more stories from the recent past
As, not so much promised, but hinted at, here is more tales from my trip to Los Angeles.
Since we got in so late Thursday night, we had an extremely late morning. And by "we" I mean "not me." I get up too damn early, due to sleeping with my eyes open, so I was awake, bright eyes and bushy tailed at 7 am.
Of course, my body thought it was ten am, but that's neither here nor there. Pete woke up for a bit, and "plucked a story out of the ethereal... ether. The place were stories come from." and wrote a quick 5 minute play (more on that later) and promptly fell back asleep.
Around noon, we all finally were up, showered, dressed, and outside.
The temperature had fallen even further, like some sort of elderly invalid on Lombard Street. And I still only had t-shirts. So frozen, teeth chattering, and bitching about the weather all around, we walked towards the theater where the film festival was being held. Seeing as it had been many hours since we last ate, we stopped at the "world famous" Cantor (canter? Something like that) Diner. HUGE seleciton, and it was al ldelicious. However, Danna ate too much and got sick (this will become a common theme...)
We spent too long eating, though, so we decided to kill some time at the bar. You must understand... this was the ONLY bar within ten square miles (the only bar that we could find, at least).
Luckily, the drinks were reasonable. I sat down and ordered a Rob Roy, and promptly wondered "Why the hell did I order a Rob Roy?" The bartender heard me ask myself (apparantely it was aloud) and laughed at me.
for those of you who have taste buds and have never been dared to order a Rob Roy, it contains:
* 1 1/2 oz Scotch
* 3/4 oz Sweet Vermouth
* 1 dash Angostura bitters
* 1 Maraschino cherry
Do not let the cherry fool you: this cocktail is specifically designed to taste like ass. On the bright side, however, it DOES make everything thereafter taste delicious.
The bartender was this old hippy guy who engaged us in an ice conversation abotu quarters. We also talked about how we HATED peopel at faire who overused the term "Right On." The comedy lies in the guy who rushed into the bar and awked us for a cigarette. When we told him that none of us smoke, he nodded and said, in a stong hippy voice, "Right on..." This was, of course, in the MIDDLE of our conversation.
So an hour, hour and a half later, (two drinks apiece: One Rob Roy, Seven Rum and cokes with a twist of lime) we go to the theater to catch a block of short films. We manage to see the end of "fingerdancing"
From what I could gather, it was about a Spanish father who, on his death bed, dances with his fingers.
I have nothign to say about that, good or bad.
The film that was supposed to follow has, apparantely, been entered into this festival every year for five years. and has yet to be finished.
The fact that it's $300 a pop us slightly worrysome.
So the block ended an hour early. When we exit to the lobby, Anna Lisa is there waiting for us.
Well, not so much waiting for us as sitting in the lobby. but still... we had a nice conversation. She todl us about a party she was going to the following evening at Heidi Fleice's house. It was a porn star Party. And we were not invited. That was jsut to let us know how much fun she was going to be having while we went to another shitty film festival after party.
But we DID run into another filmmaker smoking outside. Phil. He directed (and starred in) B&E, a film we were to see the following day. After being directed to a new bar by one of hte festival workers, we left, Phil alongside, to kill some time until night fell.
I don't know why everyone wants to lie to us about the distance of bars, but it was getting annoying. Two hours later, (I could hear Phil's thoughts... "Why the hell did I go with these losers who don't even know to rent a car?") we dedide to turn back. So we go BACK to the bar we were at earlier that day. The bartender laughed at us, and we had another beer apiece.
Phil wnted to go watch more movies,and we wanted to go to No Shame Theater, so we bid him Adeiu, and made our way back to our Hostel.
I must now take a moment to explain No Shame Theater (http://www.noshamela.com)
It is a group for writers, actors, and other people who enjoy such professions who come to a theater, submit original 5 minute scenes, and perform them right then and there, with no rehersal.
Peter's scene was acted out by Bobby, Ben (a friend of Danna's who introduced us to no shame) and some other guy. It killed, so well done Pete!
The other sketches were hit or miss. Oddly enough, there were two Schrodinger's Cat sketches: one of which was brilliant, one of which was not.
And who should show up to the show, but Mark Anderson! He got drunk halfeway though the scenes, made a bit of an ass of himself in front of the irector/guy who wrote The Reindeer Monologues, but it wasn't too bad. He then walked us (again, with the walking in 20 fucking degrees) to another bar, where Last Call was announced as we were walking in. So he orders us all three drinks or so, we drink, then take a cab ride home. Nothing really important to note, except that the cab ride was $53. That's right. $53. Mark gave us $40 because he was drunk and wanted us to go out to a bar with him, but still...
