NYC 2009

We travel to NYC so often that it always feels like home when we arrive. We’re so comfortable, in fact, that we rarely plan our trips in advance anymore, preferring instead to play things by ear once we’re there. Things were especially serendipitous this time around.

We had, of course, bought tickets in advance for Stacey Kent, since that was the main reason we were in New York; but the rest of our three-day stay was purely spontaneous. After checking into our recently renovated apartment-sized hotel room (with fabulous views of the Hudson River as well as the Chrysler Building!), we ran over to Broadway in hopes of buying tickets to two shows: the Tony-nominated comedy God of Carnage, starring Jeff Daniels, Hope Davis, Oscar-winner Marcia Gay Harden, and James Gandolfini (of Sopranos fame), and In the Heights, which won last year’s Tony for best musical. We lucked out and got excellent seats for both plays. We then returned to the hotel to get ready for our first night in the Big Apple.

Although Stacey Kent isn’t too well known in the U.S., the venue where she played certainly is. Birdland, the self-proclaimed “jazz corner of the world,” opened 60 years ago during the height of the postwar music renaissance. Originally named after the great saxophonist Charlie “Bird” Parker, the intimate club is located off of Broadway on West 44th St. We’ve gone to several jazz clubs in L.A., but none as famous as this. The walls were festooned with photos of past performers.

Stacey Kent, who sings mostly American standards and bossa nova, was wonderful: funny, charming, and clearly in love with her husband, who accompanies her on saxophone. She sang old as well as new songs and all within about four feet of where we were sitting. It was a magical evening, well worth the trip to NYC.

We woke-up to rain the next morning, but headed out anyway. En route from the train station the day before, we noticed a poster for the new Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Annex, featuring an exhibit on John Lennon. Only a blizzard could have kept me away! Just a short subway ride to Soho, the Annex is a much abbreviated version of Cleveland’s massive Hall of Fame. Still, we both thought it was effective at capturing the history of rock-n-roll and Tim was particularly impressed by the headphone technology that automatically played relevant music as we passed by the various displays. An entire room was dedicated to John’s life in NYC, including a bag filled with the clothes he wore when he was murdered. I signed Yoko Ono’s petition for gun control at the end of our tour.

After the Hall, we walked five blocks to Lombardi’s, our favorite NYC pizza joint. We then took the subway uptown to our hotel in Murray Hill, where we relaxed for the first time all week. At 7PM we braved the rain again and headed toward Broadway for God of Carnage. It was outrageous and amazingly well acted. But I wanted more plot. For me, the play was something of a cross between David Mamet (i.e., witty and funny) and Edward Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolfe? (i.e., intense and full of interesting human dynamics). Not surprisingly, it won best play at Sunday night’s Tony awards.

The New York Times tipped us off to a mid-century design exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) on Saturday. As usual, the city was filled with tourists in town for the day. Luckily, the rain had stopped and it was a glorious afternoon. I had a very tasty pork chop for lunch at the MOMA cafe, but Tim held out for street food: an 8-inch sausage dog that would have made a normal person sick. Gag!

At 6PM, we met our friend Stuart for drinks at a bar that’s so exclusive it doesn’t have a name (!) and ended up seeing Tom Hanks’ son Colin, the priest in TV's Mad Men and star of the recent film The Great Buck Howard. We then made our way over to the Richard Rogers theater for In the Heights. The play, which is set in Washington Heights (where my mom grew-up), was fun, but a little too derivative of West Side Story. I did enjoy the Spanglish dialog, though, and even Tim understood the raunchier bits.

We flew home the next day in plenty of time to see the Tonys that night on TV. As we were watching, I couldn’t help but wish we were still in New York even though I was glad to be home.

More Philadelphia

On Tuesday afternoon, we finally got to see Independence Hall, the first Congressional Hall and the National Constitution Center—all free and part of the Independence National Historical Park. But even more impressive was the murals tour we took that morning: 40 city center murals in 2 hours and these were only a tiny fraction of the street art that enlivens Philadelphia.

Established in 1984, the city’s Mural Arts Program was created to help abate a graffiti crisis that was plaguing Philadelphia. Twenty-five years later, the city is home to over 3000 murals—most of which are magnificent and worthy of hanging in the finest art museums. Here are just a few of the pieces we saw on our whirlwind tour. All blank walls have now become potential canvases to my eye.





































