Vicarious Happiness

Have you ever met a person that does something so amazing and creative that you're instantly jealous? Musicians are those people to me; somehow they are able to compartmentalize so well they know how to direct an audience in a sing-along while synthesizing 5-10 instruments and singing the lyrics to a 6 minute song; this after they've writtenl the lyrics and the music to the song. I can barely remember the hook in a 2 minute song, how the hell do you remember numerous songs spread over various albums? I find it uniquely fascinating how one person can retain a certain type of knowledge, while another doesn't have a clue. It's most definitely the way that our brains are wired, but I can't help to wonder if I was taught a certain skill, say music, at a young age, would I now be able to play as well as the Grammy winners or am I just not designed for that type of thinking?

I had the pleasure of attending the Imogen Heap concert last night in Santa Barbara, and I must say, Imogen is truly brilliant. Not only does she play upwards of 15 instruments and fully understand all musical keys, but she knows how to work a crowd. It could be a British thing though. Before Imogen went on stage, her two British opening acts were super cute and adorable when speaking to the audience; with their shy undertones while asking audience members to purchase an EP (CD) and witty nervousness in explaining why they were wearing a shirt that seemed to look like a night shirt, but wasn't. It could just be their accents as well, but I think Imogen and her fellow musicians have a certain ambience that speaks to audiences of confidence and a tad hint of mischief. You automatically dismiss any of their mistakes for entertainment and enjoy their musical blunders because their responses to them are so entertaining.

The first song that Imogen played involved her coming out onto the stage by herself swinging a long plastic tube (the kind most sports fans buy at ball games) above her head and humming in a high tune. After she'd synthesized the "whooshing" sound of the tube, she threw it to the side and started to sing. 5 seconds into her song, she stops, mumbles something about the key being off and then wanders over to where she threw the tube. She tells the audience that she's accidentally thrown the tube onto her synthesizer and it's changed the voice pitch to where she sounds like a "Dialek" (lovely Doctor Who reference Robby, Myself, and about 5 other people in the audience got). She mumbles some more to herself about how she should start the song over, while making wild hand gestures, before announcing to the audience that she's going to start from scratch, meaning everyone - she points to her band - needs to get off the stage, including herself. The stage clears, the lights reset, and 30 seconds later, she back, front and center, swinging the tube, singing, "Feels like this," but adding, "again" at the end ("feels like this...again") It's always good to have a sense of humor when making a fool of yourself in front of 10,000 people.

Imogen has to be one of the most inspired musicians I've ever heard. She uses what she sees, hears, and feels around her to design her songs. In between her different songs, while the stage hands set up various mics and lights or her musicians plugged in to their instruments, Imogen would tell an abbreviated story of how the song she is about to sing, came to be. One song came to her as she was going for a run in the park. Every day she would hear birds chirping and so she wrote a song about how she felt alive at hearing those birds. She even used bird chirps in the harmony. Another song starts with the crackle of a fire burning. Apparently she burned a log of wood that held special meaning to her and her family (not sure why) and she wrote about her emotions as the log burned while being surround by the people she loved the most. My favorite song she wrote was an erie "Down the Rabbit Hole" harmony inspired by a disastrous date where she cooked for a guy who said he was allergic to wheat, fish, eggs, and basically any ingredient she knew how to cook with. After she'd managed to cook a surprisingly tasty meal, she was still hungry (cause there wasn't any meat), so she grabbed a chocolate biscuit off the table. The guy grabs one as well and starts to eat it when she goes, "You can't eat that, it has wheat and egg in it." He responds, "It's just a small biscuit, I'll be fine." She's thinking, "Well, we could of just had a small piece of fish and you'd be fine!"

She is also very in-tune with experimentation. I guess, when she's writing songs, she plays around with various objects, trying to learn their sounds and how she can use them in a song. A guy came onto the stage with a rusty saw and proceeded to start off the melody of a song with a stick caressing the blades. She starts another song with, what I consider to be a tribute to "Miss Congeniality", the rimming of wine glasses. Her band incorporates: 4 different kinds of cymbals, Bells, Vibes, electric and normal guitars, piano, keyboard, birds, fire, saws, drums, voice, hands, clothes, life and objects.