I will post another day of memories later.
Since we got in so late Thursday night, we had an extremely late morning. And by "we" I mean "not me." I get up too damn early, due to sleeping with my eyes open, so I was awake, bright eyes and bushy tailed at 7 am.
Of course, my body thought it was ten am, but that's neither here nor there. Pete woke up for a bit, and "plucked a story out of the ethereal... ether. The place were stories come from." and wrote a quick 5 minute play (more on that later) and promptly fell back asleep.
Around noon, we all finally were up, showered, dressed, and outside.
The temperature had fallen even further, like some sort of elderly invalid on Lombard Street. And I still only had t-shirts. So frozen, teeth chattering, and bitching about the weather all around, we walked towards the theater where the film festival was being held. Seeing as it had been many hours since we last ate, we stopped at the "world famous" Cantor (canter? Something like that) Diner. HUGE seleciton, and it was al ldelicious. However, Danna ate too much and got sick (this will become a common theme...)
We spent too long eating, though, so we decided to kill some time at the bar. You must understand... this was the ONLY bar within ten square miles (the only bar that we could find, at least).
Luckily, the drinks were reasonable. I sat down and ordered a Rob Roy, and promptly wondered "Why the hell did I order a Rob Roy?" The bartender heard me ask myself (apparantely it was aloud) and laughed at me.
for those of you who have taste buds and have never been dared to order a Rob Roy, it contains:
* 1 1/2 oz Scotch
* 3/4 oz Sweet Vermouth
* 1 dash Angostura bitters
* 1 Maraschino cherry
Do not let the cherry fool you: this cocktail is specifically designed to taste like ass. On the bright side, however, it DOES make everything thereafter taste delicious.
The bartender was this old hippy guy who engaged us in an ice conversation abotu quarters. We also talked about how we HATED peopel at faire who overused the term "Right On." The comedy lies in the guy who rushed into the bar and awked us for a cigarette. When we told him that none of us smoke, he nodded and said, in a stong hippy voice, "Right on..." This was, of course, in the MIDDLE of our conversation.
So an hour, hour and a half later, (two drinks apiece: One Rob Roy, Seven Rum and cokes with a twist of lime) we go to the theater to catch a block of short films. We manage to see the end of "fingerdancing"
From what I could gather, it was about a Spanish father who, on his death bed, dances with his fingers.
I have nothign to say about that, good or bad.
The film that was supposed to follow has, apparantely, been entered into this festival every year for five years. and has yet to be finished.
The fact that it's $300 a pop us slightly worrysome.
So the block ended an hour early. When we exit to the lobby, Anna Lisa is there waiting for us.
Well, not so much waiting for us as sitting in the lobby. but still... we had a nice conversation. She todl us about a party she was going to the following evening at Heidi Fleice's house. It was a porn star Party. And we were not invited. That was jsut to let us know how much fun she was going to be having while we went to another shitty film festival after party.
But we DID run into another filmmaker smoking outside. Phil. He directed (and starred in) B&E, a film we were to see the following day. After being directed to a new bar by one of hte festival workers, we left, Phil alongside, to kill some time until night fell.
I don't know why everyone wants to lie to us about the distance of bars, but it was getting annoying. Two hours later, (I could hear Phil's thoughts... "Why the hell did I go with these losers who don't even know to rent a car?") we dedide to turn back. So we go BACK to the bar we were at earlier that day. The bartender laughed at us, and we had another beer apiece.
Phil wnted to go watch more movies,and we wanted to go to No Shame Theater, so we bid him Adeiu, and made our way back to our Hostel.
I must now take a moment to explain No Shame Theater (http://www.noshamela.com)
It is a group for writers, actors, and other people who enjoy such professions who come to a theater, submit original 5 minute scenes, and perform them right then and there, with no rehersal.
Peter's scene was acted out by Bobby, Ben (a friend of Danna's who introduced us to no shame) and some other guy. It killed, so well done Pete!
The other sketches were hit or miss. Oddly enough, there were two Schrodinger's Cat sketches: one of which was brilliant, one of which was not.
And who should show up to the show, but Mark Anderson! He got drunk halfeway though the scenes, made a bit of an ass of himself in front of the irector/guy who wrote The Reindeer Monologues, but it wasn't too bad. He then walked us (again, with the walking in 20 fucking degrees) to another bar, where Last Call was announced as we were walking in. So he orders us all three drinks or so, we drink, then take a cab ride home. Nothing really important to note, except that the cab ride was $53. That's right. $53. Mark gave us $40 because he was drunk and wanted us to go out to a bar with him, but still...
I will post another day of memories later.