Next stop: New York City!

Summer Vacation

About 6 months ago Tim announced that one of his favorite singers, Stacey Kent, was scheduled to perform in New York City the first week in June. Kent, who lives in England, rarely comes to the U.S., so he wanted to see her. I agreed to go with him, but insisted we spend a couple of days in Philadelphia beforehand. I fell in love with Philly when I was there on business (by myself) two years ago and knew Tim would love it, too. He agreed and so I made reservations accordingly.

Sunday

Although we weren't flying to Philadelphia till Monday morning, our vacation actually started Sunday night at California Adventure, where Disney's 3rd annual Food & Wine Festival was being held. The featured food and wine expert was our fave, Guy Fieri, host of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives. The meal was casual and good (pulled pork sandwiches, lettuce cups, pasta, etc., and an assortment of desserts); but the best part was listening to Guy chat for two hours about the show, his family, friends, and food. He was funny, cute, and down-to-earth. I would have loved to talk to him afterward, but still had packing to do, so we left as soon as folks started to queue up for autographs. We left for the airport 9 hours later.

Monday

Horrors! As soon as we arrived at our Philadelphia hotel, I realized I hadn't packed my mascara. So off we went (on foot!) in search of a drugstore that Tim remembered seeing on the way into town. A mile later, we were standing in the cosmetics aisle of an inner-city Rite Aid. Tim waited patiently while I decided which mascara to buy. It had been 30 years since I wore anything but Mary Kay products, so I was completely flumoxed by all the different make-up brands and types. After much silent deliberation (did I mention that Tim is a saint?), I settled on Maybelline, the kind my sister and I wore in high school. (More about this later . . .)

We next went in search of dinner. Despite complete exhaustion (in our family, food trumps sleep every time), we found a cute sidewalk cafe called the Kite and Key (I swear, Benjamin Franklin is The Man in Philadelphia!), where Tim wolfed down the “three slider sampler” (pork, beef and crabcake) while I devoured a most scrumptious pork shank. We stumbled back to the hotel, forcing ourselves to stay awake for Conan O'Brien's debut as Tonight Show host--it's impossible to miss home when every other TV show and commercial is filmed in Los Angeles. We passed out in our Sheraton "heavenly bed" at exactly 12:30PM.

Tuesday

With little more than 48 hours to enjoy the sights of Philadelphia, we decided to take one of the numerous tours of the city. First stop: the Liberty Bell, which had moved me to tears the last time I was there. Not so much this time. Apparently every student on the east coast learns about the Revolutionary War in June, because the entire colonial part of town was overrun with kids on field trips. It was fun watching them react to the historical monuments, etc.—some were excited, others were just plain bored--but the sheer number of people sometimes cramped our style. Although we arrived at Independence Hall (across the street from the Bell) at 10AM, we weren’t able to get tickets to the tour until 3:30PM. We opted to go elsewhere instead.


One of our favorite things to do on vacation is sample the local cuisine at large (usually) indoor markets typical of most metropolitan cities. Toronto, for instance, has the wonderful St. Lawrence Market. Seattle has Pike Place. Even L.A. has Grand Central and, of course, the world renowned Farmer’s Market on Third and Fairfax. One of the best, though, is the Reading Terminal Market in downtown Philadelphia. Home to some 80 shops, this former railroad terminal offers everything from ice cream to gyros. Tim waited 20 minutes for a Philly cheesesteak, while I made a beeline straight for the pastries at the Flying Monkey Patisserie (yum!). Bellies full, we then hopped back on our tour bus and headed north.









I was intrigued by the Eastern State Penitentiary the last time I was in town, but had no time to visit, so decided to make it a priority this time. It ended up being a true highlight of the trip. Completed in 1836, Eastern State was the world’s first “penitentiary” where both men and women were brought to do meditative penance for their crimes. A high-concept masterpiece in its prime, the prison eventually became outdated and severely overcrowded and so was closed in 1971. Today it is a fascinating relic that hosts tours and art installations. I highly recommend spending a couple of hours there the next time you’re in Philadelphia.










Although it was starting to drizzle when we reboarded our double-decker bus, we decided to sit top-side for its better view. Within minutes we were drenched. I looked like a wet raccoon by the time we returned to the hotel. Now I know why Maybelline mascara is so cheap!

