Measuring the Passage of Time

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It’s that time of year again when I do my annual link to my favorite essay ever, by Colson Whitehead. Every year that I read it again, I find something different to focus on. Now, probably because this September marks ten years since I lost a beloved pet, four years since I moved from New York to California, and over two decades since I originally moved from the west to the east coast, for school, I think about the passage of time when I read it, how that’s measured, which for me, is by my memories, and my surprise at how things have changed.

For some reason, his mention of the travel agency caught my attention this time. I remember the place I used to use in Greenwich Village. It was a chain but I can’t remember the name of it. I remember a green awning, and that it was down the street from a good cafe and a few blocks down from a Barnes and Noble and a Cohen’s Fashion Optical – the first place I worked at in NY. I remember the colorful brochures and the lobby chairs that resembled a row of airplane seats where you waited to speak to an agent. The place was always packed. I remember booking trips to Russia and Prague, and cruises to Nova Scotia and Bermuda in that little agency. I remember the agent with the short blonde bob and English accent selling me on an inexpensive “floating hotel” docked on the Neva river in St. Petersburg, and promising me the boat wouldn’t “cart me off” anywhere overnight. And I remember the big buff agent who cruised to Puerto Rico every year with his boyfriend convincing me to splurge on a room with at least a porthole (instead of an inside apartment) on my first ship. It’s been over a decade, I think, since I’ve booked any other way than through Expedia or Kayak, etc., but I remember certain special little things about the people who helped me plan my trips and that little storefront.

Whitehead’s main point is how place is different for everyone, depending on experience and memory. I don’t think that is more true anywhere than L.A. Everyone here seems to have an entirely different experience of this city. But that is definitely a topic for another day. I just started a crazy gig and have been working long hours. This will have to be it for now. Goodnight, and have a peaceful 9/11.

Above photo taken two days after 9/11/2001 at Union Square in NY.

Ratmansky’s Fantastically Funny, Tim Burton-Esque New FIREBIRD

Thursday night I went down to Costa Mesa for ABT’s premiere of Ratmansky’s FIREBIRD at the Segerstrom Center for the Arts. I’m so glad I braved the nearly three hour drive (with traffic; without about fifty minutes) from west L.A. because it was an excellent evening. This is I think Ratmansky’s most theatrical, spectacular ballet – certainly of those he’s done for ABT – and I loved it. (Photo above of Natalia Osipova in the lead role, by Gene Schiavone, courtesy of Segerstrom.)

The curtain opened onto this magnificent set. The prince is supposed to be in a forest searching for his lost beloved, and so strewn about the stage were these fantastically creepy dead tree-trunks with spindly branches that magically sprouted blood red blossoms. I was so enchanted with those tree trunks, which to me resembled a witch’s hand, and the crimson blossoms bright red fingernails. It all had a very fantastical Tim Burton feel.

Then behind a scrim we see the prince, Marcelo Gomes, dressed all in white, searching about frantically for his lost maiden. At one point, he bumps his head into a branch on one of the creepy witch-hand trees. The audience seemed really to appreciate the humor in this; they laughed at this, and laughed pretty frequently throughout.

Soon, a flock of red birds devoured the stage, and Natalia Osipova emerged as their leader, or the most remarkable one, whom the prince became taken with. This was the one problematic part for me. It makes sense to have a flock of birds with a leader rather than one bird, as in I think most versions of this ballet – but the stage here was really too small. Natalia went to take one of her famous leaps but then seemed to hesitate and took it down several notches. There were too many birds, and as she turned to run to one side of the stage, she almost smacked into one of them. I think that set the note for the rest of her performance, because unfortunately, she just seemed to be holding back throughout the whole thing – not only in her solos but also in her pas de deux with Marcelo after her firebird is captured by his prince. I didn’t really see her struggling to be set free, and when she gave him her magical feather, it seemed more an afterthought than in barter for her freedom. Marcelo is ABT’s most dramatic male principal and he kept up the act well, being enthralled with the firebird, but ultimately feeling sympathy for her and setting her free, but you could tell he was also concentrating on making his dance partner feel as assured as possible. I’m sure as they iron out the kinks, Natalia will be perfect though.

