Idina Menzel in Concert

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"Idina Menzel, Marvin Hamlisch and the Pasadena symphony. "
(taken at The Greek Theatre)

I have the worst camera on my iPhone for these things.

Not in my house!

Ever watch the news? Me, not so much. I talked to my brother last night and he was telling me of a conversation he had with a friend.

"It's wrong to watch Fox news," said my brother.
"But it's fun," said his friend.
"That's why it's wrong. News isn't supposed to be fun."
"Fine, I'll watch CNN."
"No. They're no good either, just a bunch of technology gadgets looking for time to kill."
"Well where am I supposed to get my news?"
"BBC America."
"No way. I moved from Britain to the US to be free. I'll take News-fo-tainment, thank you."

I don't watch the news. I decided way back in the day when the news was all about how many men were dying of AIDS and how many more would. Some of those nameless people were friends of mine and it was gut wrenching. I decided I didn't need the news to make me feel bad, I could look around and feel bad. Or maybe I could look around and feel like my life wasn't crap if I could just shut out all that noise trying to bring the world of doom to my doorstep.

I'm may be somewhat of a Pollyanna (Let's play the Glad Game!) but I do know there is a world out there. I understand I can have an influence, but my range of how far that influence can reach is limited.

We lived in Los Angeles during a very famous clebrity murder trail. I refuse to write the name in my blog. I will say that since then, I never order orange juice by it's initials. I worked VERY diligently to avoid any information on that circus. By doing so, I probably still know about ten times more than people who live in Kansas and tried to keep up with it but far less than most people in Los Angeles.

I think my view on some of this can best be summed up by my sister's friend Marsha. Her son asked her who was this person was and what was going on. Everyone at his school was talking about it. I think he was 8. Her answer guides me through these troubling times of panty-less starlets and celebrity rehabs,

"We don't know him. We will never meet him. His life doesn't affect ours."

Today is a big day in Los Angeles. Helicopters everywhere. The only thing I need to know is to not go near downtown, or near his star on the Walk of Fame.
Yes, it's sad. But not as sad as when my aunt Margrete passed away. I knew her. I grew up with her. She held sway over my life and how I lived it. That guy? Sure I listened to his music. But even though he's dead, I still can. My condolences to his family, but his death doesn't really impact my life at all.

What to say about these people?
I don't watch your show. I don't live next door. I don't believe anything that happens on "reality tv" is real so I don't have any information on you that isn't filtered through a tv camera. Until you live next door I don't care what happens to you.


This one I may have fallen into the trap just a teeny bit. You see, I do watch the Daily Show with Jon Stewart.In a twisted bit of logic, her life does interact with mine. Every time she opens her mouth and gives an opinion that other people latch onto, that can have some impact on me. Perhaps that is why I took some joy in her recent crash and burn.

Best way to lead? Quit!

"Yes, I'd like a raise please."
Alright, tell me why you deserve a raise.
"I know how to lead this company."
And how will you lead this company?
"I quit."
You're quitting?
"I think it's best for the company. Please give me twice my usual salary now. Thank you."

My plan for all these people is the same as the bully on the playground. Ignore them and they will go away. If that doesn't work, kick them in the nuts and run away really fast.

Jim+Bo

Bo Derek is an idiot and I have proof.

I met Bo in 2000 when I worked on a photoshoot with her. I told me dad I got to see Bo Derek naked and he told me she was in Playboy and anyone could see her naked. I told him I had seen her naked in person in a hotel room while she changed clothes.
My dad asked me, "And?"
And she looked good. Her boobs are real. Slight dip, but nothing dramatic. Still perky.
"And?"
And she has some fine scars on her legs. Says she needs to wear hosiery to cover them up for photos. Claims they came from skateboarding as a child and horseback riding as an adult.
"And?"
And what?
"And... nothing? It didn't do anything at all for you?"
No dad. Seeing Bo Derek naked did absolutely nothing for me. If it had done something for me, they probably wouldn't have let me hang out in the room while she changed.
"Sheesh. What a waste!" and my dad walked away shaking his head.