Raccoon or not, our day wasn’t quite over yet. At 5PM I remembered that Macy’s, which houses a 1904 30,000-pipe organ, features a live recital every day during rush hour. We got there just in time to stake our claim to a piece of balcony directly across from the massive pipes. Soon the store’s marble atrium was filled with joyous music. We gasped as locals continued to shop below. What a wonderful way to end our first full day in Philadelphia.



More soon . . .

Star Trek

As everyone who knows me knows, I love Star Trek (ST). I may not own any costumes or belong to any fan clubs, but I have seen every ST movie and religiously followed every TV series since the original Enterprise first launched in 1966.

Like many people, I was extremely doubtful when it was announced that J.J. Abrams, creator of the TV shows Lost and Fringe, was tapped to direct the latest ST movie. I became even more dubious when the release date was pushed from fall 2008 to May 8, 2009. I marked my calendar, but had no hope for the film. A 6-month premier delay usually doesn’t bode well for any movie.

Then I saw the trailer. One of my students was watching it on his laptop during a break in class. I heard a familiar sound and went running over to see what he was watching. I was blown-away. This looked to be unlike any of the other Star Trek movies that came before. I submitted a vacation request for May 8th and began counting the days.

In the midst of deciding which theater to go to on Friday morning, I began noticing ads for Thursday night showings of the film. I checked local listings. Sure enough, the movie was not-so-secretly opening on Thursday night, so I insisted that we see it then. On Tuesday, Tim managed to snag free passes to the Landmark, the hippest theater on the west side. As soon as we finished dinner, we zoomed up to Westwood to reserve our seats. The cashier gave us the fisheye when we handed her the passes, but handed us our tickets with a smile. The first show was nearly sold-out. We got the last two seats in the back row.

Thursday was excruciating. I always have plenty of work to do, so was able to distract myself. But during “breaks” I’d sneak a peak at various Trek-related websites, etc. The buzz about the movie was off the charts. Even L.A. Times critic Kenneth Turan, who hates everything, liked it. I could barely wait!

Tim got home from work early. He had read a survey saying that 10% of people seeing the movie were going to wear costumes.

“Are you wearing any of your Star Trek pins or t-shirts?” he asked while we were getting ready to go.

“Babe, this is the Landmark,” I retorted. “Nobody there is going to dress like a geek!”

The movie started at 7:30PM. Just in case, we left the house an hour early, even though we live only 10 minutes away—unpredictable L.A. traffic, you know. Only four other people were there ahead of us. We settled in and watched everyone else arrive. Nary a costume, pin or Star Trek t-shirt in sight. Lots of fans, though. The young co-ed next to me nervously grabbed her boyfriend’s arm when the lights went down. The boy seated next to Tim turned to his father and said, “Dad, I’m so excited!” My own stomach ached, but was forgotten as soon as the film started.

Needless to say, I loved the movie. Despite an entirely new cast—except, of course, Leonard Nimoy, who (spoiler alert!) plays an ancient time-traveling Spock—and a revisionist storyline, Abrams stays very true to the franchise. The look of the 23rd century has been updated, but the uniforms (1960s miniskirts and boots) and the distinctive sounds of the Enterprise’s bridge remain the same.

Moreover, the actors, who play younger versions of the characters we all know and love, do an excellent job of capturing the essence of Spock, Bones, et al. The new Captain Kirk has the same swagger and cockiness of the old and Scotty still gets turned on by a well-endowed nacelle. Happily, it all felt very familiar. After seeing the movie twice already—yes, I saw it again on Friday; I did, after all, have the day off!—and after spending much of the weekend re-immersing myself in classic Trek DVDs, I can say for sure that themes, plot points and even dialog were directly lifted from previous versions. In particular, the filmmakers seem to have liberally borrowed from Wrath of Khan (more spoilers ahead!), a movie also filled with revenge, a spaceship run by cadets on their first mission, and the Kobayashi Maru. But that’s OK. Khan is perhaps the most beloved of all the ST movies, so why not steal from the best?

I’m hoping Tim will want to see the movie again—this time in IMAX. Maybe some night this week?

Live Long and Prosper!

Accomplice: Hollywood

So, the strangest thing just happened to me. Apparently my recent post on the mystery play Accomplice: Hollywood was being linked to every Neil Patrick Harris website on earth and so was unintentionally providing show spoilers to the world. So I've taken it down.