I just love her way of seeing the world, at any one moment, something could inspire her to dance or sing or write. If only the majority of people in the world were this easily influenced to create and be happy, we'd be a better society of people. I'm envious of her seemingly free spirit and ability to truly be one with herself. I encourage everyone to listen to her music and watch her perform, if not for the sake of hearing her music, for the chance to become happy vicariously through Imogen.

A Must See Film!

My Friend, the amazing Julien Nitzberg, is a brilliant documentary filmmaker that just completed a new documentary on an insane and extremely entertaining West Virgina family. He spent a year following around a group of drug obsessed hillbillies that love having a good time and being with family, no matter all the stupid shit family can do to piss you off. His film has premiered at Tribeca Film Festival and is now opening in Los Angeles on June 25th. It is also on "On Demand". I highly recommend this film to anyone over the age of 18. Not really appropriate for the little kids as there's drug use, nudity, and swearing...but that just means it's even better for all of us with slightly dirty, corrupt minds.

Now, for all you folks out there that think documentaries are...gasp...boring, you're in for a surprise. This film is highly entertaining, and surprisingly funny. You're immediately sucked into the family's drama, wanting to learn more about their problems while trying to comprehend how a person can think and act the way they do. I encourage everyone to take a step outside of their comfort zone (or suck up their pride if they think it's "girlie" to watch docs) and go see this movie. Support Julien while entertaining yourselves!

You can find out more information on the film at http://www.wildandwonderfulwhites.com/

or watch the trailer below:

The Rate of Evolution

You know when average people, who aren't mothers - natural or otherwise, are asked to hold a friend or family member's baby without the actually asking - the baby is pushed into their wobbly, outstretched, elbow locked arms, with a tiny, raspberry burping human staring at them - they try and comprehend, "how the hell do I hold it?" Yea, well, this is a natural and expected question to the unexpected holding of another life force. You don't want to drop the baby or hold he/she upside down or wrap one hand around the kid's stomach the first time around; all very bad. You have to be gentle, cradle the kid in your arms so those large, inquisitive eyes can stare up at your face and wonder, "Who the hell are you? Where's Mommy!" before waling to high heavens. Anyhow, holding a baby is a little tricky.

Yesterday, as a favor to Little Di, I brought Tony Stripes (cute kitty from my blog a couple weeks ago) to "The Hills Have Eyes" kitty adoption people at the local Petco, so he could get his deworming shot and some other shot that kitties need to stay healthy. While I waited for the odd adoption, epitome of a "Cat Woman", lady to finally notice me in the practically empty store, two mid-teenage sisters wandered over to the kitty cages and spotted Tony in my arms. They started talking about how they really wanted a kitten, but their mom wasn't so sure and since they currently had a guinea pig that shits everywhere, it wasn't likely they were going to get an animal that uses a smelly litter box.

One of the girls asked me if they could hold Tony, and I'm like, "Sure," while holding him out for her to take. She gives me a shy look and says, "I don't know how to hold him." This is where the baby part of this blog is relevant. It's one thing to not know how to hold a baby, they don't always land on their feet when dropped, but a kitten? Cats somehow manage to defy gravity 98% of the time, Nova - my cat, is one of the exceptions; the poor thing is so badly uncoordinated she falls off the foot wide edge of the couch. You can grab a kitty on the back of the neck (just like his mom would), pick him up under his tummy or armpits, cradle him in the crook of your arms, etc - it's not rocket science. Kittens are very mailable animals that will indubitable squirm in your arms whether you hold them correctly or not. The main goal when holding a kitten is to try and not let the animal abuse you too much as as a jungle gym or bite you.

If the kitten happens to fall out of your arms, whether you've accidentally dropped he/she or he/she's decided to learn how to fly, you needn't worry too much because a small 3-4.5 foot drop is like a mini "Drop Zone" to the kitten. Somehow their fascinating agility will always find a way to rotate them in mid air so that, most of the time, they'll land feet first. It's one of life's amazing wonders. Cats have an ability to fall up to 9 stories and still land on their feet. Maybe this is where all the "9 lives" rumors come from, cats falling from a height that should have killed them and surviving.

