Posted on

what is this post even about??

Okay. Whew. Didn’t hit those houses.

Plane on the typical low approach over a residential area in San Diego. About to land at Lindbergh Field, the busiest single-runway commercial airport in the US.

planelanding.jpg

Yeah. You heard me. Single runway. It’s gross, I tell you. Freaks me out. The planes take off AND land in the same direction, almost always from east to west (depending on the winds, though.) The approach is considered very steep. And as you’re landing, there’s a building — or what I call a “disaster waiting to happen” — right at the end of the runway. So the pilot’s gotta dodge this thing, a very important parking garage, you see, before you’re all safe and sound on the ground. On the plus side, I guess, you get to fly over Balboa Park, with glimpses of our zoo (which really is amaaazing) and the Old Globe Theatre, a replica of Shakespeare’s Old Globe. You’ll also fly directly over The Starlight Theatre, an outdoor amphitheatre that stages musicals in the park every summer.

We used to go to Starlight all the time when I was a kid and I was always fascinated by the whole rigmarole the cast had to go through when the planes flew over — because, basically, the show completely stops and waits for the plane to pass. There’s a kind of “stoplight” in the orchestra pit that turns yellow signalling to the actors: “plane is approaching, get ready to stop.” When the light turns red, it’s full stop onstage. Everyone freezes. They have to; the planes are just too low and too loud. Freezes during musical numbers can be especially nervewracking, for actors and audience alike. I once saw an actress freeze in this rather tilted one-legged pose during a dance in a production of Kismet. And she held that damn pose second …. after second …. after second … waiting for that light to finally turn green. I remember sitting there, fretting about it: What’s gonna happen to her? Is she gonna fall? Is she gonna fall? She’s kinda wobbly. Uh-oh! Uh-ohhh! Whew! Green light.

Anyhoo ….

I took this from the freeway. This plane is about 30 seconds from landing. Wouldn’t you just love to live in those buildings?

Also of note: That car seems to be driving itself. Or the driver’s head just looks like a headrest.

“Soo … this guy you set me up with, uhm, what does he look like?”

“Okay, well, his head looks sorta like a head rest, but he’s got a great personality.”

Uhm, peeps, my mind is a million places at once these days.

Posted on

the wee-est coffeehouse in the west

A few really bad camera phone photos of the space that will soon be Boheme. The furnishings in these photos will be gone; that’s just what’s there now. Again, this is a kind of front “foyer” area to the wine lounge that I’ll be sharing space with. It operates in the evenings; I’ll operate during the day. They’ve offered me evenings, too, but I want to see how it goes first.

So … here’s one corner and wall, with a cool, kind of teak-y bookcase that I will eventually fill with retail coffees. I’m looking forward to wafting the smell of some truly lucious coffee all through this place because it usually reeks of what I call “Patchouli Stank” and I just hate Patchouli Stank. So very much.

boheme1.jpg

The opposite wall. Man, a really bad shot. I took this not so you could see all the lounge specials on the blackboard, but to show the old red brick walls that surround the front door area. Can you see it? The brick there behind the sign? (Which, again, will be gone.) All of this, except the built-in bookcase, will be gone.

boheme4.jpg

Lord. An even worse shot. Okay. Look fast and then look away — quick! like a bunny! — to spare yourselves permanent corneal damage. This is the ceiling:

boheme2.jpg

The front doors, all neat with their perfectly etched stripes:

boheme3.jpg

Posted on

johnny depp?

Oh, I do love him so much, I can’t tell you, but …. Johnny Depp as Sweeney Todd?
The musical Sweeney Todd? I could see him, actually, as the character; he’s got the brooding and the pathos and the sardonic air, but can he sing?? Sweeney’s gotta be able to SAHHNG, man. Rabid fans of the musical, like me, won’t accept anything less. I really like the idea of him as Sweeney — if it weren’t for the singing. Maybe he’ll blow me away, though. I hope so.

Also in the cast:

Mrs. Lovett: Helena Bonham Carter

Sigh. This one actually bothers me more than Depp, mainly because, well, I flat-out don’t like her. Her powdery boneface. Her spade-like chin. Her eerie, bottomless eyes. Oh, and also the wee fact of her stealing Kenneth Brannagh from my beloved Emma Thompson. Do not hurt Emma, chippy, and expect me to still like you. And can your husband — (er, boyfriend??) — Tim Burton do a freakin’ movie without you, please? I know this Sweeney is still “in development” — I mean, last I heard Russell Crowe was going to play Sweeney — but if you really do play Mrs. Lovett, I will relish what happens to you in the end.

Signor Pirelli: Sacha Baron Cohen

Don’t know anything about his singing ability, but just on pure physicality, I think he’s great for it.

Judge Turpin: Alan Rickman

Ooooh! I love him; he’s one of my all-time favorites. Love this casting. Don’t care if he can’t sing. LOVE it. I will even sit through “Johanna (Mea Culpa)” — a song that literally makes me squirm, what with the self-flagellation and all — if he’s the one doing it. I don’t care if he just speaks it. That face. That voice. He’s perfect.

So, come ON, Tim Burton! Hurry up and make the movie already so that I can be the only person in America who goes to see it.

(By the way, Tim Burton, I think Emma Thompson would make a fabulous Mrs. Lovett. Don’t know if she can sing, either, but I just prefer a Mrs. Lovett who seems more substantial, more full, more of a woman; not some spindly-sharp little boy. You’re clearly being hypnotized by the biggest things on that Bonham Carter chippy — those bottomless bog black eyes.)

Posted on

super bowl note to

The Super Bowl:

I’m bitter this year; it’s true. But if you could please ship me the hapless muddy dog from the Budweiser beer commercial, I’m sure he would help release the bile and soothe my sad furrowed football brow.

Love,

Me