If you're linking in to read a review of the show: it's lots of fun, even if you're not a mystery buff (which I definitely am not). Wear comfortable shoes and bring water! I dare not say anything more for fear of revealing too much. I apologize if I ruined the experience for anyone else. Who knew my personal little blog would get so much exposure. . .

Happy Easter!

Another glorious day in Culver City! Our friends and family are all otherwise engaged, so we're spending Easter at home with our cats, the barbecue, and our amazing yards. The backyard, in particular, is resplendent in wildflowers—the offspring of last year's abundant crop. See for yourself by clicking on the home movies below.







BTW, in the second video, I goofed and called our lavender plants lilac. I do know the difference!

Have a happy day!

Louis & Keely: Live at the Sahara

Like a lot of baby-boomers, Tim and I grew-up listening to American “standards” as well as rock ‘n roll. In fact, a shared love of Frank Sinatra was one of the things that drew us together. We’re also big fans of Bobby Darin (during his “Frank period”) and Louie Prima and Keely Smith, whom we remember seeing several times on the Ed Sullivan Show when we were kids.

Louie and Keely were the Sonny and Cher of their day. Not only did songwriter-singer Louie Prima marry a much younger woman (22 years his junior), he—like Sonny did with Cher—also helped make her into a legendary songstress. What was always most fascinating to me, though, was the way they interacted on stage. Louie was uncontrollable, leaping around the stage like a banshee, while Keely stood cool as a cucumber, refusing to be moved by his antics. Sonny and Cher imitated this schtick a decade later, but (even to my young eyes) never did it quite as well.

Last year, a play called Louis & Keely: Live at the Sahara opened to rave reviews at the Sacred Fools Theater in East Hollywood. We were too late to get tickets, but did see it when it moved to The Matrix on Melrose a few months later. We were totally blown away. Written and performed by Jake Broder and Vanessa Claire Smith, the play chronicles Louie and Keely’s relationship from the time they met to the end of their marriage. Smith is good as Keely; but it’s really Broder’s show as he sings, jumps and sweats his way through more than ten highly energetic songs. We were exhausted by the time we left the theater.

Though Tim isn’t much for repeat performances, he did eagerly agree to see the show again when it returned to L.A. two weeks ago. Now at the Geffen’s intimate Audrey Skirball Kenis Theater in Westwood, the play has been reworked (i.e., tightened) by Oscar-nominated director Taylor Hackford, who is also a big Louie and Keely fan. New characters have been added, including Sinatra, who plays a major role in the couple’s ultimate breakup. I didn’t think it was possible, but this revamped version is even better than the original.

So if you’re in the L.A. area and love the old Vegas singers of our youth, then I highly recommend grabbing tickets to Louis & Keely: Live at the Sahara. The play runs till April 26 and is well worth the price of admission.

Eating Our Way Through Arizona

It’s March, so of course that means we spent last weekend in Arizona watching spring training baseball. As usual, we stayed at the Sheraton within walking distance of Diablo Stadium (over the I-10 freeway and through a cemetery), home of the Angels. The hotel’s food is adequate to sustain hungry baseball fans. But this year we decided to sample some of the local cuisine and so drove the six hours from L.A. to Phoenix so we wouldn’t have to rent a car.

Our first stop was Joe’s Farm Grill, one of Guy Fieri’s featured spots on Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. Located in Gilbert, about 25 miles southeast of the hotel, the Grill was built in the shell of what used to be the farmhouse Joe Johnston, the owner, grew-up in during the 1960s. In keeping with the retro theme, Joe runs continuous-loop videos of one of my top childhood TV shows, Fireball XL5, in the bathroom, which is decorated with enshrined Barbies and GI-Joes. If the food wasn’t so good, I could have easily spent the entire day in the bathroom watching TV, but didn’t. Instead I got a salad and Tim a hot dog with real potato French fries, which they serve without salt, if you ask. Heaven on earth!

The next morning, we tried to get into another Guy Fieri favorite, Matt’s Big Breakfast, in downtown Phoenix, but the wait was too long (20 people ahead of us!). So instead we headed over to The Waffle House, a national chain of greasy-spoon restaurants not available in Southern California. Despite the name, the best thing on the menu is the hash browns, which are served in a round patty in three different sizes (single, double and triple), with or without four different types of toppings! Like a fool, I got a plain single, but am already smackin’ my lips in anticipation of next year when I’m going to order a double serving smothered in onions. Talk about your morning wake-up call!

