Another busy week has passed as we head into spring and I head deeper into marathon training, 35 miles between last Sunday and yesterday. On Tuesday, we headed to the House of Blues to show our support for City Year LA, and Ali and Michael, who were running the show to raise funds (and friends) for the new chapter of the nation-wide, and international, organization. We got to catch up with Janet and Eric, as well, and had a nice time in the Founders’ Room, a swank spot in the labyrinthine concert venue on Sunset.
The next night, we went to King King for the monthly installment of Mortified, described as a “comic excavation of teen angst artifacts (journals, letters, poems, lyrics, home movies, stories and more) as shared by their original authors before total strangers.” The six contributors that evening fit the bill, but each approached the challenge in a different way. There were the actors, the showy, dramatic types who read everything with emphasis and tried to direct our reactions, and there were the affect-less, more honest types who just read what they had and let it speak for itself. And you can tell which I appreciated, and which I didn’t. All of the material was good, for the most part, but it just felt much more authentic when the author simply read it aloud, rather than performed it. The journal from the wanna-be child actor who was friends with the actually successful child actor was terrific, and the letters between the lonely, tormented teen and his dying grandmother were that perfect combination of touching and hilarious. (I was about to say they would be perfect material for This American Life; turns out, I had a reason for thinking that: they already were) The space was nice, too; we’ll be better-informed and better-prepared next time so we can grab a seat in one of the comfy-looking booths.
Thursday and Friday meant noir at the Cinematheque (Cry of the City) and newly-preserved Technicolor noir at the Goldwyn (Leave Her to Heaven). Good stuff. We had a morning of errands on Saturday, punctuated by a well-deserved stop at Sprinkles for an amazing cupcake. I had the peanut butter last time, and the milk chocolate this time, though they all look pretty amazing.
We headed to Santa Monica for date night, and we finally got a chance to get to Father’s Office, the tiny and highly recommended spot on Montana we’d tried and failed to get into before. We were tempted by the tiny shopping carts full of french fries, but we had dinner plans, so we stuck with beers instead, from their wall of taps. We’ll definitely have to go back, perhaps after a long Sunday run some upcoming weekend. We had dinner at Pradeep’s just up the street, which was tasty and light, and different from a lot of other Indian food I’ve had recently. It took 15 minutes to flag down the waitress, but only five more to get our order, so I guess it worked out ok.
Back in Santa Monica the next morning, I ran my eleven miles and felt ok, though definitely tired. We relaxed at home, I went to see Grindhouse (long) in the afternoon, and then we caught another noir screening at the Cinematheque in the evening. Time flies…
