When I woke this morning, I found that I couldn’t walk. It seemed as if every muscle in my body had been strenuously worked out. It was strange. I guess it was all the walking, I can’t think of any other reason for it. I feared for a while that I was coming down with some malady or the other, but that didn’t prove to be the case, I was just super sore. This put a damper on my plans to go to the beach, I didn’t want to be grimacing up and down the playa, you know, so I just took it easy for a while. I’m not very good at relaxing on vacations. I feel like I’m wasting my time. When I’m at home, I don’t mind relaxing for days on end, procrastinating all my time away, but when I’m out and about with a world to discover, it pains me.
The pain was lessened when I discovered that you can stream Barefoot Contessa on Hulu. So, I watched Ina recreate some meals from her favorite bistro in Paris. I want her life. She looks great, has amazing friends, lords over her adorable husband, lives in a gorgeous house with a barn that is nicer than most houses, has an empire, and has an apartment in Paris. What more could you want? Nothing. Ina has it all. I’m going to google her apartment and see if there are pictures…bear with…bear with…bear with…ugh, it’s perfect, just like her. She even as a CornuFé oven in her kitchen there. Maybe she’ll adopt me? Maybe I’ll use her life as a roadmap for my own? *in Ina’s voice* How bad could it be? *nervous giggle* Oh, and she made a basil-potato puree that basically inspired me to live again. Must. Eat. It.
Then…I saw it…the announcement for the tapings at the Grove for this week. Nobody really interested me until I saw who would be there on Friday. My arch-nemesis/should-be-bff, TYRA BANKS. I stopped thinking. I didn’t know how to process this. I don’t know what to do! I’m finally going to be face-to-face with this woman that I am dying to work with. I’ll have to take a headshot and thrust it at her or something. I’ll have to get a haircut. I’ll have to buy an entirely new outfit. I have to stand out. I can’t wear sunglasses because she needs to see my smize. I’m freaking out, reader. I hope I don’t make a complete fool of myself on national television. I probably will. I’ll probably cry and weep and tear at my hair they way the contestants do when they first see Tyra at casting. Maybe Tyra would like that. The people at the show said they wanted me to have more energy. I’m going to be so freaking energetic. It’ll be sickening.
Determined to do something, I put on some clothes and headed out the door to see the Beverly Center. It’s this massive mall outside of Cedars Sinai Hospital and I guess some rapper got shot there years ago. It was a pretty walk there.
It was a very difficult mall. The elevators are insane — they only stay open for a few seconds and don’t seem to care whether you’re about to be crushed by the doors. Then, once you get on and the doors shut, you discover that there are no buttons on the inside. So, you have to go outside, press the level you want to go to and then get back in the car which takes you to your destination. Once you’re in the mall, it’s not at all cyclical like a well-laid shopping center is, it’s a series of rather narrow hallways, so you are constantly doubling back and forth. I didn’t enjoy that much. But, I did enjoy worshipping at Burberry as I always do. I bought a Grumpy Cat shirt at Forever 21, they have a really great men’s department. Then I bought this shirt of the British Flag at H&M on sale. I love a good sale.
I was hungry and there was a restaurant that called itself a mozzarella bar. How bad could that be? So I went down there and was told they were having a private function. SLUTS! I wanted cheese. Whatever, I decided to go to Veggie Grill and eat my feelings. But first, I had to get out of the place. HOW? There was no exit and when I finally found the elevator down and managed to program it to the ground, I was in the center of a massive parking garage and I knew that I was going to die there.
I didn’t. I popped out on La Cienega and saw the CVS, which reminded me of the most handsome waiter in the world and his wonderful hair, so I went over there. There were a variety of yellow things that you were supposed to shake. One was for wavy hair, so I bought that one. I also bought gin. I love gin and tonics, they’re my go-to drink of the moment. And, who knew there were so many varieties of gin? I didn’t. I thought there was that one in a blue bottle and that one with a white label. I bought one that had lime in it already.
On my way to the Veggie Grill, I saw a place called Vegan Glory and well, my plans changed. How could I resist a place with a name like that?
