Okay – I just took my first sip of egg nog. Laced, as it is, with a healthy dose of Maker’s Mark, we shall see what, if any, impact it has on my blog writing.
Today has been devoted to wrapping gifts and last-minute shopping. Guess where I went for the shopping.
If you guessed Amoeba Music, you guessed correctly. Point for your team. If you guessed the Lost City of Atlantis, you’re not only wrong, but your grasp on reality is tentative, to say nothing of your lack of knowledge of where to find bargains. No one ever saved money exploring the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. You can quote me on that.
*second sip of egg nog*
Anyone knows that Lemuria is where the good sales are.
*third sip of egg nog*
I’ve worked at Amoeba Music Hollywood for over four years now, but when I shop there, it still feels new and thrilling and yes, sometimes overwhelming, though in the same way that Disneyland is overwhelming. You know – so much fun to be had + if only I could use a bulldozer to get through these swarms of people!
I can’t tell you what I found because I was shopping for my boyfriend Corey who, for some ridiculous reason, actually reads my blog. Probably to make sure I don’t tell you about his embarrassing habit of biting fingernails. Not just his own fingernails. Anyone’s. He’ll gnaw your digits as soon as look at you. It’s a problem, and has gotten us kicked out of more than one function.
One night, while attending a performance of Puccini's "La Bohème" at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, we were escorted out right in the middle of one of my favorite arias, "Sì, mi chiamano Mimì" (which, loosely translated means "Yes, my fingers taste like chocolate bunnies") because Corey was so swept away by the music and the sentiment that he unconsciously began nibbling on the pinky of the elderly woman next to him. As we were exiting, I was so humiliated that I walked ten paces behind Corey, trying to remain inconspicuous, which was hard because of what he'd done.
And because I was naked. I had taken off all my clothes. I was just naked. In the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.
I found some things for myself at Amoeba, too. To watch, I snagged a used copy of Leonard Bernstein’s The Unanswered Question, a DVD release of the six lectures he gave at Harvard in 1973.
For anyone interested in the fundamentals of music language and theory, this provides a charming course, and Bernstein anticipates those of us who may not themselves compose music or play an instrument, so no one gets left behind.
I just now noticed there’s only a tiny amount of egg nog left in my glass! What the heck? I simply cannot savor a beverage; I’m compelled to drink it fast and gone, and do it without even noticing. You should figure out a way to turn war and famine into a beverage, then you could serve it to me and both would be gone in under ten minutes.
Bernstein’s lecture is a kind of viewing whiplash for me, as preceding it was my introduction to the TV show 24 starring the deliciously first-named Kiefer Sutherland, which I am astonished to find I enjoy. I watched the entire 1st season in one week. So, to all of you who accuse me of only enjoying watching things with depressed Swedes or nuns dancing with demons as a French girl stares at a sofa for two hours, take that!
I mention these things that I watch and/or listen to with the assumption that, if you read my blog regularly, you have a sense for what I like, allowing you to give things I mention a try, or, if you know by now you don’t agree with my taste, you can then avoid whatever’s tickling my fancy.
Ugh… fancy. That word has been ruined for me ever since I learned that my friend Ryan’s family referred to the female genitalia as a “fancy.” I never bothered to ask what they called a boy’s genitals. Perhaps a “spiffy?”
Well, my egg nog is gone and I’m thirsty again. What’s more, I still have a stocking to stuff, so I’m going to excuse myself now. I’ll leave you with this, though, because I care.