Outside Myself

(now with 100% more pictures)

Seeing your life through someone else’s eyes can be illuminating or depressing. When I look at the changes in my life over the last several years critically (because when aren’t I critical), I see someone who went from employed, living in a 3-bedroom house with the husband presumptive to unemployed, flying solo in a small 1-bedroom apartment. It doesn’t feel like a momentous transition into a delightful new world. It might seem like spectacular failure.

Enter my mother.

She came to visit. She loved it here. She marveled at everything and thinks my life is exciting and full of possibility. And the one thing she said over and over again (other than “it’s so clean here”) was “there is so much to do here all the time.”

She might not be wrong. OK, not about my life (I’m allergic to exciting); however, Los Angeles can be a fascinating place if you let it be. So this past weekend, I decided to let Los Angeles dazzle me—and it had nothing to do with celebrities.

Stop #1: The Annenberg Space for Photography: Beauty Culture Exhibit

I had stopped at Annenberg with friends last week, but I missed the beginning of the Beauty Culture exhibit companion film by Lauren Greenfield. I was intrigued enough to go back. It’s a very frank film about the beauty mega-industry and how that has impacted us all. Now I’m inspired to work on my own “beauty” project. If you live in Los Angeles and know me in real life, you should just assume I will beg you to be part of it. I can be relentless. Give in now.

Total cost to attend exhibit and film: $0
Parking: free elsewhere, but they also have validation for site parking

Stop #2: The Getty: Saturdays Off the 405

The Getty modern is a place I’m growing to love more every time I visit. When I went with my mom, we did the gardens tour: beautiful views, interesting information on how it was designed and entirely free—what could be better? Saturdays Off the 405 is a concert series that allows attendees to groove to tunes and take in the breathtaking sunset at the same time. On Saturday evening, I cruised up to the Getty to hear Charles Bradley & the Menahan Street Band (if you are into R&B/Soul head to iTunes).

While the band was a great new find for me, what I marveled at was the cross-section of Los Angeles that turned out for the concert. From the heavily pierced to the conservative Beverly Hills types, everyone was there—all colors, ages, shapes and sizes. Some were right up by the band (and wine/beer) in the museum courtyard, while others lounged by fountains or the lawns. I felt like I had discovered a new world. At last I know where Los Angeles goes on Saturday nights. Forget the clubs—the Getty Museum is the place to be!

Total cost to attend the concert: $0
Parking: Free at the Getty after 5:00pm


Stop #3: LACMA: Sundays Live (sundayslive.org)

“Sundays Live” is a weekly classical chamber music concert at the Bing Theater of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (it’s broadcast and you can pick it up on podcast). The program is “the longest-running live music broadcast in Los Angeles,” according to their website. It started in 1948. Despite that, and all the years I’ve lived here, Sunday night was my very first visit. I blame Breaking Bad for my normal reluctance to leave on a Sunday evening. That and the dread of going to a job the next day for many years pretty much shut my exploratory ways down on any given Sunday. And… sometimes football.

Anyway.

This concert featured Daniel Rothmuller (cello) and Bernadene Blaha (piano) performing Chopin: Sonata, Opus 65 and Brahms: Sonata in E minor, Opus 38. The music was sublime, as you would expect it to be as part of a long-running, well-regarded program. I listened to the first half within the theater and the second outside in the courtyard (what can I say, there is something dreamy and romantic about having the music swell around me as the breezes and fountains flow).

Here’s another thing that might surprise you: the event was packed. I now know where the people of Los Angeles go on Sunday nights. I certainly know where I’m going to be.

Total cost to attend the concert: $0
Parking: At the museum it is $10, but street parking is free

People, if you live in Los Angeles, don’t wait to see it until you play tour guide (or prepare to leave). It’s an amazing place and often the fabulousness can be had for free.

Health Tips... Or

As many of you have heard, either because I’ve been coughing down the hall or because you’ve emailed, I have been sick. We all got through the big charity event on Saturday (which turned out well, I think), and then promptly collapsed. I’ve been philosophical about it. I’m going home for the holidays next week, so I’m glad that it is not starting as I’m getting myself onto a plane. Last week would have been a disaster. So, all in all, I’ve accepted this with only slightly more complaint than a normal week—ok, that’s a little bit of a lie because I have been whining quite a bit.

