So, Fight Club. Lots and lots of fighting (doy) between shirtless, shoeless men featuring bloody noses and mouthes and faces, heads slammed into walls, etc. Hard for a gal such as me not to see the undertone of homoeroticism in the half naked sweaty grunting males who were all over each other, but anyway, Brad Pitt was hardly/barely ever shirtless, even though he was probably in his prime, looks-wise, but then, if there ever was one, this here is a dick flick (by which I mean a guy film, vs a 'chick flick'). Just want to mention that for the record I've never actually understood or necessarily agreed with the Brad Pitt as supposed number 1 uber hottie in women's minds, however I recognize he's okay looking and certainly has a fine mouth, but he's not, imo, like, hop out of your seat, jump up and down and point good looking the way he's always made out to be.)
I thought the film was stylish and clever as far as the surprise ending, and the message is certainly a good one (ie material things aren't what matters) but frankly was annoyed with all the ceaseless violence, particularly when Pitt's character fights the big bad landlord guy and spews a huge amount of his own blood into the guy's face. I mean, come on. Also, why do these men have to find release through fighting and literally sending each other to the hospital? I still don't quite get that. The message echoed Trainspotting and other films re material crap is meaningless in the end (true) and also that it's cool and hip to reject middle class ideals, and also to do 'rebellious' things such as urinating into people's food before you serve them in a restaurant. Or to take off your seatbelt and remove your hands from the wheel and let the car drift into the oncoming lane, and then off the road into a ditch after rear ending another car. All of these things are like, so badass, man.
The message that the world sucks, that we are all forced to be robots in order to acquire stuff we don't need, and that we maybe sort of become slaves to our stuff is, again, hardly new or original, and I think if there's a downfall to the film, it's, sorry to say, in the heavy handed, 'hip' and ultimately, imo, semi-hippy-dippy way it delivers this message. Ie punching oneself or needing to be punched in order to 'feel'.
I'm willing to listen to arguments against this view, and in fact Chris and I discussed the film for probably 15 minutes after it was over. Still, even given how I'm feeling about it at present, I haven't entirely made up my mind. Chris says it took a few viewings to pick it all up, and I'd be willing to have another go at it, but I'll be forwarding through all the fight scenes, thanks. People beating the snot out of each other has absolutely ZERO appeal or entertainment or educational value for me. I'm not quite sure why or how it could for anyone.
Weirdly, I had not one, but two dreams about the film, in a row, last night. Can't remember exactly what they were about.
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Tonite is freaking Bill Maher. Night before last, Chris, Janet and I were sitting around their living room watching something when the phone rang. Janet picked it up and then handed it to Chris saying it was the Bill Maher show. Jesus! Before I arrived here, in response to Chris asking what I'd like to do, I mentioned that if it would be possible to get into the Maher show, which I love to pieces, that it would blow my mind, but I recognized it probably was a huge longshot. Years back I inquired of SNL as to how to get tickets, and learned that you have to 'apply' months in advance, and still wait outside literally all day in a long line and even then you aren't guaranteed a seat. Last thing I wanted to do was waste a whole day in LA waiting in line.
So Chris valiantly called the show just in case and reached an answering machine which simply said to leave a message. Pretty hopeless, right? Obviously not. Chris took the call and it was somebody saying they got the message and just needed a name and to confirm he was still interested and to ask how many in his party. So Chris held the phone away from his head, I was nodding mine vigorously, and Janet said she could make it out of work a bit early, so voila - we're going. Just like that. It's pretty thrilling, honestly, and I love their way of going about simply taking names and phone numbers and whoever wants in is in. Fab.
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Yesterday I took Chris' lovely Camry, managing not to scratch or damage it, to amazing Forest Lawn cemetary in Glendale, which is sort of the next down south of here. The car's GPS worked perfectly and guided me all the way there, but to a different entrance from the other day. In fact I drove all over the humongous place (300 acres) and never encountered the Old North Chuch replica building we did before.
So I decided to look up only early Hollywood people, and managed to find them all. Bogart's is private and can't apparently be accessed by the public so I didn't try. First I walked around the Mausoleum of Freedom, which I found out afterwards contained Clara Bow's remains. I did at one point notice a last name "Bow" on the wall, but because I was just wandering and not looking for anyone's name, didn't realize that might have been hers. The Mausoleum is a huge structure filled with marble, I guess you would call them crypts or tombs. Little square boxes in the walls with peoples names and dates on them. One thing I didn't quite get was the emphasis in this part of the cemetary and in the one the other day on war and warriers and patriotism and such. Is that really necessary to be beating the drums of war and waving the flag to this degree? Yes, lots of people died, and continue to die in wars we fought and fight, but people who have lived good and decent and sometimes quietly heroic lives die every single day and we don't have marching bands about it and quotes dedicated to what these people did with their lives. I'm just sick to christ of the war glorification/worship/masturbation. Totally wrong headed and nauseating.
Not to take away in any way from Forest Lawn. The place rocks - an absolute treasure - proof of best things in life being free, etc. I spent a full two and a half hours walking the magnificent grounds. If it's not an exact, 16 foot replica of Michelangelo's David ...
