Some people find it ironic this happened on the way to the foot doctor, but it’s really just sad.

Can you see a hole? Neither could I.

Can you see a hole? Neither could I.

So she cleans up my cuts and checks my foot–the one I was going there for her to examine–but neglects to wrap my ankle. Leaving there I walk on the street until I’m well past the danger spot before turning back into the park, making it as far as the science center before needing to rest the injured forelock. The McDonald’s is being redone, but the science center has free wifi, so I’m there for a while before getting the energy to walk around the rose garden again–this time on the Museum of Natural History side–back to the train.
Feeling extremely sorry for myself, I transfer back to the subway and go to Union Station, where in the last month there are now shoeshines. My shoes were obviously a mess, and for 6 bucks I don’t care how many people stare at me as they pass. Once that was done it was back to the subway–good thing I got the day pass–and a quick trip to the bank, then off to the library for some more wifi until I got hungry and went back to Yorkshire for another bacon and egg on wheat. This time it was Tatiana who took my order, and she always forgets when I tell her to hold the pickle. After that I ordered yet another sandwich to go, so I could have all three meals with bacon and egg. Unfortunately I didn’t notice the smell of pickle coming from the bag until much later. . .
It was a hard uphill as I limped to the other side of the library to catch the Wilshire express, but at least that was a nonevent; I might have even fallen asleep, and I’m sure that girl with the Cal State LA backpack wasn’t eye-flirting with me. The walk up Westwood Blvd. to UCLA was even more painful, but I persevered, just like I spent a lot more time than I should have looking for just the right thing to gift myself with the 20% off alumni coupon at BruinWear. All the hoodies I liked I already had, but finally found a non-hoodie sweater with a very sleek look and settled for that, especially since it was cheaper.
After a quick trip to Jamba Juice I limped over to Pauley Pavilion, where the least said about the Women’s Basketball team’s performance, the better. Left before the end, putting on my new sweater, and did a quick walk to the bus stop, much faster and less painful than I expected; perhaps I’d be okay for the long walk from the opera on Friday. Easy 40 minute bus ride along Sunset, got to Hotel Cafe while the previous act was still on. James is back as doorman–haven’t seen him in ages–and managed to grab a seat toward the front, if on the side.
Took a while for things to happen between acts, but finally there’s Josh Kelley climbing toward the stage, only to be stopped by some old friends. I took the opportunity to ask him if it was okay to take photos, to which he responded, “Fuck yeah!” Had I waited about two seconds more I would have turned around and quite literally run into Katherine Heigl; as it was she was safe, though I couldn’t help smiling at her as I sat back down. A couple of years ago I met one of my other favorite actresses, Daniela Ruah, and I mentioned how amazed I was at how calm I acted around her. Take it up to 11 here; there I was sitting next to my all-time #1, and. . . nothing. Didn’t even say hi. Later on I spotted another actress I like, Paula Trickey, but didn’t bother her either.
So, on to the concert. Josh Kelley definitely entertained me despite–or because of–his potty mouth; his wife should really do something about that. Among the songs that he played that I liked: It’s Your Move–he mentioned it was new–You’re my Angel, Tidal Wave, and Mandolin Rain. I also enjoyed Georgia Clay a lot more here than the studio version. A couple of times he went into a plainly dorky dance as he tried to rap and/or scat, but it was all in good fun–I hope. He told a story about vampires that suck fat instead of blood, and did a parody of the Doobie Brothers had they worked at McDonald’s: What A Fool Would Eat. The best complement I can give him is that he reminds me of Joshua Kadison.
So as I left my ankle, which seems to have caught on to Josh’s word choice, was screaming โ€œWhat the fuck, dude? Stop walking!โ€ at me, but I had to go the three blocks to the subway and there was nothing the ankle could do about it but what it was meant to do. I’d never seen Hollywood so empty, so at least I didn’t have to fight through crowds. For once there was no trouble with transportation and I got home around 11, where I said to hell with all the usual goodnight stuff and simply conked out, which at least got the ankle to shut up. . .
As always, Hotel Cafe too dark for good photos; this was the best I could do. Basketball photos coming later.

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;o)

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