Simone Messmer actually stole the show to me. Well, she shared it with David Hallberg (who, judging by the cheers, has quite the fan base in L.A!) Simone danced the role of the maiden who captures the prince’s attention, and she danced it with a really wonderful sense of humor, as she alternated between being controlled puppet-like by a sorcerer’s spell, being annoyed by the prince’s intrusion, then falling for him, then being fought over by him and the sorcerer, who keeps trying to retain his spell on her.

Ditto for David, who danced the part of the sorcerer set on keeping the prince and maiden apart. We first see David’s wicked magician in shadow form, from the back of the stage, which looked both malevolent and funny at the same time. When David emerged, he sported this big green bouffant, and Ratmansky had him chasing the maidens about the stage in this bent-legged run (almost like a Russian folk dancer). He was really both creepy and funny at the same time.

The comedy continued when the firebird returned (after the prince, threatened by the sorcerer, summoned her protection) and compelled everyone to dance themselves silly. It was particularly interesting to watch David here. Ratmansky gave him these rather crazed lightning fast steps danced in place that reminded me of a sequence he danced as the mentally unstable boyfriend in Ratmansky’s earlier ballet, On the Dnieper. There they were meant to convey extreme anger and were frightening because it meant the character was about to become unhinged and violent; but here they’re more funny than scary, and I think that’s what Ratmansky intended. I think Ratmansky is making an actor out of David Hallberg πŸ™‚ He certainly got a great brilliant comedic performance out of Simone.

I wasn’t really a fan of the ending. Prince and maiden danced, sorcerer and firebird, then they switched partners, but the sorcerer tried to reclaim the maiden. Finally the firebird shattered the egg containing the sorcerer’s power and prince and maiden were sweetly reunited. The last scene is of the firebird being held up high by a group of men, in a group lift, heroizing her. I don’t remember the firebird appearing at the very end of other productions, and it felt a little too cutesy to me, or a little too ‘good triumphs over evil.’ I realize that’s the theme of a lot of ballets but I was expecting a bit of a twist here since the whole was more comical and different in tone than other versions.

Other dancers appearing as the firebird later this week are Misty Copeland and Isabella Boylston. I can’t make the trek to Orange County again this weekend unfortunately, but will be really interested to hear what others think of the other casts.

The other two dances performed were Christopher Wheeldon’s Thirteen Diversions and Merce Cunningham’s Duets. At first I’d forgotten I’d seen Thirteen Diversions – it premiered during ABT’s Met season last year. I was charmed by it all over again; definitely one of my favorite Wheeldon ballets. Misty Copeland, Stella Abrera, and Craig Salstein stood out to me. Misty really made that ballet she was so spellbinding as the girl who seems to struggle with herself and her partner. What I like about this Wheeldon dance is that he really allows the dancers to create characters; it’s not just about musicality and creative patterns (although that’s there as well). Craig Salstein was sweetly funny as he kind of flicked his partner off stage and into the wings, so he and his male cohort could have the stage all to themselves.

Duets was first on the program, and it was new to me. It got off to a slow start. It seemed the first two couples were stiff and nervous and just going through the steps without giving them much meaning. But the fourth couple – Xiomara Reyes and Arron Scott – changed the tone when they took one look at each other, as if to say, “let’s go, let’s do it!” and took off on a quick paced, very precisely and charmingly danced sequence of steps. After that, everyone else seemed to unwind and perform more full out and with intention. I’m really beginning to like Xiomara. She and Arron were my favorite couple, but Julie Kent and Jared Matthews got the most applause. At the end of the whole program, David got the most applause – people really love him there.

This was my first time at Segerstrom Center for the Arts. The building is so interesting. The orchestra is on the right half of the theater (if you’re facing the stage) and the mezzanine is a raised portion on the left half. And then the balcony is up above. It’s definitely not as big as the Lincoln Center stages or City Center, but it was packed full of a very enthusiastic audience. It made me wonder if most lived around there or if people often drive down from L.A. I’m sorry, I’m still this stunned New York expat unable to fathom how people can drive three hours a day in gridlock and not go insane!

