Panties On, Dance Off

I gotta give a shout-out to Daily Candy, who alerted me to the Jockey Underwars. You can win $25K for dancing around in your panties, which you do fo' free all the time anyway. There's a whole tournament, and you can even challenge a friend to go head-to-head.

So who's ready to bring it on?

Sox Spring Fever

I thought I would be lucky to get one person (Craig) to go with me, but a bunch of people rallied to go see MY BOYS THE WORLD SERIES WINNING RED SOX play the LA Dodgers in a pre-season showdown in my very own local ball park.

Now, this was a treat that could not be passed up, but ladies and gentlemen, I warn you, it was not cheeep and it was nowhere near free. But somehow when you get to watch Varitek and Big Papi and Manny AKA Sideshow Bob play ball in the very first game of the (pre-) season, you don't care that you're shelling out $11 bux for a Bud Light, $7 for a questionable hot dog, and $12 for a weird Cuervo margarita thingy that comes in its own plastique shaker.

The tickets themselves were $22 bux for not-good-seats, but that didn't matter so much, cause we never sat in 'em: We went straight down to the empty seats in the better section, and when I went down to the first row to watch a couple of plays, I had a spectacular view of the guy who got popped in the head with a foul ball. (There was blood.)

A baseball stadium is one of the last few truly democratic spaces in America. (I just threw that in to make it sound more important than "a place where you drink beer and talk shit." And, oh yeah, watch baseball.) Maybe you don't wanna go every day, but at least try to make it to one game.

Kudos to: Alex for knowing the sneaky back way in, Tue for his badass spontaneity, The Real Janelle for finding the fast hot-dog line, Val for spearheading the margarita drive, Craig for being the first to sign up, and G-Reg for his stunning garlic breath.

Work The Friendly Skies

She had miles on Northwest, I had a free ticket on Southwest. She wanted to go to San Fran, I wanted to go to Traverse City. (Don't ask why - you'll be jealous.) She called in and used mine; I worked through about 700 NWA computer screens and used hers. Et voila. Now we're both going fo' free.

If you ever need to go somewhere and you have points on some other airline, just call your friends and trade. It feels good to work the airlines. Just like they worked you on that 7-hour layover in Houston.

Half Woke Up

Do this: Go to the Hollywood Farmer's Market this Sunday and buy a big bunch of lilacs. They only have 'em for like, two weeks, so you have to go now.

You get a ton of branches for six bux, which is cheeep, so you can put a big vase of 'em on your coffee table and still have enough put the littler stems in jars all around your house.

Besides the gigantic sprawl of flowers on my kitchen table and in my living room, I put some on my bedside table and when I half woke up in the middle of the night, I took a deep breath and the smell of lilacs was everywhere. Amazing.

Mr. Microphone

I got a new friend. He's this sound recordist who has been collecting microphones for as long as he's been in the business. He keeps 'em in a glass case in his studio.

I love it when people have random, completely in-depth collections of archaic technology - old typewriters, farm machinery, whatevah. It probably has something to do with the fact that I've kept every cell phone I've ever had. And that I'm a total dork.

Tiny little museums. Fo' free.

A Charity (and Robert) Event at the Pink Palace

I am lying on my couch recovering from the champagne I drank at Charity and Robert's wedding reception at The Beverly Hills Hotel last night. It was so lovely to see two people who had clearly found each other, and the crowd of glamazons and foreigners and techno-dreamers whom they call friends were all on hand to share the love and the occasion and to take a dip in the chocolate fountain. (Dessert, people - never hurts to clarify.)

And the Beverly Hills Hotel...so pretty, so pink. It was my second night in a row in Old Hollywood, but this time with a brand-new couple. Congratulations Charity and Robert!

Dinner In Old Hollywood

So last night I had a dinner meeting with The Hardest Working Man In Showbiz. We had some moving-picture business to discuss, but where to go, where to go? Suddenly, he had a brilliant idea: Musso and Frank, The Oldest Restaurant In Hollywood, where all the big stars used to hang out.

Ladies and gentlemen, it was an inspired choice. So I put on my vintage black-and-red chili pepper dress and my Mary Janes and my bright red lipstick, and I swung on down to Old Hollywood.

