Hey all you followers, thanks for patiently awaiting my next missive. I’ve been underwater with work for the past coupla months. Finally coming up for air.
Yesterday I returned to Saturday yoga after at least a month. It was a vigorous class and I’m so rusty I couldn’t do several of the poses. And I literally sat out the handstand w/o even trying. Even the alternative pose he gave me was a bit challenging. Oh well, time to get back in the groove.
Last week we put a post-callback finishing-touch on the print job we’ve been casting. Clients requested additional kids casting for the Baby Phat Girls brand. Thursday we prepped what turned out to be a successful Friday afternoon casting, with head of production and project photographer in tow. Thank Hashem we wowed them; came out with flying colors—or so they indicated. Tomorrow (Monday) we’ll avail their selects and eventually be given final names of talent to book. The job shoots mid-November so there’s not a huge rush. The other three brands we cast on the project have all booked.
Last night I went as the guest of Marie France to a friend and neighbor of hers Halloween Party. The location was the friend, Cynthia’s, rental house in Laurel Canyon. It’s a bit of a landmark filled with rock and roll history, as Jim Morrison of the Doors and girlfriend Pamela Courson allegedly lived there for a time. It’s supposedly the subject of the song “Love Street”.
The house was a jumble of wood and Saltillo floor tiles and not-to-code handrail-less somewhat crooked stairways. A veritable love nest for the 60’s, it’s been restored to its former glory, in a rugged and not so much aesthetic but rather nostalgic homage.
That Cynthia and the home’s owner are passionate about its provenance, displaying additional Doors memorabilia, was charming. Doors music played in the background. Three applicable coffee table books were displayed; one on Morrison’s life, one on The Doors and a third on “The Canyon”, which happened to be by one Harvey Kurbernick, someone I met and knew for a short while when I was doing stand-up poetry. Good for him for writing such a tome. Hope he did well on it.
Other than that, it was a dull, boring party with no unity whatsoever. The people were nice but seemed to be disparate. No one looked like they were having a good time but for some reason stayed on. The food was atrocious: flavored popcorn in a giant tin, grocery-store sliced-cheese and cracker displays. Beer and wine but no alcohol. My marzapan candy contribution was lost on the crowd. Being Hollywood, there were the requisite 30 to 40 something buff, in shape and breast-implanted hotties in various versions of porno chick Halloween costumes (Austrian beer hausfrau, Native American Indian, corseted S & M chick). One wag came as a Doctor Chick Magnet, and performed for the hapless crowd with a German accent. As attention getting as he tried to be, the guests chuckled but nothing came of it b/c no one else wanted to join in on his fun or compete. After pouring myself into the fascinating Jim Morrison book, I told Marie France I was gonna leave. The best part of the night was the free parking I found just doors away.
Today I have a first-time daytime date w/someone new. Wish me luck. He lives in Santa Monica and has his own boutique law firm there as well. He seems fun on the phone, but we’ll see how this one pans out. The last one lasted all of 3 dates before I realized that I wasn’t attracted to him. Plus, he wasn’t the age of 3 years older than me that he posted on his profile. When I had my doubts, I turned to the internet, the results of which showed him as being 18 years older instead. Those could be an exaggeration but you get the point: fraudulence. When I told my mom of this, what was her reaction? Laugh-out-loud hysterics! In other words, she didn’t even have to tell me how she felt or what I should do. I simply read between her lines: get rid of the bastard!
He was a nice guy and all, and conveyed his attraction for me several times. But that was the problem. I don’t want to just be the object of someone’s attraction, he’s gotta like my essence or nothing will last. 3 dates isn’t enough to find that out, but I wasn’t attracted to him enough to find out.
So we’ll see how this one goes. At least this one doesn’t dye his grey hair brown. And doesn’t sport a (dyed) moustache either. Praise the Lord.