It was kind of unsettling seeing my favorite N.Y.-based dancers in L.A. I looked around the press section thinking there must be some N.Y. critics there to cover a premiere, but I didn’t recognize anyone and a Facebook friend later told me Macaulay was with her at a N.Y. performance Thursday night. And the one L.A. critic friend I have wasn’t there either. It made me sad. I really miss spotting the writers in the audience, wondering who’s going to write a review, who’s covering for the Times, who’s thinking what, who’ll write what. And most dearly I miss hanging out with my N.Y. dance-goer friends on the Koch Theater promenade during intermissions, or at Ed’s Chowder House or Fiorello’s afterward to discuss a performance, especially a premiere. I guess I’ll eventually make those friends here…

How to Find the Studs in the Wall, How Do Valets Not Lose Keys, and Other Settling into LA Conundrums

Aye, still trying to figure out how to live here… The other weekend I was perusing the antique shops on Magnolia Boulevard in Burbank and this piece of furniture stood out to me. I’ve needed a bookcase since I moved here but I haven’t liked anything I’ve seen in the regular furniture stores. But I loved this one. It’s actually a baker’s rack, not a bookcase, but it serves the same purpose. Plus, ever since shopping the Rose Bowl flea market, I’ve kind of been into unique furniture functioning as something other than it was originally meant for. So I bought the baker’s rack.

But I remembered reading in The Elegant Variation, one of my favorite lit blogs written by a New Yorker turned Angeleno, that when he moved to his new L.A. home, one thing he had to do before loading the bookcases was to earthquake-proof them, meaning fastening them securely to the wall so they wouldn’t topple over in the event of an earthquake.

So this was in the back of my mind when I bought the piece of furniture. The man I bought it from told me no worries, just go to a Home Depot and buy an earthquake proofing packet. It should have everything I need, with instructions. So I did. And the guy there also acted like it should be no big deal; just follow the instructions.

I thought package would consist of some burlap straps which I could tie around the furniture and nail into into the wall. Simple. But so not. According to the instructions, after finding an ideal place to velcro and snap the straps securely around the rack (which was hard because of the rack’s kind of ornate design), I was supposed to screw the things into the wall, for which I’d need a drill of course. But I couldn’t just screw anywhere – I needed to find the studs in the wall so that the furniture would attach to something that would actually hold it, which drywall would not. For this I would need an instrument called a stud-finder. You could also just knock on the wall, but you have to know what you’re listening for – ie: the difference between drywall and a stud – which I most definitely do not. So I bought the stud-finder.

When I got the stud-finder home, I found that it operated on these rather unusual batteries, which I didn’t have and which didn’t come with the instrument, so I had to go out to the drugstore for those. When I finally got the stud-finder all ready to use, I carefully read the back of the package, which contained a kind of hidden warning that you need to be very careful that when the little red stud-finder light goes off, it’s actually a stud it’s found and not a pipe or electrical wire. The stud-finder can easily mix all these up. If you drill into an electrical wire you might be electrocuted and if you drill into a pipe you could really screw up the plumbing. In order to avoid electrocution, the package recommended turning off all electrical outlets. Which of course I needed to operate the drill.

I finally decided to call my management company. I was trying not to be a helpless woman, but, seriously, I have no carpentry skills; this is just way over my head. And I don’t even own this place if I do mess up piping or electrical wiring. I don’t remember the lease saying anything about not letting tenants drill, but I wouldn’t want tenants who know nothing about studs and drywall and pipes and electrical wiring drilling about if I were the owner.

So, a nice man from maintenance came and fixed it up for me. Funny, because he didn’t follow the instructions on the package at all – or even use anything in the package. He just drilled a couple large screws into the wall in strategic places so that if the bookcase were to be volted forward, it would probably be stopped by a screw. Not as secure as the earthquake proof kit, but I guess at this point I’m just not going to worry about it.

When I went to work the next day and told everyone about my angsty weekend, pretty much all of my co-workers laughed, and said they’ve never secured anything into a wall. Most people here don’t, they said – they just figure if it’s a small earthquake like the vast majority are, nothing’s going to happen, and if it’s a big one, we’re all doomed anyway.

So I guess that’s that. Anyway, for better or worse, I loaded the bookcase:

I don’t know what made me think all of my books were going to fit on it. I sold about 80 percent of my print books in N.Y. to the Strand and gave about ten percent more away to Housing Works, but somehow I kept so many that I still have more than will fit in one large floor to ceiling wrought iron case. And of course I’m buying more here (thanks mainly to Book Soup in West Hollywood), which I said I wouldn’t do. Didn’t say I wouldn’t buy books, just that they be of the e-version now.

