Plated

Just as my odometer turns over it's first 1,000 miles, on the last day of mail delivery in 2006 (until Weds, actually - R.I.P. Gerald R. Ford), 51 days since the big move, the California DMV bestows upon me the official gift of the road: 2 license plates and registration stickers for my dusty little car (Note to self: check out the $2 car wash place on Santa Monica Blvd...). Now, I may be over my ideal weight, but I've never worn a 5XL; until now, that is. Just looking at that picture takes me back to the late nights of homework ignored to watch "L.A. Law" (not _just_ because it featured the first prime-time lesbian kiss - it was a well-written show before Rosalyn fell down the elevator shaft). You know that iconic opening title sequence kicked-off by the trunk closing shot of a California license plate?

According to IMDB's trivia page, "the license plate in the beginning of the opening credits was during
the first seven seasons mounted on the rear of a Jaguar, but for the
eight and finale season it changed to being mounted on a Bentley
Continental R. The Bentley Continental R was mentioned for several of
the first episodes of the season when Arnie Becker was thinking of
buying one, and finally received one as a gift in episode 3 of the
eighth season." Mine's mounted on a Toyota Yaris Liftback. Can't wait for the opening credits of my first TV show...

Bagels

I'm a bagel snob (H&H rules!), but so homesick for the Big Apple that I took the plunge and bought some of these "New York Style" supermarket bagels. Boy, am I glad I did! They are respectably tasty. It's the little things that comfort...

I must be having L.A. conversion illness. In the same way that I'm incensed when I see a TV show set in NYC, but filmed generically in Toronto, Vancouver or L.A., then thrilled when I recognize actual NYC locations sprinkled throughout; I am now becoming similarly angered/thrilled when I see Los Angeles-set shows with real L.A. locations.

An Angeleno friend advised me to find things to love here that are uniquely Los Angeles. Thing #1: The Cinerama Dome. There's nothing like a big movie musical projected in the round... Many more things to come, I'm sure. I'm taking suggestions!

Xmas in Hollywood

That's my neighbor's contribution to the holiday spirit of the courtyard.

I tried wishing my sweetie "Merry Christmas" on it's Eve, and she got all fussy with me, as if it was bad luck to bestow the sentiment too early. All my neighbors have been wishing it to me today. I must admit that a 75 degree Xmas feels very odd...

With no one to share this holiday here in Hollywood, I'll do my usual celebration solo this year: First run film in a theater (always something BIG), followed by Chinese food; A very Jewish Christmas. So, it's Dreamgirls @ the Arclight, then yumminess @ a restaurant yet to be determined. It's not as lonely as it sounds. I've been busy feathering my L.A. nest, and this'll be a welcome treat, getting me out of the apartment (everybody calls it a bungalow!), and into the world at large.

It's after midnight on this Coast, now, so MERRY XMAS EVERYONE!

1st Night

Happy Chanukah from LaLaLand.

Electric Trash

That Earthquake Kit I got off my Amazon wishlist came in very handy the other night, as transformers blew throughout the neighborhood, leaving us in total, soggy darkness. It seems that a small rainstorm can blow the grid, unfortunately. No worries - I just cranked my no-batteries-needed emergency flashlight/radio/phone charger and headed out to check on my neighbors. Most were in their jammies, but some were enjoying the mood set by candlelight and drizzle with alcohol. Although it was distressing that 911 was initially busy, then put me on hold for 10 minutes as the smell of smoke wafted through the courtyard, the offer of candles and vodka from neighbors in the moonlight offset the dread of possible conflagration.

Waking up to the Sun and not an alarm clock was a nice change. My mission: to pick up trash with some enterprising, civic-minded neighbors around the local grade school. I may seem like a cranky New Yorker, but I'm trying to be a generous Angeleno.

