I hadnât played Tetris in yearsâokay, decadesâbut I found a fun version on the internet and tried to recapture old glory. Took me months to get to level 10, and then even longer to defeat it, but I finally did. . . only to find thatâs as far as it goes. Didnât even break 70,000. A few days later I did it again, this time reaching 74,003, so, feeling all smug and satisfied, I left it there for a while, only to come back to it a few weeks later. . . and Iâm having trouble getting past level 7 again. The thing is even haunting my dreams, although thereâs apparently a reason for that.
Wednesday
Have you ever bought a footlong at Subway for later consumption and found it completely wet a few hoursâsometimes only minutesâlater, with the plastic bag leaching all the moisture out of it? This time I was prepared, bringing paper bags. . . except I didnât have any of the classic brown ones, all I could find was some samples from a zoo, with kiddie stuff all over them. They were a big hit, but not in a way I would have preferred. . .
Just about every time Iâm on the bus going down Wilshireâthe subway to the sea cannot get here fast enough for me, though Iâm fine with it just getting me to UCLAânear the eastern edge of Koreatown I notice a building not all that different from the others, but it has a tiny driveway on the corner, like youâd see in Noo Yawk and especially D.C. It had occurred to me that whenever you see a show featuring such a placeâNCIS in particular, now Scandal as wellâthis is probably where it was filmed. And yep, this time as we zoom by thereâs all the huge lights, with a dozen trucks down the side street. Itâs called the Talmidge, if you ever visit El Lay and want to see mundane filming sites.
Got to Westwood even earlier than Iâd scheduled, so I took my time at the FedEx office, printing stuff, filling out forms, boxing my ailing telephoto lens, and finally sending it off; thank goodness for Tamronâs six-year warranty! I even had enough time to waltzânot literallyâto Jamba at the student union, then casually walk back to the blood and platelet center, though it occurred to me my cold mouth might give unusual readings when they take my temperature.
Apparently it didnât, and the funky guy in dreads I always chat with informed me theyâre a lot more worried with elevated temps, due to fever. Ensconced in my platelet-giving bed, I channel through all the movie offerings, finally figuring as a completest I should at least give Quantum of Solace a shot, despite how much Iâd hated Casino Royale. Didnât realize that was Alicia Keys singing, but my spirits were buoyed when I saw Paul Haggisâ name as one of the co-writers! I may have to watch a few episodes of Due South tonight. . . As for the movie, it was better than I expected, which is not unusual for me when Tosca is featured. The main actress didnât do much for me, but Strawberry Fields was awfully cute. Disappointed to find later the actress didnât always look like that, but in the in the raincoat and brown boots, and particularly the red hair. . . very hot, very vintage Alison Smith, one of my fave thespian redheads of all time.
While I was sitting there through a slow scene, it occurred to me: what if there was an emergency, like a fire? What if all the patients had to suddenly be unplugged and moved out? Whatâs the procedure for getting that needle out of the vein as fast as possible, stemming the flow, and then moving on to the next one? Alas, I forgot to ask. . .
For once I had a perfect hour and a half thereânot even feeling the need to hit the restroomâbut things are never simple with me around. As Iâm getting off the bed my left calf cramps. . . and I was being so damned careful with it, just for that reason! Luckily one of the doctors had experience with that and knew just what to do, so it didnât go full-blown; I could have done it myself, but there was no wall handy. Gotta figure out a way to get out of those things without it happening! And even though I know Iâve said how much I love Kirstenâs perma-smile, I really didnât need to see her grinning as I winced through the pain. . .
Okay. After partaking of the snacks and the newly-available orange Gatoradeâthose juice boxes always fountain on you when you stick them with the strawâI headed off back to Wilshire, already doing the return trip. Caught an empty 20 in stride, even though there was an express right behind it. Still well ahead of schedule, and it only took 50 minute to get to Western, definitely not bad for rush hour. Since this is the starting place for this spur of the subwayâfor now, hopefullyâI had no trouble getting a seat, though it filled up quickly. The same could be said as I got on the light-rail to Pasadena, only I definitely chose the wrong seat there, finding my knee stuck against the very hard thigh of a woman who didnât feel it. This is why I always sit on the sideways-facing benches.
Finally survived that, if barely, then had to wait a lot longer than I expected for the last bus of the day, but finally I was warm and sorta safe at the Coffee Gallery, for Jimi Yamagishiâs Songnet Showcase. I usually would not have bothered to show up after such a long day, but my buddy Paulina Logan had mentioned sheâd be playing tonight, and I love listening to her songs almost as much as photographing her. Since sheâs an aspiring actress I asked her if she wanted to play a Bond girl, only to find she wanted to BE Bond! Jane Bond, I assume. As mentioned in the previous blog, sheâs one of my music models. . . or muses. She debuted âWonât Be Still For Longâ without any obvious mistakes, then launched into the always touching âLovely,â of which more later.