Speaking of books, I also joined this book club called Ladies’ Guilty Pleasures Book Club, which reads mainly mysteries combined with romance. It’s run by a fantastic book publicist I met here through a journalist networking event named Liz Donatelli.

Anyway, their first meeting at which I joined was at this Italian restaurant on Ventura Boulevard in Sherman Oaks. It was held on aΒ  weeknight, so I left work as early as I could so that I could find the parking lot. Not so that I could find the restaurant, but so that I could figure out where to park. I’m not kidding. Parking is by far the most confusing thing about this city to me, far more frustrating than driving.

As expected, I found the restaurant right away, then spent the next half hour driving back and forth past it trying to figure out where the parking lot was, or if they had one, and if they didn’t, where else to park. I found several general lots on the street, but I couldn’t gauge how far they’d be to walk. Here, it always seems like something is close by, and then when you try to walk it, you realize the streets are wider and longer than in New York and it’s actually much more of a trek than you thought.

Anyway, I finally found a narrow narrow driveway with an arrow pointing down with the words Panzanella (the name of the restaurant) written underneath, so I slammed on my breaks and turned on my – at that point I think left – turn signal, and when traffic finally cleared, sped into the narrow driveway. The parking was valet only. I figured okay, fine, my first valet experience. More of an expense, but I’m just happy to have my car and myself in the lot with five minutes to go before the dinner’s set to begin. But it made me worry the restaurant was going to be all five course $250 prix fixe plates or something.

Of course the valet wanted my car keys and I was all butterfingers as I tried to detach the car fob from the rest of the bundle. When I finally got it free and handed it to him, he flashed me a suave smile and delicately placed my receipt in my hand. Definitely an actor. But then all throughout dinner I kept wondering how he kept all those keys straight. There were so many cars in the lot. What if he mixed them up?

But nothing to worry about. Entrees in the restaurant were priced in the teens and low twenties and most wines weren’t more than $10 per glass. This is one of the oddest things about L.A. to me: a restaurant doesn’t have to be at all high-priced to have a valet only parking lot. The food was very good, and the valet was really good looking and smooth, and he didn’t lose my keys. And the book club was fun, and I made lots of very cool new friends. Next time, we’re meeting Jackie Collins at a restaurant in El Segundo, which should be a blast!

RedCat, Ohad Naharin, and the Beauty of Downtown L.A.

Last Friday night, my friend Debra Levine invited me to a winter dance concert by students of CalArts (California Institute of the Arts, a prestigious arts college here), atΒ  the RedCat in downtown L.A. For New Yorkers, the RedCat reminded me a lot of the BAM’s smaller Harvey theater. It was about the same size, very low-key, and had a very similar, comfy cafe / bar off to the side.

There were four pieces on the program, all of them modern: Yes Is Not Passive, by Stephanie Nugent; The Sea, the Sea, by Colin Connor; and two by Ohad Naharin – Humus and Echad Mi Yodea. I’d never seen Echad Mi Yodea before – and it’s one of the pieces Naharin’s most known for. I don’t know how I’ve missed it, but I do think I’ve seen excerpts. Anyway, it was by far my favorite piece on the program. Here’s a version, performed by Israeli dancers. In the version I saw, everyone was dressed in full black suits, black shoes, and hats. They all stripped down to their underwear by the end, except for the dancer in the front right-side chair, who kept falling at the end of each line. I really loved this piece. So much energy and layered with meaning.

I also liked Yes Is Not Passive, the first piece. There were many different parts, but my favorite was a solo where one man – Jose Luis Trujillo – simply stood in front of the audience and shouted “Yes” so many times his voice became distorted and his contorted face nearly began to melt with sweat. It reminded me of William Forsythe or Pina Bausch. Captivating.

I was also captivated by the architecture of downtown L.A. This was the first time I’d been to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion (an opera house where ballet and other kinds of dance performances take place), and the gorgeous Walt Disney Concert Hall (pictures below). So so so stunning!

 

 

 

All of the buildings together were very much like Lincoln Center, except with that breathtaking architecture, far more magical. I was really truly blown away. I was also blown away by how dead it was. It really broke my heart that there were so few people out and about down there on a Friday night during holiday season when you’d expect there to be concerts and performing arts events galore. (Bill T. Jones’ Fela! is playing in one of the buildings.) L.A. is definitely a very different town from N.Y. in so many respects.