Anyhow, the kid asking me how to hold Tony was rather ridiculous to me. I pushed Tony into her arms and said, "Just make sure you're holding most of his weight and if he falls, he'll live, so don't be afraid." At first the girl was extremely nervous - smoshing Tony between her right forearm and her abdomen, while her left arm was under his feet. Tony, still being a little wary of the other animals in the Petco, was unnaturally calm (not climbing on and biting everything in sight), but the girl was still afraid she was going to drop him so she announces, "I think I'll sit down. I don't think I'm ready to stand and hold him." Um... ok. The kid's sister sits down next to her, enviously watching Tony be petted. "Can I hold him too?" she asks. "Sure, Tony doesn't care."

Tony gets passed, tentatively, from one sister to the other. Both girls are immediately smitten by Tony's adorableness, and thank goodness, his subdued (nervousness of new surroundings) manner. They talked to me more about wanting a kitten, but one of the sisters said their mom was currently in love with another guinea pig she'd found in the store and so the chances that they could get a cat, that day, was pretty slim. I told them that eventually, maybe when they were older, they'd get their kitty. Hell, when they're 18, they can move out on their own and get their very own cat while trying to figure out how to live without supervision or rules and be responsible adults. It will be a blast to look forward too.

Eventually the "Cat Woman" warms up Tony's shots, and within ten minutes of entering Petco, Tony's made two new friends, and ready to go home without actually realizing he's received any shots ("Cat Woman's" that good); only a nasty taste in his mouth from the deworming serum. In those same 10 minutes, I learned that there are some seriously naive people in the world, but I also might just be a huge bitch. I guess everyone learns simple things at different stages in their lives, so I shouldn't be a harsh, judgemental asshole, but then, I wouldn't be me and this wouldn't be the World According to Em.


RANDOM NOTE:
When I was pondering why cats manage to walk, eat, and jump within a few weeks of life while humans take many years to learn these simple things, Little Di surmised that kittens are usually left on their own after a short period of time, so they've evolved to adapt to life quicker than Humans, who have people looking after them for longer periods of time, hence, a slower rate of evolutions. I guess, extremely slower rate in some people.

With Dancing Comes Knowledge

I went to the Key Club last night for the first time. Little Di and a friend of hers wanted to go see Spazmatics - a group of four High School wedgie candidates; complete with masking taped glasses, suspender pants hiked higher than Urkles, a pager, false buck teeth, a neck brace, plaid pants that flood, and more outrageous stuff from our youth we all wish to forget - that preform 80's cover songs at midnight on Sundays and Thursdays in Los Angeles. The Spazmatics gained notoriety about 20 years and have been performing ever since across America, enlightening young and old minds to songs they'd forgotten and wished to hear again.

Since the Spazmatics didn't perform until midnight, and Little Di and I arrived at 10:30pm, we had some time to kill. You would think that the Key Club, a famous Hollywood nightclub, would have an opening band to entertain the masses, but no, they had a DJ that liked to change the current song every minute or so, throwing off a dancer's rhythm. Like most of the people in the club, we opted to talk over a drink rather than attempt to dance to the ever changing beat. We'd also discovered that the "Hollywood Prom" was taking place at the Key Club that evening.

When we'd first entered the club we were a little shocked to see so many young looking people milling about in prom dresses and suits; some people even had corsages. It was like a bad acid trip; going to a place you don't really want to relive (I mean, who actually enjoyed their prom so much, they'd love to go to another one?), and then wondering if the random guy that comes up to you and asks you to dance is even old enough to buy you a drink first. A little frightening. Most of the people that go to Spazmatics come decked out in 80's outfits: leggings, knitted arm sleeves, scrunchies, stylized ripped t-shirts, etc. - I'd only been to the Spazmatics once before and I never remembered anyone coming in prom outfits.

Luckily one of the bouncers set us straight and explained that the "Hollywood Prom" was just a sales gimmick and that everyone in the club, despite their appearances, was over 21. Well, that was a relief, getting asked to dance by a 15-year-old looking 21-year-old in a Tuxedo printed T-shirt; ahhh, my dream date.

As we were waiting for the main event of the evening to start and checking out the awfully wonderful prom dresses that some of the kids were wearing (wondering if they'd bought them on clearance after the local High School's real Proms ended a few weeks prior, or if they were actually wearing their original Prom dresses), when two girls in scandalous outfits paraded onto the main stage, while one girl hopped up onto the mini stage, with parallel post adhered to the floor, in front of where Little Di and I were standing at the back of the club. The DJ changed the music to a faster tempo and the girls started to dance.