Apologies

OK, I just read through my last couple of posts. Boy, I'm cranky! I apologize; To my faithful readers (all 7 of you). To anyone I've offended or hurt by way of venting. To everyone, really (except Time Warner Cable SoCal and FedEx because they really did do me wrong). To Southern California, for not giving you the benefit of the doubt and in deference to the nice weather (although it's colder than I imagined it would be - note to self: buy sweaters). And to myself, since it's pretty darn hard to pull this off - I must remember to chill the heck out. There are beaches and canyons and parks around here for that, right? And friends, nice friends who have welcomed me while I've been too engrossed in the practical, annoying crap of setting up house 3,000 miles away from the life and loves I've known for all my years on this earth. I'm a little late on remembering the meaning of Thanksgiving; I can beg forgiveness just in time for Chanukah...

Attention Must Be Paid

Either I'm paid little to no attention or am the subject of unwanted attention here in L.A.

I went to see a brilliant writer friend perform at Wordamara the other night. It was a spoken-word evening filled with witty, poignant, talented writers and performers. There were a few familiar folks in the audience, and we exchanged pleasantries, but I was struck at how invisible I was to the new people to whom I was introduced. Sure, they didn't know me, but to be literally sitting in between my friend and the "new" people and be talked over - completely and utterly ignored (remember, I have nothing to contribute in terms of job opportunities, gossip or sex as far as they know). They were actually leaning on me to get closer to each other, bitching about whatever literary goings-on needed to be bitched about, as if I was bar stool. No eye contact, no acknowledgment that I was human, or even present, despite the recent introduction. Only the bartender noticed me and my wedged-in status, pouring multitudinous refills of Coke (G-d bless him...). I'm not asking for an instant fawning entourage, but common courtesy might be a little nice. At least don't treat me like furniture, and uncomfortable furniture, at that. As for the show, well, it was quite long and entertaining.

On my way to the launch party for OutFest's 25th Anniversary year at the Egyptian, I got way too much attention from the LASD. That's right; I got pulled over by the cops. Slightly disoriented by the traffic, Xmas lights and the insistent voice on my TomTom One to "Turn Left NOW," I made a left turn on Hollywood Blvd. right in front of an oncoming Sheriff's car. Now, the turn was perfectly legal, just a little close for his comfort. He followed my turn, lights flashing, siren yelping. Oh shit. I pulled to the side of the road, rolled down my window and felt like I was in the middle of a really bad episode of LAPD Blue (if it existed). I handed over my NY Driver's license and confessed that I had been lost, was just following my portable GPS, and was a dumb newly transplanted New Yorker. I like to think that my winning smile, accompanied by my pathetic rendition of the truth (my car's so new it doesn't even have license plates yet), and the fact that I didn't actually do anything illegal, led this imposing man to let me off with a warning.
"You won't do anything this stupid ever again, now will you, M'am?"
"No, sir."

As penance, I paid way too much for parking behind the theater.

Creature Comforts

Creature Comforts. Literal creature comforts. I think if I'd had my pets with me in L.A. for the past 3 weeks, I wouldn't have been so distressed about every little thing that went wrong or was done wrong to me. It's just been a rolling frustration train. The flight back to JFK was 3/4 turbulent. I get back to NYC and try to unwind by seeing a movie w/my sweetie, and instead my mobile phone gets flushed down the toilet @ the theater (yes, I reached in and rescued it, but it's a soggy goner). See? Even in NYC (or on the way to NYC), things go wrong and infuriate. The difference being, I get to come home to my apartment of 12 years, cuddle with my cats and kiss my girlfriend. Instant anti-anxiety pill. Did I mention my meds were stolen by the infamous TSA personel as they handled my bags? So, I'll get another prescription and then a pedicure at my neighborhood nail place where they know my battered feet well... I can let it roll off my back, or feet or cats. You get the point.

The reason for my return East (aside from the need to aleviate extreme withdrawal symptoms)? The screening of "Two Hands," a doc short by Nathaniel Kahn about the remarkable pianist Leon Fleisher. How's this sound for a swanky evening?
1. Private screening of "Two Hands" @ Makor.
2. Triumphant concert by Leon Fleisher @ Avery Fisher Hall.
3. Celebratory dinner with extraordinary people @ Cafe Des Artistes.


Nathaniel Kahn, Leon Fleisher & Katherine Jacobson

I think I can handle whatever L.A. throws at me for the next stretch. I'm Big Apple-fortified for now.