Teasers, Agitprop, and Funnies

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I'll Even Kiss a Sunset Pig (The Secret Word for Today is Logroll.)  
I am not a woman who confides in her hairdresser. It is my understanding that most women feel compelled to share their secrets and shopping lists with the person who holds the fate of her hair in his or her hands. I haven't. I have, however, felt that I should be. Around me men and women explain where they've been and where they are going and I feel rude for sitting silently.

So Thursday night while receiving a haircut that was shorter than I had planned, but which I adore, I admit that soon I will make my way to B.B. King's to see Zappa Plays Zappa even though (and perhaps especially because) I have a 6:45 am flight to LA in the morning.

"While don't we leave it a little longer in front?" I ask.

"Dweezil Zappa?" She replied, "I'm giving you long bangs."

"As long as I can tuck them behind my ear." And we're done.

My colleague Phil, Secretary of Zappa, is still at the Jammies when I arrive, but I spot his roommate Sara in the crowd. I also spot Paul Green of the film Rock School and Napoleon Murphy Brock. We stand and wait and wait and stand and finally everyone arrives and finally we get in. I meet more of Phil's friends, including Jonah Smith's agent. Perhaps agent isn't the right title. He promised to ask Jonah his version of the "bachelorette party gig" story and report back.

Now I know we have some purists in the house that look down at any sort of "cover band" experience. To these purists I can only report that Zappa Plays Zappa was great fun, and to hear the songs played with Napoleon Murphy Brock was priceless. While I speak as a babe in FZ, a mere newbie to the scene, it was a good show. Sure, I'd rather see Frank if I could, but I can't. Finally the contingent I traveled with was a dancing crowd, and standing among a dancing crowd is just good for the soul.

A cab back to the apartment. I told everyone at B. B. Kings that I had already packed. I lied. It was a small lie. I had started packing and I knew what else I wanted to bring with me to LA. I threw things into the suitcase. I took things out of the suitcase. I threw other things in, called a car, woke Eric to say goodbye and raced down the stairs.

The Plan was to stay up all night, get my Zappa in, pack, make it to the airport on time, stay conscious enough to get on the plane, and then crash. I even bought an over the counter sleep aid to help the process along once I was in my window seat. I was afraid a full dose would knock me out not only for the flight, but for several hours after. I took one.

The damn skinny chick in the seat next to me repeatedly leaned over the arm rest which I had generously given up and leaned further into my very own sacred seatspace.

I did sleep a bit. The sun was streaming in through other windows and I woke up, drooly and sunbaked. I smelled a bit. I was in sunny Burbank, home of the Price is Right.

Bina met me at baggage claim, took me to the adorable Los Feliz (Hollywood) apartment she shares with Alexis, and let me shower and change clothes. No sleep for the wicked. We're just getting started up in here.

Bina and Alexis take me to Fred 62 for Brunch.

In many ways LA reminds me of Texas. The highways of Houston with the retro cool of Austin. Places like Fred 62 support this comparison. We piled into a corner booth and couldn't talk quickly enough to cover all the stories in our heads. Shane (real name?) came over from time to time to take an order, spread his sarcasm, shake his head, or raise an eyebrow. After we'd had our fill of eggs and fries a bottle of wine and glasses mysteriously appeared at the table. We hadn't ordered it. Shane never admitted that it was his doing.

"This happens to us all the time..." joked Alexis. At least I think she was joking.

We walked around a bit and browsed a bookstore. Then down towards the Miracle Mile to the La Brea Tar Pits, which roughly translates to The The Tar Tar Pits (thanks wikipedia). Along the way I have my first glimpse of the Hollywood sign. It makes me giddy.

Here's a picture of me with the Hollywood sign. Yeah, it's going here even though it's from my last day in LA.

One of my first L.A. landmarks. The tar pit. Smelly natural gas trapped below the surface bubbles up.

Seriously, what is up with the tar pits?


Is this where Bog People come from?

We abandon the tar pits and walk towards the museum where you can see fossils and learn interesting facts about the tar pits. We learn that this privilege costs $7 and instead play with masks in the giftshop.

Alexis is a sexy bear. Rar.

Then we went to see what was on the roof of the museum and discovered the perfect hill for logrolling.




Some come for fame. Some come for fortune. I came to Los Angeles to roll down a hill.

Where...? Where am I?

We shook the grass from our clothes and did a little shopping on Melrose. When all the shops started to look the same it was time to return home for a little nap. Alexis had to get ready for work and we had to prepare for a dinner at Mr. Chow.

We sleep. We get ready. We're waiting to hear about a reservation. We're in.

On the way to Alexis's bar Bina points out landmarks of interest. Chateau Marmont. The Comedy Store. The Whiskey. In-N-Out Burger. I am such a tourist. We arrive at Alexis's bar where I meet her coworkers, we establish that breast implants are prevalent in this part of town, and we drink for free. I spill a little martini down my shirt. Hey, I'm in LA, but I'm still me. Luckily the shirt is black and no one notices.

Then it's time to go around the corner to Mr. Chow. Even though we have a reservation it's a wait before we're seated. Probably more famous people enter and are seated immediately. There are a few paparazzi milling about outside. Inside Kate Hudson dines with people I assume are her friends. We joke that they should have googled us before we arrived. Things won't be like this when we get our imdb's baby. When we are seated the maitre d' tells us he is giving us the Presidential Suite of Tables. It's in the upper right corner of the restaurant. Our huge party of two takes the huge corner table. Nicollette Sheridan and Michael Bolton dine in the upper left corner of the restaurant with friends. Kate Hudson is finishing up dinner in the bottom left corner with friends. I'm not sure who was in the bottom right corner, but according to the gossip rags it might have been Julie Newmar. There are a group of ragamuffin guys sitting at the table closest to us that might be in a band. The waiter asks us if we'd like to see a menu or have him choose for us. We agree to let him choose.

This was the dinner when I first began to realize how different L.A. is from New York. I had already noticed that when we drove, everyone driving past looked in our windows. (It's to see if we're someone famous, Bina explained). But at Mr. Chow, people at neighboring tables spoke to us. In New York we look at our shoes and go out of our way to pretend not to notice celebrities. At restaurants where tables are uncomfortably close, I sometimes hear conversations pick up where mine left off, but we don't often engage with strangers.

Since we had no idea what we were getting or what it would cost, we were amazed and petrified at the handmade noodle floorshow. As the pasta was twisted and pulled the band next to us asked if we'd ordered noodles.

"I have no idea," I said. And then to Bina, "Noodles! That's another thousand."

Luckily the noodles were not for us, and the food was good and not nearly so costly as we feared. We pay and take our leave.

I didn't even think about pulling out my camera, but here is the picture I wish I had: As we left we were met by a crowd of paparazzi all facing the door, ready to pounce. Luckily, being nobodies, that was the end of that, but frankly the sight was terrifying. I couldn't imagine what it would be like if all those bulbs were flashing. A reminder that I don't need to be famous. After we left we realized that we should have taken a picture of them. It wasn't worth going back for.

Well fed and still mulling over the quick table/paparazzi trade off, we headed towards Rick's in Santa Monica where we met up with Kevin, his wife Leslie, and Jamison.
Kevin and Jamison, with Leslie's arm.
Kevin had just finished filming the finale for CSI Miami. You've seen the ads. It's the one that will "Change their lives forever!"

End of Day 1.

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