Afterward, we went to a small, popular hole in the wall in Little Tokyo (also in downtown) where I had the best meal (salmon teriyaki) I’ve had since I moved here. And after that Debra drove me down the east side of Sunset (the only stretch of Sunset I hadn’t been on) to the trendy neighborhoods on that side of town: Los Feliz, Echo Park, and Silver Lake. Echo Park looked pretty happening and like a place I wouldn’t mind living. And it’s very close to Dodger Stadium πŸ™‚

Don Mattingly’s Lovely Mother Ginger

 

Ha – another instance of the intersection of my two favorite pastimes… Have you guys seen this yet? I just saw it on the news. It’s Don Mattingly (former Yankee, current Dodgers manager), “dancing” the role of Mother Ginger in the Evansville Ballet’s production of Nutz. (Evansville, Indiana is apparently where he grew up.) I love the part where he gives all the signals! And how cute is the little boy in the baseball uniform…

The Sunset Boulevard Gunman and More LA Traffic Distress

Did you all hear about this? Just wondering if the news made it out of California. It seems like unless a lot of people are killed these kinds of stories don’t make national headlines. Anyway, Friday early afternoon a 26-year-old man – a hipster type from the looks of him on the news – stood in the middle of Sunset Boulevard and Vine Street – a very crowded, touristy part of Hollywood – and began shooting a gun mostly at people driving through the intersection, but at some pedestrians as well. Several people were shot, and one man – a music industry executive driving a Mercedes – is in critical condition. The gunman was eventually shot and killed by the police. From his angry shouting and his failure to drop his weapon at police orders, it seemed to onlookers that it was a suicide, that he wanted police to shoot him.

I happened to be in that part of town right at that time. Yet I somehow missed all of it. When I first heard word of it I was sitting in a film processing shop a few blocks over on Sunset getting headshots I’d just had taken developed (I decided it would be fun and interesting to try to get some extra work while I’m here). I thought it was a joke it seemed so unreal. It also seemed like a crazy ridiculous metaphor of my experience that day, the worst I’ve had yet on LA streets that made me truly not understand how people can live and drive here for any length of time without seriously going nuts.

I’d answered a call for extras the day before. The casting agency decided to take me on. But I had no headshots so the agent referred me to a photographer in Hollywood (an excellent photog, by the way). So his studio was in a cottage, the second of two large cottages situated down a very long narrow driveway off a very busy street. He’d told me I could use the driveway to park in, but if I did, to drive in as far as I could. But the driveway was so long and narrow and there were two cars already parked there. I didn’t know how they’d get out if I parked behind them. I was there early so I drove around and around and around trying to find a parking space on the street – on any street in the area. It was a residential area. Nothing, no spaces at all. So, finally I just decided to park behind the last car in the driveway, hoping the other cars wouldn’t have to leave until evening. I no more than got out when a woman came running out of the first cottage. “Oh, I’m really sorry,” she said, “but could you pull out so I can get out please. I’m so sorry!” I told her not to worry about it at all – I totally understood – then fumbled for my keys, got in my car and backed my Prius out the long long long narrow, narrow, narrow driveway, terrified I’d hit one of the cottages or the brick wall on the other side on the way out.

I made it down okay, miraculously, but then had to back out onto an insanely busy street. I tried to see around the cars parked on each side but couldn’t really see well no matter how hard I tried. So, I just had to take a breath and go very slowly and hope if anyone was coming down the street they’d see me backing out and nicely stop. It worked out, amazingly, but when I drove out my front bumper crashed into the pavement because the driveway’s incline was so high. Ugh… I find this everywhere too in LA – really steep inclines into driveways and parking lots that you can’t help but crash your bumper on. Who designed them, owners of enormous jacked-up trucks?

So, the woman thanked me and pulled away, and in I went again. I’d just parked and gotten out of my car when the guy whose car was still parked in front of me came rushing out of the house next door asking if I could please just let him out before I went inside since he would have to leave in about 15 minutes. I laughed and he apologized. I don’t know why drivers kept apologizing though. It seemed the person who should have been apologizing was the idiot who designed a driveway serving several residences on which only one car at a time could drive.