I took my seat and started going through the massive menu. It was all Thai inspired food that was completely vegan. I didn’t know what to order. I eventually got these wonderful little dumplings that I adored and some orange “chicken” that was overly generous and far too sweet. I’m not a fan of sweet food as my main meal, unless I’m having dessert for my meal, which happens rather frequently. I love me some dessert. I had a good time trying the place out, though. While I was eating, Jessica was watching me on television and freaking out. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her shout that way. I must have looked terribly attractive.
I sang standards up Beverly Boulevard on my way back to the apartment. I keep recalling one of my dream careers of being a lounge singer. I’d have a marvelous time with a little band and an old-fashioned microphone — if only I could sing, that’s a problem. Maybe I should take voice lessons? I’m always wanting to take some kind of lessons to fill my time.
As I walked, I made up a silly little song called “Mon Jacques” and tweaked it as I went along. I felt like Édith Piaf and that was a good thing. She had a stunning voice, but it wasn’t classically beautiful, especially in her early years. As her career progressed, her vocals became smooth and stunning.
I got back in time to watch Golden Sisters on OWN and weeped a little bit because it was the season finale. I don’t know what I’m going to do now that they’re off the air. The show was wonderful as always. They raced cars. They went to New York. Terry simulated a sex scene next to a tree. They ate pizza. They talked about being hit by trolley cars. They went to driving school. It was amazing. The best show that’s been on television since The Simple Life. That’s the highest praise from me.
I couldn’t think of anything else to do with my time, and since I keep the hours of the bat (that used to be alive until somebody performed a bit of taxidermy on it and cut it into pieces and now it sits on my coffee table…), so I decided to go and see The Lone Ranger. I’ll go to anything that Helena Bonham Carter is in. I adore her. So, I headed out for the film.
The Pacific Theater at the Grove is interesting because you don’t just go sit where you want. Instead, you get a reserved seat like you’re going to a live show. That was interesting. Popcorn prices were ridiculous, so I just went in without any nibbles. I love nibbles. They’re why I don’t have abs. I’m going to have to start that up again when I get home. Ugh, I don’t want. to.
The movie was decent. WAY TOO DAMN LONG! Two and a half hours is not an acceptable length for any film. LEARN TO EDIT, HOLLYWOOD! Two hours tops, but I prefer one hour and forty-five minutes. If Terrible Miss Margo is ever adapted for the screen (my ultimate goal for that novel, it is truly a love letter to Old Hollywood), I will fight to keep the time right around two hours. Any more and it’s just ridiculous.
Aside from the film length, the plot seemed to have a difficult time getting around to actually telling its story. There were interweaving narratives that didn’t seem to make sense and the pacing was wrong. Then, the lone ranger himself was a rather dull and bipolar character. At first he was very anti-gun, which was an interesting premise that seemed to fly in the face of classic Westerns and our gun-obsessed culture, so I applauded Disney’s decision to portray him this way. But, of course, before too long, he’s suddenly shooting everybody. It was a very, very violent film. I wish this part had been scaled back on because it was almost too dark. The Indian massacre was particularly unsettling. But, the action sequence on the train was genius and I adored that bit with the “William Tell Overture” booming from the speakers. I love that piece.
Johnny and Helena were marvelous with their subtle genius. I only wish that Helena’s character had had a more prolific role, though she stole the scene whenever she came across it.
As the credits rolled, I watched them, as I always do, and saw the name of a man I met here on my first day in California. It seemed strange to see his name up there after I had spent the day hiking with him and chatting. It was a strange sensation and it reminded me just how much I love movies. I love their ability to tell a story in a world that is so far removed from reality, and yet feels vividly real. I love the star power. I love the music. I love a good actor. I just love the whole monstrosity. Maybe Sylvia Browne was right (isn’t it funny that I saw her on my first day in Hollywood, too? Especially when she told me that I should get into production. I’ve got chills, reader.) and I should find my way into the movies. I don’t really know how, though, but I’ll have to figure it out someday. I need to figure something out.