For lunch, we ate both days at the ballpark. Tim couldn’t get beyond his ubiquitous sausage hot dogs (b-o-o-o-ring!), but I ventured forth and discovered the machaca beef tacos. Though I stopped eating beef almost 20 years ago, I’m still a sucker for a good taco and so I was in my glory. Who cares about baseball when there are tasty tacos to eat? I have no idea who won the games.

We went to a movie Saturday night, followed by a quick meal at Johnny Rockets. Quite a comedown from the rest of our dining experiences. But then suddenly, at 8PM, the jukebox started blasting the Village People’s “YMCA” as the entire wait-staff dropped what they were doing and began dancing a choreographed routine! Afterward, I asked our otherwise mild-mannered server what the deal was. He told me they dance every half-hour. So if you’re ever shopping at the Arizona Mills mall in Tempe, run over to Johnny Rockets at the hour or half-hour to see the staff dance. They do a pretty mean boogaloo.

We drove home Sunday morning, but not without first eating breakfast at Matt’s. Even though we arrived before 7:30AM, there was still a bit of a line. Since there were only two of us, we were able to squeeze in ahead of several large parties. The restaurant is tiny, but the food is good. Tim had the salami scramble. The weekend had finally caught-up with me, however, so I just ordered oatmeal.* We were back on the road again by 8:15AM.

Lots more diners, drive-ins and dives to sample in the Phoenix area, so we can barely wait to return next year.









*If you follow this blog, you know I’ve been battling the ear disease Meniere’s for the past few months. This trip was the first big test of my newly regained health, though I’m still very careful about what I eat, especially in restaurants. Luckily, most places are willing to prepare certain foods without salt and there’s always the option of eating a salad without dressing. My ear and I passed the test without any serious side effects. I continue to cautiously edge my way back to normal.

KSPN Radio

After more than a year of planning and 2+ months of physical labor pulling things together, the new KSPN radio station finally broadcast its first show on Monday. Here are a few photos to celebrate the big day!












On-air personalities A. Martinez (l) and Steve Mason (r)




Kudos to the engineering staff!


Can you find Tim in the "grand opening" crowd below?

Revisiting the Grammy Museum

I just got back from spending three hours at the Grammy Museum and LOVED it, despite my previous brief but negative review. Yes, it’s no Rock and Roll Hall of Fame nor is it as dramatic as The Experience Music Project, but it’s wonderful nonetheless—especially when you get there at 10:00 on Sunday morning and have the place all to yourself!

The Museum is small—just three floors of exhibits and a lobby. The top floor provides an historical overview of, say, the past 80 years of popular music. Subsequent floors focus more on the Grammys themselves: memorable performances, filming the telecasts, charity events featuring Grammy winners, etc. There’s also an interesting display on how music is made, covering the perspectives of everyone from the artists (e.g., Robert Plant and Alison Krauss) to the studio musicians (e.g., the Wrecking Crew again!) to the producers (e.g., Phil Spector and Ahmet Ertegun). Finally, a handful of permanent exhibits talking about the cultural influence of protest music.

Although the Museum is currently showing a loaner collection of Michael Jackson’s more famous musical costumes—including an assortment of gloves—most of the exhibits are audio- or video-based: historic clips of Elvis, Frank Sinatra, Marvin Gaye, et al.; interviews with contemporary artists, who reveal, among other things, which groups most profoundly influenced their musical style (guess who was mentioned the most?—the Beatles, of course!); snippets of seminal tunes from some 50+ music genres (yes, even classical and folk); and more. Most moving to me was a duet by Carole King and James Taylor, singing “You’ve Got a Friend,” one of the most important songs of my young adulthood. Plus I loved the brief videos on the now famous “No Nukes” concert held in NYC in 1979 and the Dixie Chicks’ resurgence after being ostracized for publicly criticizing George Bush’s actions in Iraq.

But the best thing of all—definitely worth the price of admission alone—was the huge screen on the third floor, showing many of the greatest Grammy moments over the years: Tina Turner singing “What’s Love Got to Do With It,” walking down an impossibly steep staircase in her trademark high heels and impossibly short mini-dress; Ella Fitzgerald and Mel Torme scat-singing to a jazz tune; a baldheaded Melissa Ethridge, channeling Janice Joplin, after surviving breast cancer; Louie Armstrong on trumpet; Count Basie on piano; and much, much more. I was hoping to see footage of George, Paul and Ringo’s reunion after John Lennon died, but decided it was time to go home after waiting an hour. Besides, I needed an excuse to return another Sunday when Tim could go with me.