It's the kind of place where old-school waiters wear red jackets and have napkins draped over their arms, where Hemingway and McQueen and DeNiro used to throw back scotch and steak while little old ladies in hats obliviously spooned up jellied consomme and oyster stew in the next booth over. And, of course, it's less than a minute from my house.

THWMIS and I settled in, and over gin-and-tonics and grilled lamb chops and mint jelly in little paper cups, we talked about our movie. And somehow the food and the pleather seats and the dark wood conspired to give our conversation a larger, more exotic context, because hadn't generations of young, ambitious, strangely-driven people done the exact same thing we were doing? Hadn't they discussed their stories and strategems and dreams in this very booth? Hadn't the guy across the aisle from them also spilled his water all over the floor, bringing not one but three waiters bustling over to mop it up with aforementioned napkins-over-arms?

Finally, after solving all the problems of the world, or at least figuring out how to stuff a few of them into our film, we swung out to our cars, and even the parking attendant was gallant in a way that transcended the usual seediness of the boulevard. Somehow the restaurant and its history and the gigantic, almost ridiculous, Old Hollywood full moon overhead conspired to give the night a glamour I hadn't felt in a long time.

I am in love with this crazy, impossible town.

Happy Easter Peeps!

Easter is my favorite holiday because:

1. Best candy, hands down.
2. And when I say candy, I mean Reeses Peanut Butter Eggs.
3. And malted milk eggs.
4. And Peeps fondue.
5. And tiny jelly beans.
6. Black, to be specific.
7. And the religious pageantry is the best. Blood, lambs, rising again - it's all good.
8. And also winter is over. Like, so over.

The Radioactive Boy Scout

So the other night I had the extreme pleasure of hearing my friend G-Reg's script read aloud by actors at a Sundance-sponsored staged reading. The movie's called The Radioactive Boy Scout, and I've been there as G-Reg has pummeled the story into shape over the last little while. Given that, I am extremely happy to report that Greg has roundly kicked the Boy Scout's ass - it was so cool to see a script that has just lived as words on paper come to life for the first time, especially when the writer is your friend. It's an entirely different being. Plus, there were great shout-outs to Detroit Motor City. Rock N Rye, anyone?

Rock N Greg, I say.

Spring Is Cheep

Dudes, get on down to Trader Joe's and buy yourselves some Spring. It's only $1.49 a bunch, so buy a lot.

It may be freezing out (not that it is here, but we do have some readers in Chicago and Duluth and San Francisco, you know), but:

Daffodils = Spring. Cheep.

A Room With A View

When faced with a choice, always ask hotel (and restaurant and bar) staff what they would do.

Case in point: When I checked into a hotel in SF last week, the lady at the desk asked me if I wanted a room with a king bed or one on the 22nd floor with two doubles. Now, I always want a king, but there was something in the question that made me pause, so I asked her what she'd do. She said "the two doubles", so I did it. And this is the view that I got. Fo' free.

The windows were all steamy when I took this. When they weren't, the view was crispy and perfect, and you could see all the way to the water on both sides.

All Alert, No Dirt

I have been working so much lately AND I got the kerfluey not once but three times, so it's been all alert and no dirt this past month. (I'd like to say I've been working my ass off, but regrettably, it's still there, and bigger than ever since I haven't even been able to run.)

But, I did drag my wasted little self to not one but four birthday parties last week, North and South Coast styley, in a feeble attempt to get back in the action. On Sunday it was Conchita's birthday, during which we downed champagne and coco-cake and then decided to hike to the highest peak in SF (super good for the sickly). Then it was Brother Erik's bday on Monday, during which I represented for the entire family by quaffing 2 giant margaritas and 2 beers (it's hard drinking for five) and gave Erik all his gifts, which Southwest mercifully did not unwrap, as threatened.

Then it was back home for the Pi/Jeff Birthday Combo at Brass Monkey, where I donned a long blond wig and totally horned in on some guy's rendition of "Don't Stop Believing" (which we all know is MY song, way before the stupid Sopranos).

There. I did my part. Back in ackshun. Bring on the spring and the dirt!

PS - That's Pi in the wig, not me.