Friday, December 7, 2007

Very Little to Say and Many Words With Which To Say It

So, here's my Friday update, which I haven't done in ages:

Thursday was the flute choir's holiday concert. The night started out iffy - when we all showed up at our new, earlier time, the elementary school cafeteria/auditorium ("cafetorium," and if that word doesn't cause you to visualize some truly delicious school lunches, well, you just have no imagination) that we've been having our concerts in for the last few years was occupied by about 100 little kids and their parents. They were having an assembly or concert or something. I was a little panicky because I was running late - as usual, my contribution to the treat table was four bottles of juice, and I had thoughtfully planned my day so that after I left work an hour early, if traffic was in my favor, I would make it down in Culver City with 10 minutes to spare, 10 minutes that I would use to brush my teeth, use the restroom, fluff up my hair, and purchase four bottles of juice. Hey: in a perfect world, it could be done. But yesterday traffic was hell because Culver City - my home, the town I would move back to in an instant if given the chance - is congested, crowded, overpopulated: the street lights are in cahoots. There are just too many damn people living in MY town. Anyway, I pulled into the parking lot of Ralph's at about 6:01 - pulled in next to Howard, also from flute choir, who was just pulling out (smart man lives about three minutes from the school). I dashed (yep, I dashed) into Ralph's, headed over to the juice section (hoping they hadn't remodeled again since the last concert; they do that periodically and then I waste 10 minutes wandering around the story wondering why the bottled juice isn't next to the sodas and bottled water), grabbed my four bottles, bought 'em, and dashed back out to the car.

And then I drove on over. Now, the school where we perform isn't the elementary school I attended (I went to El Marino and El Rincon. El Marino was perfection; El Rincon took a lot of getting used to), but still, we've been playing there for awhile: I know where it is and could find it blindfolded (I miss the days when the flute choir would play at Robert Frost Auditorium. Now that place is fucking awesome. Rent "Sleeper" if you have no idea what I'm talking about. Also, I can't believe there are no freakin' photos of it on the Internet. I may have to remedy this and bring a camera next time I'm in Culver City) and it's just next door to where we rehearse... but I missed the turn. No biggie, in fact, it's safer to take the next block anyway (there's no light at that first left turn onto Farragut), but being late was a bad idea. So if you saw me seemingly wandering around Culver City at 6:05 last night, no, I wasn't lost, I was just, ahem, taking the scenic route.

Anyway. If you're still reading this, well, you must really be bored tonight, because this has to be the lamest story I've told in ages. How much worse can it get? I don't know, let's try.

So we worked it out. We rehearsed in our regular location, and then headed over to the cafeteria. The kids cleared out at about 7:30, which gave us a bit of time to set up the treat table, but no time for a sound check (which we needed). We started about 15 minutes late, which is about the same delay on Sunday nights at City Garage, while we wait for all the old ladies to pee. Patrick didn't go last night - his friend's blues band was playing on the west side and so, having been to at least 10 years (and probably more) of holiday concerts, he got a pass. But my friends Paul and David attended, with their significant others (Paul with Cristina, a very sweet girl I've met a couple of times but never really talked to; I'm looking forward to getting to know her. Also, her dad plays the flute, and so we tried to talk her into talking him into joining us. He might do it). David was with his wife Susan and their friend Jenny Mack (I always have to say her full name. Otherwise I don't know who I'm talking about. Jenny is a completely different person than Jenny Mack. And of course I take great comfort in saying, "Jenny Mack is a detective down in Texas" every once in awhile. I don't overdo it). Seeing the five of them at what is always potentially a very annoying concert (see how many times we can say "merry christmas!" in a song!), with generous, happy, open faces: they made my night. Also, I know they love the treats, especially the fried chicken. Note to David and Paul: I can buy you some fried chicken. But I'm very glad they went. Unfortunately my feet were killing me, I was tired, hungry, and a bit spacey. I actually got a little woozy at one point, and considered sitting down (that would've been interesting). I think this is not the first time this has happened. I need to be mindful of this and figure out why it's happening.

Work today was busy, full of meetings and errands with my boss. She took me to Johnny Carinos for lunch, and it was great. The wedge salad was practically perfect (minus all the bacon, which, surprisingly, I wasn't that into). I'll definitely go there again.

Tonight I drove back down to Culver City, same time, and traffic was surprisingly light. Go figure. I stopped at my parents' house to drop off my sister's laptop, where my father insisted I have a bowl of soup with them. And then headed to a rehearsal. My flute teacher is having a workshop this weekend, and even though I'm taking a well-deserved break, I'm supposed to play in the big ensembles with everybody, which I was excited about. It was all fine for 45 minutes, and then my cell phone rang.

Things you need to know: I hardly ever take my cell phone with me when I go places. Usually I leave it in the car. I hate to be that person who gets an obnoxious phone call in class or a restaurant. I'm not that important that I need to be accessible all the time. And to tell you the truth, unless I'm speaking with a couple of exceptional people, I don't really like talking on the phone all that much. And the people who need to find me know where I am, and how to contact me in an emergency. But for some reason I threw it in my pocket when I went in and there it was. So we're rehearsing a very silly rendition of "Carol of the Bells" (which always reminds me of horror movies) when I hear my phone buzzing, across the room. I go to pick it up, and it's City Garage. Wondering where the hell I am.

So I had to pack up my flute, my stuff, and get my butt to Santa Monica from Culver City in 15 minutes. And surprisingly, I did it. Yes, I caught myself going 90 on the 10 at one point (and the only reason I noticed it is because some asshole was tailgating me and I looked down to see if I was going too slow. Um: nope), but then I fixed it by slowing down, getting over, letting him pass, and then getting back in the fast lane. When I got off the freeway, apparently my "I will find a parking spot, I will find a parking spot" chant worked (usually I say it with the emphasis on "find," so it sounds like this: "I will find a parking spot, I will find a parking spot"), because I parked in Parking Structure #3 (right next door to the theatre) instead of somewhere further away (and free) on the street. And: I ran. I do not run, but tonight, I ran.

I feel bad that I missed out on the rehearsal, but there was a houseful of paying customers wanting to see a great show, and even though the mix up with the night off wasn't my fault, I would've felt terrible. The backups weren't available, and I could be there. You could be there, too - what the hell are you waiting for? You have five more chances before it's too late. I'll be there tomorrow, and then all next weekend.

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