As for the rest of the evening, I was. . . annoyed by a distinct lack of rhyming ethics. . . or maybe itâs just laziness. In general things were the same as most times, the usual suspects, but we did get some new blood. Fernando Perdomo always brings it, and this was my first time seeing Al Sanchez, who is a genuine guitar wizard, doing things on the strings–hey, thereâs a rhyme!–that Iâd only seen Alex Lifeson do. Another new guy with some good singer-songwriter chops was Mark Baldonado, while Thomas Valle-Guatemala impressed with a 12-stringer this time. Melissa Thatcher was her usual cuteness-incarnate self, and Diana Green brought the old-time jazz. . .
Which was quickly shattered by Jimi Yamagishiâs debut of âSHUT THE FUCK UP!â As he said, âIf youâre offended by profanity. . . well, fuck it.â Iâm sure most musicians have had loud crowds and an unruly audience, and no doubt wished they could get away with this. . .
With two thrown-in acts and only one no-show, it was a more impressive night than usual, and really, what more can you ask? With the telephoto lens out in the ether of the parcel service, I only had my standard to shoot withâwasnât about to bring the film camerasâbut it was okay since we were in the starry front stage, close to the action. Still got 299 shots, of which I kept 86, a ratio I will take any day. . .
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Sunday
Such a languid day I didnât want to get up from my comfy chair in front of the computer and TV. Felt that way on Saturday too, but the event downtown I wanted to see was free, so I wasnât losing anything by not going. But for this thing on Sunday evening, Iâd already bought my ticket, so I had to go, you know?
Travel not any kind of issueâfor onceâas I got off the subway at Hollywood and Vine, noticing the marquee of the Pantages promoting Catch Me If You Can: the Musical. That just sounds silly to me, but since in recent years Iâve enjoyed Dangerous Beauty and Spamalot, Iâm not about to complain about this trend of turning movies into musicals. Heard Somewhere in Time was also musicalâd, but since I havenât seen it, it doesnât count. . . and I always feel grand after inventing a new verb.
Interesting walk down to the Ruby Theater, made less interesting by how hard it was to munch on friesâdinnerâwhile using a cane. Luckily the heel pain never got too bad, but I was surprised by the amount of people who deferred to me because they thought I was crippled. . . and then later how many didnât, but thatâs another story. Zigzagging down to the infamous Santa Monica Boulevardâitâs not called S&M just for the initialsâI accidentally found the Firemanâs museum and memorial, which Iâd hear about but was luckily closed, keeping me from having to make a tough decision. As it was I got to the theater way early, as usual. The guys there were pleasant but not all that talkative, so I sat in a corner reading a trade magazine while a couple of arias from Carmen blared.
Tonightâs show was called What Is Art? making it a catch-all for a number of pieces, starting with art on display on the stage, once we were allowed into the seating area. As it was I spent more time perusing the dressesâone slutty, the other Aztec warriorâthan the paintings, though there was a memorable one of a Spanish Inquisition-type scene, with a Nazi, a KKK, and other evil villains smirking, and the Statue of Liberty in background, looking sad. The couple of b&w photos showing protest scenes were no big deal at all, rather pedestrian, so thatâs that. . .
On to da play, an apparently famous piece simply entitled Art. Basically it features a white painting. . . as in all white, blank; it has some wrinkles, but come on. The first guy we see, Serge, just paid 200,000 francs for it, and invites a friend over to see it. . . turns out to not be a great idea, and even his saying, âYou gotta see it at the right angle!â didnât help. At this point Iâm reminded of a cartoon I saw years ago, only this painting was black, and called Midnight in Paris Through the Eyes of a Dead Man. That put me in a better mood for the insanity that was to come, especially when the characters came to the front of the stage to deliver spotlighted soliloquies, like a character lesson in a 70s sitcom.
When we meet Yvan, heâs frantically looking for his pen cap, establishing his character. Everyone thinks the others have lost their sense of humor, so we know this isnât really going to be about art, but rather a meditation on friendship and understanding. Marc, who is clearly the antagonist of the piece, reminds me of the Mentalist, all snooty and obnoxious. There was enough humor to make me like it; after a long discourse about how horrible a time he had with his fiancĂŠ and mother, Yvan does not look happy when Serge asks, âThen what?â Yvan is wearing an orange shirt, socks, even shoelaces; despite the color coordination, he comes off as quite a spineless individual, so itâs no shock when heâs called an amoeba. {Interestingly enough, I later looked up the bald actor and saw a photo of him as a gangbanger, so awesome range, bro.} After a few turns of âRead Seneca!â Yvan storms out of the apartment, making us think the friendship is over, only to come back a few minutes later with the proclamation of âYvan returns!â You can never go wrong referring to yourself in the third person, right?