... it's a something like 50 foot wide mosiaic of The Last Supper. There are loads and loads of exact replicas of works of classical art and statutes and carvings all through this place.
Also the gorgeous terrain of the place - sweeping, dramatic hillscapes and views of the city and surrounding towns.
Not to mention the many churches, fountains, big old trees, etc., and signs like these:
I love cemetaries and consider it a totally valid thing to do on a vacation and even not on vacation.
The coolest thing was the old Hollywood graves. Like Merle Oberon, off by herself, somewhat ...
Spencer Tracy's was in it's own little garden area, and unlike Stan Laurel's, his plaque said nothing about him at all, didn't even list a first name, just said "Tracy" ...
Errol Flynn , I mean, how cool is that ?
But the real prize, to me, which I had to sort of work for was ...
Who was situated directly next to wife, Carole Lombard.
The two of whom were hidden away in a 'private' only room full of loads of other crypts in the marble walls. You could see the room from the hallway, but there was an iron rope thing keeping you out.
I looked around ... no one there, and no discernable surveillance cameras ... and knowing I would do no harm nor intend no disrespect, I snuck under the rope and quickly found the two of them, which I have to say was kind of a thrill. Is there a bigger icon than Clark Gable? It struck me that here I was, somebody born 30 yrs after Gone With The Wind came out, and I'm actively breaking the rules to snap a photo of the guy's grave.
Of course, as soon as I went back out under the rope to leave, there was a guy standing there - probably heard the very distinct snapshot sound the Iphone makes - and I thought, oh well, I'm busted, but it was just a tourist, who said nothing. I must have looked like a lunatic sneaking under the rope, but oh well. Not the last time in my life I'll look like a fool, I suppose.
Afterwards I got home and Chris was leaving for his doctor's appoint, so when he returned, we drove to his former house, about 40 minutes away. This is interesting. The little crack I made the other day about their being no traffic here ? We left at 5:15 and drove on two 'freeways' and there was no traffic. Nothing.
The nice thing about hanging here is that Chris and I have been able to spend a lot of time just talking. Yes, arguing about stupid shit, but mostly not. We just don't much get the opportunity just to hang, much, or just discuss life, and shit.
So anyway, this a home Chris bought maybe 8 or 10 years ago, as an investment. He rented it to various friends, and it began to not be a great investment for him after all. He was barely breaking even, and then there was the issue of brush fires. It being located on the end of a dead end street abutting the mountainside means it's in an extremely fire prone location, and in fact a fire came close enough to the place a couple of years ago to burn down the front bushes and blacken a palm tree behind in the back yard, which stands maybe 25 feet away from the place. Scary.
Chris was bringing some mail to his friend Bobbi, who was his tenant for two years and who bought the place from him. I glanced at the mail when we were driving over there, and was fascinated to see it was from the Los Angeles Fire Department Brush Clearance wing, instructing homeowners of their legal obligation to clear away the scrub from their yards. Mind you, Chris' 'yard' is something like an acre, and behind the house is straight fucking uphill. Steep!
So we met Bobbi, who was incredibly nice, and about as California as you get. She was really open and funny, full head of gray hair and two teenagers, both of whom act and do improve, as has their mother. Her son in fact has skateboarded in music videos and films, and laments that he cannot find a way to make an actual living just from his skateboarding. More opportunities in acting.
The place was huge, but not by Cali standards - 4 bedrooms, 2 baths, with a large deck out from off the master bedroom, which is where we hung out and chatted. It struck me that Chris is friends with everyone - even his tenants. Hell, even his ex tenants who screwed him over - one of whom went to the Upright Citizens Brigade with us the other night.
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Conversation with Chris about that is worth noting. We're driving to the venue and I ask about who's coming.
Chris: My Jewish friend Felix, and a few other people.
Me: Who is Felix, again?
Chris: He's the guy I went to the Klu Klux Klan rally with that time in Topeka.
So Chris, a black man, just a few weeks after moving to Topeka, Kansas, learns about a Klan rally in town on the steps of Topeka City Hall, and 1) decides to go, and 2) to bring along his Jewish friend.
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Anyway, while at Bobbi's house, Jack, her elderly neighbor across the road came outside and Chris waved to him. Jack did not at first recognize him, then did, and his whole face lit up and he shouted 'hi!!' excitedly in his southern drawl. It was really sweet, and a typical Chris story. Everywhere he lives, even just as a landlord of a house, he seems to get to know people, and they become pals.
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We ended the day with a run to a local Mediterranean spot for dinner around 7:30, then home for Fight Club. Chris and I talked about the film for probably 20 minutes after it was over - he is very animated and passionate in his discussions of it, then we called it a night.
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For the record, it's been great being here. I'm incredibly appreciative of getting up when I want, it being sunny (finally today!!), and my responsibilities being no more than getting a good angle with the Iphone when I snap yet another of several hundred pictures of beautiful and weird things. Today's plan is getting to Vroman's Books, and trying to avoid the third day in a row of Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles. This was yesterday's. Damn. Take a look at the size of that chicken!
Btw the LA Times headlines are interesting. 20th anniversary of the LA riots - hooray! Great time to be here. And Magic Johnson buying the Dodgers. Yes, the hero of the Lakers grows up to become part owner of the Dodgers. That is one cool story.
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