I’m not good as a sick person. I’m not one of those people who really likes a lot of nurturing attention when I’m sick. In fact, I’m more like someone who needs to find an empty cave (aka my tiny, dark apartment) and lick my wounds.

I’m also impatient which makes me an even more delightful companion—unless you actually enjoy hearing how someone’s skin hurts and then you might actually find me quite charming. I have things to do, and I have no time for sick, so occasionally, I like to pretend that I have freakishly gotten over the illness in record time.

Yesterday was one of those special pretend days.

I had to go to the store. Despite the fact that I still had a fever and had just woken up from what turned out to be a 15 hour “nap”, I decided that I just had to convince myself that I was fine and get on with it.

So, I got in the car.

Dumb. Very dumb.

I got to the store without incident. I went in, got my stuff without major drama. Technically speaking, I realized that I didn’t have to go out at all because I remembered that I had already bought the thing I was looking for, but that’s not important. Now I have two.

And then I went out to my car—and noticed that it was still running. And that the keys were, obviously, still in the ignition. But the good news is, the doors were totally locked so no one could steal it.

I swear to you, I just stood there and looked at my running car completely perplexed; as though someone else had committed this act of colossal stupidity on my behalf. I looked around. No one else seemed to be stepping forward to take the blame. And I just stared at it.

Another piece of good news—I never replaced the hardtop on the jeep after it was stolen, so it is a soft top. The bad news is because the back was locked down and still full of stuff from the charity event, getting in the back was not going to happen easily. So, I very calmly, in what I am now calling a walking sleep coma, unzipped the side window.

All good right?

Yeah. Have you seen a jeep? Or better yet, have you seen me? I’m not quite 5’3” tall. The top of the tires are above my waist. So, here I was—apparently completely loopy, with a bag in my hand with stuff I didn’t need (because it would have made sense to put it down) essentially climbing my mountain of a car. The challenge doesn’t stop there because it was a back window and there is a support bar that runs across that window. Not a problem. Apparently, sleep coma girl was very flexible. I managed to angle my body above the bar, then twist and then pull my legs into the car where I very properly shut off the ignition, grabbed the keys, and unlocked the door (admittedly, there was about a minute there where I was hanging and wiggling both inside and outside the car). I continued in my “everything is fine, nothing to see here” fashion into the front seat, out the front door, so I could then re-secure the window…. still holding the bag.

Needless to say, I drove home very slowly, and did not try again until this morning. And yes, I checked, the car is off, and I have my keys.

I think we can officially declare me awesome in every possible way.

Hey, at least I didn’t text message the Ex this time.

Kate, still coughing, but on the mend, in LA

A Dinner Dare

Please enjoy the following excerpt of a conversation I had with my male friend, O, about bidding on a charity auction to have dinner with David Duchovny and Nick Lea (it’s loosely reconstructed, but you’ll get the idea).

O: “$4,000 for dinner? “

K: “Yes. But it’s for charity.”

O: “$4,000 for dinner??????”

K: “Yes.”

O: “But, you’d rather be tortured than go to dinner.”

K: “True.”

O: “You’d spend $4,000 to be tortured?”

K: “Uh…”

O: “Is someone naked?”

K: “Excuse me?”

O: “Is someone naked? As in, are you eating dinner off of someone?”

K: “Um, I don’t think David or Nick have added that to the description of the evening’s activities.”

O: “Do they expect to be eating stuff off of you?”

K: “What kind of restaurants do you go to?”

O: “$4,000 for dinner?”

K: “It’s for charity.”


Sigh. It’s very difficult to explain the temptation to other people who are actually sane, and who don’t actually face the reality of this particular enticement.

The conversation started with a simple question: what would you pay to win an auction for dinner with someone you admire (or desire)? For me, the limit appears to be $4,000. It’s probably actually much less, but $4,000 is the top of what I could justify for curiosity masked by the guise of charitable giving. It’s also the rough amount of my refund, so it’s not something that I would miss. O never did give a number for how much he’d be willing to spend on Jessica Alba (or would have spent before the engagement and pregnancy aspects arrived).