Thereâs a piece on how Marcâs wife or girlfriend waves cigarette smoke away with a disdain the others donât like, which leads me to believe these actors enjoyed the script and wanted to do it when they saw all the emotional screaming theyâd get to do. . .
So, very nice; Iâd see it again.
Nice fast piano piped in during intermission, but I forgot all about that as from the rear of the stage the curtain parts to reveal. . . Vixen DeVille! Hoo boy, Iâm glad I was sitting next to Paulina Loganâs mother, thereby forcing a modicum of restraint on me. As if she wasnât absolutely gorgeous, with my favorite quality in a womanâa devious and amazing sense of humorâit turns out sheâs a fire eater! First she runs the flame along her arms, then flicks it along her waist and it. . . undoes her coat! Amazing, never seen anything like that. . . plus it leaves her in a corset and stockings, yum! Donât tell Paulina, but this was more than worth the price of admission for me: a gorgeous, hilarious, sexy Brit. . . as longtime readers know by now, I am the living epitome of my friend Cheryl B. Engelhardtâs lyric, âI fall in love at least four times a day.â This lady will be taking up at least a weekâs worth!
Okay, time to scrape myself off the ceiling and watch the actsâgood thing Iâm allergic to alcohol, right? First on the stage was Corporal Punishment, who comes out in Marine Corps uniform, but is sporting officer insignia. Heâs singingâtalking, really, with piped music, so karaokeâas he strips off his shirt to show off his sparkly chest; dust flies. The tearaway cammo pants are next, leaving him in a g-string and shoes. . . and socks with holders, which I will always find hilarious. When he turns to walk off stage his entire ass is hanging out, which I really didnât need to see; hope the floss irritates his ass crack. . .
Didnât catch the name of the Japanese girl singing next, whom I would guess is from Brazil; Vixen tells us the song was originally in Portuguese, then done in Japanese, and now English. Didnât enjoy it at all, not the least because the voice was high-pitched and squeaky, but it wasnât horrible, so thereâs that.
Poet didnât show, so Cat–I mean, âVixenââis filling the time with audience participation storytelling; thankfully the mic cord didnât reach me! The story featured Compton, an upper-clas-Brit twit, a monkey, a cop, an Australian, wind, mud, a distant train, and possibly other things Iâve forgotten. At one point sheâs tugging on the mic cord, looking like sheâs trying to reach me, when she jokes, âDoes it reach? Story of my life. . .â Damn, sheâs good. Then the guy in front of me whines, âYou promised you wouldnât tell!â to which she replies, âI tell everything at my shows.â Later on there was a line about âSimultaneous climax not always possible,â which I missed the context, probably a good thing. I did notice she does a really good valley girl accent. . .
On to the real reason for being here, a second serving of the one and only Paulina Logan, who did âLovelyâ again, and even though I just heard it Wednesday, it sounded so heartbreaking this time; she seemed to like that when I told her after. You know the audience feels it when thereâs a pause after the song is finished, as though theyâre trying to gather themselves or wipe away the tears, before the thunderous applause starts.
As it turned out, I would need those two performances, for next was Alice in Wanderlust, exactly what youâd imagine from the title. A cutesy doll-like blonde is totally Aliceâd outâthough I doubt the original wore such garish blue eyeshadowâas she comes up to the crowd to sing, so close to me that the bottom of her short dress is tickling my arm, close enough for me to see the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. Couldnât crane my neck up to see her, so instead I watched the slinky green caterpillar with the hookah strip all the way to a thongânot a very attractive woman, with cellulite and short hairâthen strip Alice all the way; that gal shaves, and both of them had way too many tats to be convincing in their roles. For a guy who takes photos of the most beautiful women in the world for a livingâand especially with Vixen aroundâcolor me not impressed. Things perked up a bit when a submissive-dressed Cheshire Catâmale this timeâcomes in, saying, âSome people go this way, some people go that way. . . I go both ways.â He dresses her up, and they leave. . .
Micah Cover ended the show, doing a bit of standup to start, shoutouts to the previous people, then a trick with butterflies and hand fans, which did indeed look cool. He pretty much summed up the night: âIf itâs good, itâs magic; if itâs bad, itâs performance art.â
;o)