So, same thing – I tried to back up poker straight so as not to hit anything, risked my back bumper crashing into traffic I couldn’t see, and crashed the front bumper into the steep entrance to the driveway. I drove down the street, got honked at for going too slow, had to go around the corner and come back up the street so as not to block traffic, leaving the guy who needed to back out waiting for me so he could park behind me…

All I could think about all throughout my photo session was how many people I’d have to search for in order to ask them to move their cars so I could get out.

Unbelievably, there were none when I left. My little car was the only one in the driveway. This time the photographer helped me back out. He tried to instruct me on how to turn the front tires just so so that I wouldn’t bump the front again on the steep incline. But I just couldn’t avoid doing that – especially because I was so nervous about backing out onto a crowded street lined with parked cars. This time there was a car coming down the street but he saw the photographer in the middle of the street with his palm up and stopped to wait for me. After that driver waved me on, I continued. But a driver behind him didn’t feel like waiting, and so went to pass him. I guess that driver didn’t realize I was backing out, which is why the guy behind me was waiting. I don’t know what that driver was thinking. I guess he thought the car in front of him just felt like stopping for no reason. Anyway, that driver nearly smashed into me when he tried to pass the car in back of me. Of course another car was coming down the street in the other lane, in our direction, and the car who needed to badly to pass me and the guy in back of me nearly crashed into that car head-on. I really don’t know how there aren’t more car crashes here. I really don’t.

So, after taking my pictures, the photographer had instructed me to take my film down the block on Sunset to have it developed, which I would then bring back to him so he’d help me select a headshot from the proofs. It took me about half an hour to find a parking spot in the shopping center. I even drove down the street to another shopping center – a Rite Aid – to try to find a space. But every parking lot here is just insanely designed. It’s like the designers don’t think of the possibility that every space might be filled and there may, just may be a car driving into the lot trying to park AND a parked car needing to back up out of its space and leave. I mean, unthinkable right, that two cars would be driving in the same parking lot at the same time. There is no room in these parking lots for more than one car to drive in when full. And then when you go to pull out of the lot onto the street, there are so many cars parked on the street, and the lanes are so narrow, and there are ALWAYS ALWAYS cars driving EACH way down these narrow narrow streets. So, you’re going to have a total of four cars on a two lane street – one traveling in each direction, and one parked on each side. These are streets that were meant for two cars only. And then you need to pull out onto this street so you can leave the lot that was full that you couldn’t park in. So, you have to pull out, and you’re going to have a very hard time seeing around the parked cars, and when you finally think you can go because it’s clear one way, of course the car coming the other way nearly smashes into you, often trying to pull into the full parking lot you’re trying to pull out of.

I don’t understand how people do this, I really don’t. It’s like LA is a parking lot in which there can fit 100 cars. But there are 500 cars that need to park. And there’s nowhere else for the 400 extra cars to go. So what’s that going to be like? Yes, nowhere to park, no space to drive around the parked cars. Major major congestion trying to get anywhere you need to go. And major major potholes, these streets are so overused.

Anyway, I remembered a friend’s advice to park in shopping mall lots whenever possible since they’re usually the cheapest (because they usually give you a few hours for free and / or validate for a few dollars off). So, I drove up to Hollywood Boulevard and drove down to Highland and parked in the Highland and Hollywood (H&H) mall. The mall was probably a good 3/4 of a mile from the film processing place. I then walked up and out of the deep bowels of the garage and walked all around, everywhere I needed to go: back to the film processing place to get my finished proofs, back to the photographer’s studio to decide on the headshot, back to the film processing place to get the headshots made, then to the casting agency to deliver the headshots, then back to the mall to have dinner, get validated, and get my car and go home home home!

It was a hell of a lot of walking around – must’ve walked a good five miles in all. Probably more. But it was so worth it; I was so much happier having my Prius safely ensconced in its little space deep in the bowels of the mall. On my way to the casting agency I saw an accident and thought, of course. Of course of course of course. I mean, how not?

Then at the casting agency, headshots finally in hand, while waiting to see the agent, I collapsed onto a couch and nearly fell asleep. Until news of the gunman popped up on the TV and woke me up. And then I remembered the talk of a police shooting in the area at the film processing shop, and I realized, wow, that was for real. I phoned my mom immediately thinking she’d be out of her mind with worry, knowing I was to be in Hollywood that day. But she hadn’t heard the story – she lives in North Carolina. Nor had my dad, who lives in Arizona. I still don’t think anyone outside of CA, outside of LA heard of it.