If you love popular music and have a few hours to spare, I highly recommend a trip to the Grammy Museum in downtown’s new L.A. Live complex. I guarantee it will make you feel young again.

Wrecking Crew

Thursday night, the Grammy Museum screened a documentary about the Wrecking Crew, an historic group of L.A. studio musicians who played on most American Top 40 hits of the 1960s. I wasn’t feeling 100%, but Tim really wanted to go, so I took a Dramamine and met him downtown. Boy, am I glad I did!

The Wrecking Crew got their name because their predecessors said they were going to “wreck the music business.” Tim knew all about them, of course, but I didn’t have a clue. I do remember the huge scandal when we learned that one of my favorite ‘60s groups, the Monkees, didn’t play their own instruments. Well, as it turns out, very few groups played instruments in those days. Instead, the Wrecking Crew played back-up on most songs and albums without ever really being recognized for their efforts. They were also responsible for Phil Spector’s famous “Wall of Sound,” which was created by squeezing 20-30 musicians into L.A.’s long-gone Gold Star Studios and having them all play live at the same time.

Although some of the Crew’s musicians, including Glen Campbell, Leon Russell, drummer Hal Blaine, guitarist Tommy Tedesco, saxophonist Plas Johnson, and bass player Carol Kaye, went on to find fame in their own right, most of them are still unknown outside the music industry. But their sound is recognizable worldwide. Among their most notable recordings are: Jan & Dean’s “Surf City” and “The Little Old Lady (from Pasadena),” Gary Lewis and the Playboys’ “This Diamond Ring” and “Everybody Loves a Clown,” the Association’s “Never My Love” and “Cherish,” the 5th Dimension’s “Stone-Soul Picnic” and “Up-Up and Away,” Barry McGuire’s “Eve of Destruction,” The Byrds’ “Turn Turn Turn” and “Mr. Tambourine Man,” Sonny and Cher’s “The Beat Goes On” and “I Got You Babe,” The Ronettes’ “Be My Baby” (one of the greatest songs ever recorded, by the way!), The Monkees’ “Last Train to Clarksville,” Ricky Nelson’s “Fools Rush In,” the Ventures’ “Hawaii Five-O,” the Righteous Brothers’ “Unchained Melody” and “You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feeling,” Carpenters’ “Close to You” and “We’ve Only Just Begun,” several Tijuana Brass songs, the Crystals’ “Da Do Ron Ron,” “Then He Kissed Me,” and "He’s a Rebel” (the first 45-single my sister ever bought), Wayne Newton’s “Danke Schoen,” Simon & Garfunkel’s “Mrs. Robinson” and "Bridge Over Troubled Waters," Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots are Made for Walkin’,” Mamas and Papas' "California Dreamin'," Elvis' "Viva Las Vegas," and the Beach Boys’ “Pet Sounds” album, arguably the greatest pop-rock recording of our generation. Unfortunately, once Top 40 music lost favor among more sophisticated rock listeners, demand for the Wrecking Crew waned and their golden age was over.

The theater was filled to capacity with mostly fans (our age) and longtime musicians, including Creed Bratton, one of the wacky staffers on TV’s “The Office” and former member of the rock group Grass Roots (who knew?). Filmmaker Denny Tedesco, Hal Blaine, pianist Don Randi, and engineer/producer Bones Howe answered a handful of questions afterward. But the real star was the music, which I still can’t get out of my head.

If you’re a musician and/or love 1960s pop-rock, I highly recommend seeing “The Wrecking Crew" documentary. Click here for upcoming screenings.

Lying Low

We’ve pretty much been lying low since the holidays—partly because Tim is working 12-hour shifts, 6 days a week getting the new broadcast studios ready at L.A. Live, but also because I’ve been sick off-and-on with a recurring bout of Meniere's, an inner-ear disease that is completely incapacitating. The disease manifests itself as extreme vertigo, forcing me to stay in bed, at least once a week, until the “attack” passes. It’s incurable, but it can be managed through a low-salt diet.

When I was a kid, I merely tolerated food and ate only because it was necessary to survive. I couldn’t understand why my family was so obsessed with eating all the time.