I’m curious what your number would be? If David Boreanaz, or George Clooney, or Alex O’Loughlin, or [fill in the blank here with your most appropriate distraction] were up on the block for dinner (wait, why does that sound like you are actually eating them? Yeah, that’s not right. Also, gutter minds, I can see you) what would you spend?

Oh, and before you ask, no, I haven’t bid on the auction. Why? Please let me illustrate with this handy equation:

Dinner + Stress + Night = Disaster!

There was a small problem with the eBay auction, and they had to re-list, but the high bid before that happened was in the neighborhood of $3,000, so it was within my “drop-dead-and-hide-my-face-with-shame” bidding range. But I haven’t done it. I just can’t. I seriously don’t think I’d ever live through it.

If you know me, you know that dinner is not something I enjoy doing normally, particularly on someone else’s schedule. Dinner at 4pm is a lot more palatable (pun intended) than dinner at 8pm. My body just finds food after a certain hour unacceptable even under the best of circumstances, and my life of early wake up calls has left for even less wiggle room. I mean, Wolfgang Puck catered the Leatherheads after party, and I still didn’t eat (Chloe said the food was beyond wonderful). Dinner has the potential for physical complications, so I avoid it. Bidding a lot of money on dinner seems vaguely suicidal.

Did I mention that dinner combined with stress is rarely a winning combination for me? There is more than one reason that I fear a return to dating. First dates are stressful—except for the handful of you (like the Ex) who find getting to know new people “exhilarating”. Sure, it’s exhilarating—much like being thrown off a bridge without the benefit of crash mats below, or the limited comfort of a bungee cord. If you thought my clothing dramas were bad when trying to figure out what to wear to Leatherheads (an event that was essentially watching a movie in the dark if you forget the party portion), can you imagine what I would go through in order to dress myself for something like this? Hell, I’d spend another $4,000 on possible wardrobe options alone.

Also, dating should never involve food—at least not in the early stages. Even if you love to eat and don’t risk the possibility of violently re-introducing your dinner to your date, you do risk the threat of embarrassing yourself. Who wants to embrace spaghetti on a first date? The sauce alone is a high-wire act. Ever start carving into your nice, juicy steak only to find out that your new date is a vegetarian and can barely conceal his horror?

Yes, I realize that I wouldn’t be buying a “date” with David and Nick. First off, I don’t love the idea of dating two men at once in general terms—I certainly wouldn’t be comfortable with the literal sense. Second, even in my most hazy star-filled dreams, I don’t play those reindeer games with men who are married, or are in committed relationships. Also, I’m pretty sure paying for a date is edging closer and closer to the whole “prostitution” thing which is rarely linked to charity (although now that I think about it, I bet the charity would end up with a lot of money that way). Lastly, men don’t look at me for any reason, so even if these two men were single, reality would never be that kind.

I know what you are thinking, “if you hate the idea and don’t think you’ll live through it, why do you keep checking the auction site?”

Well, it’s not like I don’t appreciate every opportunity to beat myself over the head with the possibilities. It’s only the very real chance of having to finish the event in the hospital that keeps me from clicking on that “bid now” button.

DM did bring up an interesting point: if I could live through this kind of evening then actual dating won’t be nearly as painful. That’s a hard one to argue. I could look at this as extreme practice dating. We’d have the painful elements of dating, night, inferiority complex and stress, but without the other issues like having to return a phone call, or the threat of ever seeing the date again.

I know, I know—you well-adjusted types are yelling “how do you know this would be a bad thing?” or “this could be a great opportunity to network, increasing the chances of working with these guys someday”. To all of you, I just shake my head and laugh. No amount of daily affirmations ending in “and darn it, people like me” is going to erase a few decades of ineptitude when it comes to relating to men.

Regret? Now, that could be a winner. I’m looking at a mental scale with all the dangers associated with this type of reckless hopefulness on one side and the prospect of regretting inaction on the other. And right now, they are dead even.

What would you do?