I have to say, it's an interesting experience to watch a late 20's, stick thin Blond woman, wearing a lace white mini skirt tutu with black, barely wider than a thong, panties underneath, and a sequins bra top flip upside down on the parallel bars and start to do the splits. It's even creepier when she puts one foot on the ground, turns sideways, her hands holding the bars, and starts to kick her free foot straight above her head and over repetitively with an almost bored, indifference plastered on her face.

The two girls dancing on the front of the stage had on similar outfits and mostly booty shaked their bodies to the music. They both slid to the floor in splits a few times, but it wasn't nearly as fluid as the girl on the bars. All three of the women were thin, with blond hair and great legs. I couldn't help but wonder how they got their jobs, what the hiring interview was like: "Hi, I'm here to apply for your dancer position." "Yea sure, give me a second to look at you," the Hiring manager responds, "Well, you're a blond, that's good. You seem young enough to appeal to the Key Club crowd," He looks her up and down, "Can I see you dance?" The Dancer just shrugs her shoulders and starts moving to the beat in her head. "That's great," the Hiring Manager says, "but can you do the splits? How do you feel about wearing next to nothing and dancing in front of drunk, horny men?"

I guess to a Dancer, dancing at the Key Club is on a level slightly higher than being a stripper, but not by much, judging by the skimpy outfits and the way all the men's eyes in the club seemed to follow the girl's moves with lust. While Di and I watched the dancers (there was nothing else to watch and I was envious of the flexibility these women had), we were speculating that the one girl on stage with the urber fake boobs was probably doubling as a stripper and that the one on the bars had most likely come to LA to be an actor or work with some kind of dance troop, but ended up dancing at the Key Club (or worse) and after being objectified for so long, became apathetic to everything around her, while the poor remaining girl on stage was fairly new to the Key Club dance scene and hadn't yet become jaded judging by the genuine smile she wore as she moved to the beat.

It was a fascinating cultural anthropological study about the human condition and what people are willing to do for money, no matter the cost to their pride, vanity, or self-respect, watching these women dance. I guess there is something to learn or be thankful for everywhere you go, you just have to open your eyes.

"Running" to the ER

Nina, my ex-roommate, who's been staying with me for the past few days, and I went for a lite jog (I went rollerblading - running kills me), yesterday morning. After Nina put in about two miles on her running shoes, she decided to finish off the workout session with sprints. Unfortunately, after literally three steps into the first sprint, Nina pulls something in her thigh and she's down for the count on a stretch of road emulating the "Stand'". She sends me back to the house to get the car and pick her up.

Once I'd manged to get her into the car and return home, I knocked on a few neighbor's doors to see if someone would help me lift her up the stairs to my apartment so she could take a soothing bath and hopefully fix the leg, but of course, it's the one day that no one is around to help and after Nina got a foot out of the car, she was crying, so it was off to the emergency room.

I pulled into the ER lot and was told to wait by the car for an orderly that would bring out a wheel chair. A few minutes later a cute, early 20's, 6'2" orderly pushes a wheel chair right up to the passenger side of the car and helps Nina into it. As he wheels her into the building, he casually asks Nina how she hurt herself, "I was sprinting and something happened." "But you look like you're in shape," he responds, his eyes taking in the fact that she's only in a sports bra and running pants. Good pick up line dude.

I was tasked with finding a parking spot, but oddly enough, the ER parking lot had about 200 parking spot, five of them emergency patient parking only and the rest were reserved for doctors. Totally fucked up if you ask me; what do seriously injured people, who've driven themselves to the hospital, do when they need help and there's nowhere to park? Do they abandon their vehicles in the ambulance zone or do they park four long blocks up and across from the hospital, like I did, and walk back to the ER all bleeding and half dead. I seriously think the hospital needs to build a parking structure or tell some of the doctors to park in one of the $10 an hour pay lots around the corner. Inefficient medical care shouldn't start in the parking lot.

Once I managed to trek back to Nina, I found her chilling in a wheelchair, waiting for a Nurse to accept her paperwork and process her into the hospital. There were about 5 other people in the waiting room. Most of them seemed to be ok, but the odd lady in the corner captured the most of my attention. She was complaining to the admission nurse about the slow service, saying she had a lot of pain in her back and shoulder, while walking back and forth between her seat and the admin window. It was probably my fault, but I made eye contact with her, giving her permission to "chat" with us.