As I’ve gotten older, though, I’ve grown to appreciate food—its flavors, its cultural significance, and the joy of trying new restaurants. I don’t like everything—seafood and fish (ack!), for instance—but I do love to eat. Food looms large in Tim’s and my life.

But food is now the enemy. Turns out just about anything that’s packaged has sodium, causing my ear to fill with fluid, which leads to vertigo and other unpleasant side effects. Plus restaurants apparently put salt on everything! The only place that’s safe is Fatburger (YUM!), where you can request “no seasoning” and watch as they prepare your burger your way. They’re also one of the few places that doesn’t put salt on their french fries—heaven!

So I’ve been cooking at home a lot, adapting time-tested recipes by leaving out the salt. The best ones so far: chicken kiev, pasta primavera (without parmesan cheese—boo hoo!), baked potato and salad (with vinegar and oil, instead of sodium-infused bottled dressing), low-sodium ravioli with melted butter instead of spaghetti sauce, Chinese chicken salad, and chicken flautas, which I usually make only once a year (easy but very time-consuming) but have already made twice since January 1st. One good thing about this disease: it’s forcing me to eat healthier and also helping me lose weight. But, damn, I miss pork!

I’ve been told the attacks will probably abate in a couple of months. I can’t wait till April!

The Inauguration

3AM

I woke up at 3AM, even though my alarm clock was set to go off an hour later. It was so early the cats didn’t even join me, so I quietly read while waiting for “Good Morning America’s” (GMA) inaugural coverage to start at 4AM.

The night Obama won the election, I promised myself I would go to Washington D.C. to attend the inauguration. But life intervened and so there I was, sitting at home, waiting for the festivities to begin.

People were already packed into the National Mall by the time GMA began. I scoured the crowds for friends I knew were there. It was cold, but looked to be a clear day. I decided that as thrilling as it would have been to actually be there, it was best to watch from my comfy couch.

5AM

Hungry, I went into the kitchen to rustle-up some breakfast. I had hoped to wake Tim to the smell of baking banana bread, but he heard the beep of the oven’s timer and quickly stumbled out of bed to see what was cooking.

“It’s 5AM! What are you doing?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m baking a bread to eat while I watch the inauguration,” I answered matter-of-factly.

6AM

We started hearing reports that people were already congregating at L.A. Live, where Tim now works, to watch the ceremony on big-screen TVs. Worried that all the good parking spaces would be gone, Tim took off as soon as the bread got out of the oven.

7AM

Though I enjoyed the TV interviews with the Obamas’ friends, etc., I was getting antsy to see the First Family. What was Michelle (my new favorite “Most Beautiful Woman in the World!”) going to wear? How cute were Malia and Sasha going to look? (They were, of course, darling!).

Tim called to say that hundreds of people were jammed into the L.A. Live plaza. He could see the proceedings from his office window.

7:30AM

The cameras finally switched over to Blair House, where Obama family members were piling into cars to head over to a nearby church. The First Couple emerged—I loved Michelle’s lemongrass-colored ensemble!—and the race was on. After church they went to the White House to “have coffee” with the Bushes. Lots of photo ops. But the TV commentators were most abuzz over the precedent-setting gift Michelle gave to Laura: a journal and pen set so she could begin writing her memoirs.

After a short while, the vice presidential contingent exited the White House—the wives and then the husbands—and then the First Ladies appeared. The president and the president-elect were the last to enter their limousine. While the procession made its way to the Capitol, Tom Brokaw and Brian Williams speculated about what Mr. Bush and Mr. Obama were talking about, interjecting horror stories about previous presidential rivals who rode in silence because they hated each other. Everyone agreed that Bush and Obama were probably chatting quite amicably.

Meanwhile, the podium where the swearing-in ceremony was about to take place was starting to fill-up with Congressmembers and other dignitaries. Michelle arrived carrying Lincoln’s bible. Former vice presidents and their wives were introduced and took their seats, followed by former presidents and their wives. Everyone screamed and applauded for the Clintons, who looked as confident as ever.

George W. Bush then made his entrance to lukewarm applause. Apparently people on the Mall were waving and singing “Na-na-na, Na-na-na, Hey, Hey, Good-bye!” to the out-going president, but the TV microphones didn’t pick it up.

