The beloved Gene Kelly would be singing right now, were he alive and in L.A., because it certainly is raining. Pouring by Los Angeles standards, in fact. For the last week or so, I had been so smug every time I checked the Southern California weather forecast because it seemed I would miss the showery weather headed toward the area.
No such luck. It's supposed to rain at least off an on every day I will be here.
Ah, well. I'm still in the City of Angels, which is a very happy thing in my book. Over the next several days I plan to see my friends Assaf, Debbie, Kristie, Jonah and possibly Jon. And my destination spots include Teddy's in the Roosevelt Hotel, Tiki Ti and maybe 4100 Bar. The rain may force me to forgo my fantastic runs along Los Feliz Boulevard, but if that's the case, I'll just find a gym. Not as good, but whatever. Regardless, I'm writing this on my sister Fabulous Patti's computer, with the lights from the Griffith Park Observatory shining upon me as the sun sets and the rain comes down. I may even suspend my two-night-a-week drinking rule since I'm on vacation and have a glass of champagne right now.
Before my departure from the Bay this afternoon, I got together with Sheela at Casanova last night. Sheela just spent the last 1000 years (okay, 4 or 5 weeks) in London and India, and I haven't seen her since November. Needless to say, we had lots and lots of minutia to catch up on. My favorite story of the night was hers. Apparently, on a quest for authentic fish and chips to satisfy her husband, Sheela took her 12-year old daughter into an English pub only to learn after the fact that the drinking age is 18, and her daughter should not have been there. Oops. Sheela and I are confused, though, as we both thought kids are allowed in pubs if they serve food. In fact, I went to London with my mother in 1979, and I seem to recall her taking me into pubs all the time. I have very vivid memories of sipping lemonade and reading aloud poems from Shel Silverstein's Where the Sidewalk Ends to entertain my mother (and, as a consequence, delight the other bar patrons).
Well, maybe times have changed. Or perhaps my mother was a renegade.
Okay, now on to some incredibly amazing theatre: Danny Hoch's Taking Over at Berkeley Rep.
I could go on and on (and on) about how good this show is. Hoch's tremendous one-man performance transforms him into numerous characters as he creates a picture of one Brooklyn neighborhood's gentrification. It may be about Brooklyn, but a play about gentrification could easily be set in the Bay Area. Yes, I could go on and on, but you know what? You just have to see it. Seriously. Go see it. 'Nuff said.
I'll be expecting a report on how much you liked it.