After giving the agent my headshots, I walked back to the mall, found a nice restaurant for dinner, and sat in a dark corner trying hard to decompress. But it was difficult to do so because it was getting dark outside (ie: after 5) and I started to worry about it being dark and dangerous deep in the bowels of the garage. I tried to hurry and eat. Waiters in LA never rush you, interestingly. It’s so the opposite of NY in that sense. And restaurants are rarely packed, also interestingly, because I always wonder where in the world all the drivers on the streets are going.

Anyway, for some happy reason the mall garage was full of security guards directing traffic. Weirdly, the mall parking lot wasn’t full. There were lots of available spaces. I guess this is another reason why my friend told me to park in mall garages – because others don’t. I thought how nice it would be if there were guards directing drivers searching desperately for parking out on the residential streets and the shopping center parking lots, like the one where I saw the accident. I was glad for their abundance in the mall lot because that meant I was safe.

The mall parking ended up costing me $10 – the maximum rate – even with validation from the restaurant because I was there for so long. But by that point cost was so unimportant. I just wanted to get home. It took me an hour and twenty minutes to drive the six miles back to my apartment because Sunset was blocked off due to the shooting.

This coming week I have at least two places to go during daytime, both of which, thankfully I can take a bus and a bus / subway to. But I have a third thing I want to do as well – and that I may well have to drive to, which I’m kind of dreading. I could take a combination of three buses, which gets expensive because they don’t have transfers here. So, you have to pay $1.50 each time you board, even if three of the rides are going in the same direction, en route to the same destination. And buses most only run once or twice an hour, and most don’t run after 8 pm. The subway runs much more frequently and is pretty good for the areas it serves, but stops on most of the subway lines are few and far between, so you usually need to take a subway / bus combination. And the trains don’t run all night either.

There are things I love about LA. I actually really love Sunset Boulevard – it goes from the east side of LA all the way to Pacific Palisades, to the ocean. I always try to drive home on that street, even when my GPS insists I should take Santa Monica or Wilshire. It’s like the A train in NYC, passing through practically every neighborhood in the city. It has history and soul. It’s a microcosm of the city. I saw a book the other day in the shop of the ArcLight Hollywood cinema (which is at the corner of Sunset and Vine, right where the gunman was). Each chapter was devoted to celebrating one stretch of Sunset Blvd and highlighting some of the ever so engaging characters who live in its neighborhoods.

I don’t know. I guess I’ll get used to the driving and parking insanity. Maybe. I do desperately wish they’d improve the public transportation system though.

Los Angeles Ballet’s NUTCRACKER, and More Settling Into LA Angst

 

Last night was the opening of Los Angeles Ballet‘s Nutcracker. Above photo – of my favorite dance – taken from LA Mommy Poppins.) It had its premiere at the Alex Theater in Glendale, and will be showing again there tonight. Then, it’ll travel to UCLA’s Royce Hall in mid December, and will end at the Redondo Beach Performing Arts Center at the end of the month. I find it interesting how the productions here seem to travel around the city, in contrast to those of the NY companies.

Anyway, my new Twitter friend, the wonderful Christopher McDaniel, a dancer in the company, generously invited me. And I’m so glad he did because I was worried I would miss getting my Nutz fix this year. The production was fun. This company is much smaller and you can tell has far less of a budget than the two big New York companies. So no live music, no ginormous trees magically shooting through the roof, no Stella McCarthy-designed costumes. But it was a sweet production, and the theater was really packed – mainly with families, I assume from the suburbs. And the audience really seemed to enjoy it. This ballet is all about pleasing children anyway.

The Alex Theater is quite small and every seat is pretty close to the stage, which is nice for a change from the huge NY houses. I think that up close feeling, the feeling that you’re part of the action compensates for theatrics like NYCB’s magic tree.