Then it was Barack Obama’s turn as he walked the long hallway to the outdoor stage. He could see the almost two million people crowded onto the National Mall and must have realized what was about to happen, because just for a moment the man, whom everyone calls Mr. Cool, seemed filled with emotion. I could only imagine what was going through his mind.

The crowd went wild as cameras showed people of all ages and colors sobbing and waving. California senator Dianne Feinstein guided the proceedings. Aretha Franklin sang “America the Beautiful” and Itzhak Perlman and Yo-Yo Ma played a sobering but lovely piece arranged by John Williams. Then it was time for the swearing in. Chief justice Roberts and Obama both flubbed their lines—a bad omen, I thought, until Barack launched into his speech and took total command of the situation. He admonished the country to take responsibility for its actions and promised that we would once again become a world leader. If I were George Bush, I would have been ashamed to be so poignantly reminded of my failure.

Post-inauguration

When it was all over, I started my work day and forgot about watching the inaugural parade like I was going to do. By dinnertime, I was exhausted. I did stay awake long enough to watch the televised “Neighborhood Ball,” however, and cried when Barack and Michelle, looking like happy newlyweds, danced to Beyoncé’s version of “At Last.”

A new day had dawned.

The Grammy Museum

The Grammy Museum opened last month as part of L.A. Live, a downtown plaza that hopes to emulate the excitement of NYC’s Times Square. The jury is still out on just how exciting L.A. Live will eventually be, but for now it’s shiny and new and gives people another reason to go downtown after dark.

Hoping that the Grammy Museum would be our own Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame (Cleveland) or Experience Music Project (Seattle), I was disappointed by its size: a mere four (rather small) floors displaying photos and audio exhibits of past Grammy award winners. The museum does house a nicely intimate (250 seats) theater, however, where Grammy officials hope to host public programs and unique musical events. For this reason alone, Tim and I became charter members.

As I’ve written elsewhere in this blog, the Beach Boys have loomed large in Tim’s and my lives. Not only did they sing about the surf culture we both loved as kids, but they were local boys, growing up in Hawthorne, not too far from where we now live. One of my sister’s and my theme songs was “All Summer Long.” And who doesn’t love “Good Vibrations”?

Fame, of course, doesn’t suit everyone and so Brian Wilson, the mastermind behind the Beach Boys, famously dropped out of the public eye in the late 1960s, frying his brain on drugs and playing piano in a sandbox that he built in his bedroom. As he says in his most recent, extremely autobiographical album, “That Lucky Old Sun,” “At 25 I turned out the light/ ‘Cause I couldn’t handle the glare in my tired eyes.”

But happily for us, Brian is now back, winning a Grammy in 2004 and a Kennedy Center award in 2007. Yes, he may look like something of a zombie (in an Hawaiian shirt!); still his contribution to California culture cannot be overstated. No wonder, then, that the first big event at the Grammy Museum theater was an interview with Brian Wilson.

The event sold-out immediately, so I had Tim work his connections magic. On Thursday morning, less than 10 hours from when Brian was being interviewed, Tim called to say he had tickets in hand. We were in! As suspected, the audience was filled with mostly “industry” folk, including Harry Shearer, who we later saw rocking out to “California Girls.”

Brian marched up the stairs to the small stage, looking like some guy who had just wandered in from the street. The conversation was obviously well-rehearsed, with the interviewer occasionally feeding Brian the answers. I was enthralled nonetheless. Did you know, for instance, that “Pet Sounds,” possibly the most brilliant Beach Boys album ever produced, was named in honor of Brian’s mentor Phil Spector (P.S. = Pet Sounds/Phil Spector)? Or that “God Only Knows,” one of the most beautiful pop songs of our generation, was written in just 45 minutes by Brian and Tony Asher, an ad guy who wanted to break into the music business? Besides Spector, Wilson said he was most influenced by the Four Freshmen, the Everly Brothers, and the Beatles. In fact, in the most touching moment of the night, he related how nervous he was singing with Paul McCartney at a recent function. “I tried not to be nervous,” he admitted, “but I was.”

After about 35 minutes, Brian’s current bandmates joined him on-stage to sing songs from past and present. We’ve, of course, heard him sing live many times before, but never from only 10 feet away. His voice is definitely shot, but it didn’t matter. I was a teenager once again and Brian Wilson was singing just for me . . .

Christmas, Past and Present

Sharing Christmas memories . . .

Past . . .













































and present

Happy Holidays, Y'All!