She told us she was helping her sister move the other day, but tweaked something in her back, now she's at the ER. She went on to inform us that her sister never helps her with anything, but she always helps her sister; she's got four kids, the eldest one is her miracle baby because she was told she couldn't have children (her first son dying, I think at birth); and she's got a weird, creepy vein condition that causes the femoral artery to throb painfully and stick out on her legs. A bunch of history about a woman I didn't need to know.

An hour and a half later, an old black woman shuffles into the waiting room. I over hear her say that she was born in 1922. This lady seems coherent and is able to walk, abet slowly, but freely, and she's close to 90. Congrats to her. The only problem is, she's hacking up her lungs. Now, I can stand the sight and sound of blood and guts, but people puking their guts up...it's just my nails on a chalkboard. The lady takes a seat near Broken Back Woman and we all wait another hour before the nurse calls on one of us.

I'd been wanting coffee, badly, because I'm addicted and love the flavor, since I'd entered the ER, but I didn't want to leave Nina by herself, this being the first time she's been to the ER for anything kind of possibly broken or torn thing. I was also afraid that the minute I left, they would call her and I'd be stuck in the waiting room with the crazy women. But after waiting 2 1/2 hours, coffee was calling my name. Like luck would have it, I stood up, the nurse's door opened, and Nina's name was called. Maybe I should I have thought to get coffee a lot sooner, then Nina would already be seen by a doctor. The nurse rolled Nina into a mini office to take her blood pressure and temperature, while I walked across the street to McDonald's.

Of course, when I returned, Nina had vanished and the waiting room had emptied out except for Broken Back Woman and Pukey Lady. Both were sitting in chairs, on opposite sides of the room, along the back wall. I took a seat in the middle and sipped my coffee while munching on a McChicken Wrap. I'd asked the admin nurse where Nina was and he said she was still in the Nurse's office. Pukey Lady said she wasn't in there anymore and then, of her own initiative, launched in to an explanation of why she was hacking up her insides - some weird stomach disease I couldn't pronounce. She was actually quite nice and I felt bad for her. Interspersed between the description of the old woman's health problems and the Admin nurse telling me I could see Nina in 10 mins, Broken Back Woman eyes my chicken wrap and starts to slyly question what I'm eating and how much it cost.

I tell her I'd go get her one, but she says she has no money, after which explaining she hasn't eaten since the previous day. I stare straight ahead, hoping she'll stop talking to me, but instead she gets up from her chair, walks towards me, and plops herself in the chair directly across from me. "Can I ask you a favor?" she questions. "Sure." "Will you buy me one of those?" she points at my sandwich. You got to be kidding me, I think, and am thankful the waiting room is almost completely empty, otherwise, who knows who else would ask a complete stranger to buy them food? The Lady puppy dogs her eyes and practically begs me without a word. "Fine," I say, and then ask her what kind she would like. It's only a $1.50, and if it gets her to leave me alone, then so be it.

I walk back to McDonald's, procure one more chicken wrap and return to the hospital. Broken Back Lady's been admitted, but apparently she'd been waiting by the waiting room door, because as soon as I question Pukey Woman on her whereabouts, the hospital door opens and Broken Back Lady, dressed in a hospital gown, is there. I hand her the food, she thanks me and closes the door. Interesting woman, but crazy.

2 minutes later, I'm finally allowed in the back, where I get to wait with Nina for another 2 hours, before it's deemed by a doctor that she just pulled her upper leg muscle and she should use crutches for the next few days. While waiting in the ER room, the hot orderly from the morning, randomly comes into Nina's room, throws on a pair of gloves, wipes down one of the metal tool trays, and then leaves. He'd said "Hi" and we talked about maybe getting a pair of crutches for Nina (because I had to wheel her to the bathroom on the stool the doctor zooms across the room in) but that was all. Nina and I think the orderly came into the room in an attempt to chat up Nina, but failed miserably, trying to throw off suspicion of his failed pick up attempt by wiping down a tray for no reason. If nothing else, it was entertaining.

So after about 4 hours, two crazy women chatting in the waiting room, one dateless orderly, and a couple of other weird experiences in the ER room, Nina and I were free to walk/gimp outside into the fresh Marina del Rey air. Luckily nothing was seriously wrong with Nina's leg, and I managed to gather more material to write about. Maybe I'll tell you about the pharmacy crack pots another time.