 

Here is my extremely crappy night-taken iphone photo of the entrance, which I loved and found gloriously West Coast with its Art Deco-y design and bright sparkling lights noticeable from quite far away πŸ˜€

The choreography (by artistic directors Thordal Christensen and Colleen Neary) wasn’t as clever and intricately detailed as Ratmansky’s but it was still very lovely classical ballet. My favorite overall was the Arabian (pictured above). The couple entered the stage with the man holding the woman high above his head in a beautifully snaky overhead lift. The female dancer, Julia Cinquemani, was really flexible and long-limbed and she did an excellent job with the part. She also had terrific stage presence, and I’m not the only one who thought so – they got huge applause at the end.

Of course I loved the Russian dance, as I always do. And Christopher was in that one so it was all the more special! There was no Tea / Chinese dance, which I found refreshing because that one always seems to end up embarrassing me with its ridiculous stereotypes.

I found the mouse costumes splendidly creepy – it’s just that those tails reminded me of an appendage to a costume that I saw recently on an episode of the HBO series Bored to Death and, well, eeeek. And when the mice died they did so with their little legs bent and up in air – so real looking, it made me laugh! Mother Ginger was danced by a man, as in NYCB’s, but here he wore an actual gingerbread house as a costume, his head coming up through the chimney. And little children came out of the house and danced. They were very popular, those kids! I think they had lots of family members in the audience πŸ™‚ No ornery little mouse, as in Ratmasky’s.

My friend was impressed with the boy who played Clara’s little brother, Fritz – Aidan Merchel-Zoric. She thought he was a very good young actor.

All in all, I really enjoyed the production and am so glad I went.

But I think for a while going out is going to be a bit fraught with angst for me, until I get used to things more… So, the performance began at 7:30. At 5:00 my friend who I’d invited, who lives in a beach city, called on her cell phone. She sounded a bit frantic. “Tonya?!” she said when I answered.

“Uh huh?” I answered.

“Um, I’m really sorry and I don’t understand this at all and I really don’t know what’s going on, but I’m in my car and I’m getting ready to leave, and I just typed the address of the theater into the GPS, and it’s telling me my estimated arrival time is 8:20 pm?!”

“Three and a half hours? What?” I was as astonished as she. “I’d think you’d be in Palm Springs in three and a half hours.”

“I’d think I’d be in Arizona in three and a half hours!” she shrieked.

Glendale is in northeastern LA, up over the Hollywood Hills, and so on the reverse edge of town from the beach cities. But come on, it’s like 25 miles. It really shouldn’t have surprised me that much. I spent several days this week driving to UCLA, which is diagonally across town for me, and is about 20 miles away, and I’ve spent about three to four hours per day in my car going to and from. Anyway, she told me she’d try to be there as soon as possible, she’d go on back roads and avoid freeways to save time, but she’d perhaps have to pick up her ticket during intermission. I said no worries, but did worry about her sanity after spending a total of seven hours in her car in one day – which is longer than it takes me to get to Phoenix…

Anyway, she drove through town, avoiding the freeways, and got there in two hours, thankfully.

Then, afterward, we had planned to go to a newish cocktail lounge nearby with this supposedly up and coming mixologist. The cocktail lounge was close but not close enough to walk to. But when we looked it up online it seemed like there was only street parking, which may have been a real pain. We’d each be in our separate cars and it might take me a while to get out of the crowded garage near the theater that I’d parked in, and what if there were no parking spaces there, and I didn’t have any quarters for the meters anyway, etc. etc. We ended up deciding to go to the bar of a chain restaurant down the street, that we could easily walk to. And that bar was all nice and good, and we ended up meeting some movie industry people (I’m starting to realize you meet them everywhere) and discussing various flavored ciders and new caloric menu listings now required by law and how horrid it was for the government to require restaurants to shove in our faces just how much we were consuming, and all manner of interesting things … But it still bothered me that parking angst prevented us from going where we’d originally planned to go – the more interesting, newish place with the supposedly brilliant cocktail mixologist, rather than the chain. That never would have happened in New York (my friend happens to be from NY as well, though she’s been here a lot longer than I have).

We were chatting so, we forgot the time and soon it was well after midnight. When we left the restaurant the street was deserted. We agreed to walk together to the parking garage she’d parked in, then she’d drive me to my car in the garage I’d parked in because I was freaking out a bit about walking through a dark garage alone. It all came out okay, but it made me think, what if each of us were covering the performance on our own – or the opening of the new cocktail bar with a supposedly brilliant mixologist – and had to be out late and had to go to our cars alone…

I don’t know, I guess it’ll take me a while to get used to this new life…