Bid early, bid often: http://search.ebay.ca/_W0QQfgtpZ1QQfrppZ25QQsassZ123Q5fgoodQ5fthings


Kate

http://www.cafepress.com/katedating
katedating@yahoo.com
http://katedating.blogspot.com/

How to Start a Mid-Life Crisis

Today is my birthday, and I’m happy to report that my mid-life crisis has begun in earnest. I find the best way to get a head start on one of these things is some sort of explosion, or mechanical (swiftly followed by a mental) breakdown. So, naturally, my birthday began when the power went out at 3:30 this morning… and then I eagerly took a cold shower when the power still wasn’t on five hours later. Not to worry, though, the power absolutely came back on two minutes after I got out.

As you may recall, the last time power failed in my neck of the woods, it was the day I found out The Ex was getting married. I’m willing to concede that my level of psychosis that day may have blown out the grid. Apparently, the rising tide of unfounded feelings of betrayal somehow contributed to the blowing up of a local transformer.

Now, while I haven’t exactly embraced this birthday (please picture my nails scraping against the precipice as I claw against the gravity pulling me ever closer to the end of my 30s), I don’t think I can be held responsible for the power outage this morning. Unless, of course, it was one hell of a dream I was having. I have only a vague recollection of both Duchovny and Clooney fighting over me (boys… boys… don’t fight. I’ll just date both of you until we work it out).

It’s not that this birthday hasn’t had some upsides: lovely celebrations with friends and The X-Files gang very generously held a press conference for me today (really, guys, above and beyond giving me new footage to obsess over… what? Had something to do with the movie, and had nothing to do with my birthday? Why are you always so negative?).

There is really only one thing that nudged me closer to the cliff: for the first time in 17 years, I didn’t hear from him. It’s not exactly a surprise: he is married, and we haven’t had contact since we said goodbye at the reunion last year. I’m not suggesting that I was looking for some romanticized gesture, but despite the fact that we’ve stopped corresponding, I still believed he would reach out—some gesture that said “I’m still out here, and I give a shit”. It’s left me feeling bereft, wondering how I managed to be relegated to just someone he used to know.

Never fear, though. I will not backslide. I will not wallow (much) in self-pity and ice cream. I will not start singing from the Gloria Gaynor songbook. I will, instead, dye my hair mid-life crisis red. I have an appointment Saturday, and I think I’m going to do it. If you know me in real life, by Saturday afternoon, you won’t recognize me. In fact, I won’t recognize me. And I think that’s the point.

Kate, planning on looking like Amy Adams by Saturday (but will end up looking like Scooby Doo’s Thelma if she stole Daphne’s wig)

http://www.cafepress.com/katedating
http://katedating.blogspot.com
katedating@yahoo.com

An LA Story

I went to the movies today with friends to celebrate my impending mid-life crisis, and I noticed some things that seemed uniquely L.A. to me.

First, what does it say about the state of our society when “no weapons allowed” is a sign on every door at the local AMC? Sure, during the great “bee” incident during the first X-Files film, I might have been inclined to start shooting, but I refrained. I had self-control. How often do people think to themselves “ooh, I’m going to see a romantic comedy, better bring the Glock”? Do the concession people routinely find people trying to stab them when they realize that a small popcorn and drink cost more than the movie? How did we get to a point where we need the “no weapons allowed” warning at the front of a theater? I know everyone’s a critic, but I think bringing ammunition is a little extreme.

The second thing I noticed today: a woman with a leashed dog. Did I mention that she was in the theater? Look, I love dogs. I’m even mildly entertained by people who bring their dogs shopping with them. Most of the malls here have outdoor elements to them, so it’s not wildly unusual. As long as they aren’t lifting their legs in Bloomingdales, I’m good. But I’ve honestly never considered bringing a pet to the movies with me. Obviously, I don’t know the dog, so perhaps he really did have a thing for historical fantasy, and 10,000 BC was a treat.

We’ve embraced small, adorable dogs. What about bigger, adorable dogs? If I want to bring a bullmastiff in, is that all good? Have we fully drawn the line at farm animals? Ponies are fine, but the cow needs to remain outside?

So, two very important tips for those of you considering trips to Los Angeles that involve local movie theaters: 1) leave the weapons at home and 2) feel free to bring your pony.


Kate, just a tiny bit giddy after seeing the Indiana Jones trailer

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http://katedating.blogspot.com/
katedating@yahoo.com