Ms Derek also would not wear any pointed shoes. Since that was the fashion of the day we were hard pressed to find any round toed shoes. We found about three pairs in the entire city. "These are all ugly" said Bo. Yes, we thought that as well. WE also got 10 pairs of stunning pointed toe shoes. "I won't wear pointed shoes. I don't like the way they look." We pointed out that the shoes probably won't even be in the shot so that wouldn't really be an issue. "I won't wear pointed shoes. And I won't were those round toed shoes because they're ugly." And with that Bo sat down and turned away from us. So we took the Dolce & Gabanna round toe shoes (which for round toe, were quite stunning) back to the store and we scoured the city for other round toe shoes finally finding some non-descript non-designer shoes on sale and those she was just delighted with.

Gratuitous Tarzan photo.

So far, she's just an overindulged pampered star. Standard stuff. Then a few months later I read the article the photoshoot was to accompany.

From the September 2000 issue of George Magazine:

"Meet Bo Derek these days and you don't think about her firm torso; you think about her firm convictions. After the death of her beloved husband, director John Derek, two years ago, Bo, now 43, went into hiding. But this past spring, she . . . emerged a little blonder, a little thinner, and unabashedly Republican. Yet her family — and Hollywood — have given Derek less than a perfect '10' for her politics. 'My grandmother hung up on me when I told her I was a Republican,' she says.

"Derek switched political parties 12 years ago, after deciding the Democrats' 'social programs had gone too far and eliminated any incentive for poor people to be independent.' She jumped aboard the Dole/Kemp bus for the last 96 hours of their 1996 campaign, and there's been no turning back. . . .

"Friends have warned Derek to 'keep her politics to herself,' because her opinions could cost her work in very liberal Hollywood, but she says it's not a problem. 'I don't want to be seen as the poster child for the Hollywood blacklist. I'm working, and I'm not the only conservative out here.' "

Christina Valhouli, writing on "Bo Knows Politics.

Remember Bo? Born Mary Catherine Collins, she met director John Derek who was 46 years old and still married to Linda Evans. Bo and John fled the from the US and stayed in Germany to avoid John being charged with statutory rape under U.S. law due to Bo only being 16. When they returned after she was 18 they were legally married (it was her first, duh) and his fourth. They remained married until he passed away.

Bo talks on and on in the article about how she doesn't completely agree with the Republican party about gays, abortion, or other so called "values" issues. But what really got her on board the Republican party was that whole "incentive for poor people to be independent" plank they offered. Yes, because Bo has been on and off welfare her whole life and she really knows what a struggle it can be. Why she's been struggling since she started modeling in her teens living with her parents and then continued that struggle while living with her rich husband. Struggle, struggle, struggle. And this is why she is a Republican.

And that is why she is an idiot.

Wow, is my hair ever HIGH!

Buona notte Gorino!

Christopher is fabulous but still decided to "tag" me with a meme (I still can't figure out what the hell that means) wherein I must now answer questions that I would never have thought of.

1. Pick a single person, past or present, in the film industry who you'd like to have dinner with, and tell us why you chose this person.

Wow, First I only get to choose one? And my mind begins to race... I've always wanted to meet Alison Janney because I think we'd be fast friends. But that will happen one way or another I don't need a magical dinner. I love Rosalind Russel, but i think I would run into that old adage of thinking I invited Auntie Mame to dinner and then would wind up with some very selfish actor. Better Davis has her legendary dinner temperament to consider, but since I've heard a first hand story from a director who did have her for dinner I think I've gotten close enough.

So on to my actual choice, I just read a quote from him today and I've actually met him once at a big Hollywood benefit where we chatted for about ten minutes over cocktails and I blushed repeatedly and found it hard to breathe as I was so intimidated. All of this earned me the nickname "Gore Vidal's Boy Toy". So I would like to invite Gore Vidal.

2. Set the table for your dinner. What would you eat? Would it be in a home or at a restaurant? And what would you wear? Feel free to elaborate on the details.

We'd eat at my house. That way we wouldn't be interrupted by strangers. I know he has lived in Italy but I fear my Italian dishes are too heavy. We'd go French. And that means I'm going to make Lyle cook. Duck confit, prosciutto and filo wrapped asparagus, baguette, a lite salad, a cheese course, chocolate chip cookies and ice cream for dessert (something homey). Oh and numerous bottles of expensive Italian wine.

The dogs would be freshly bathed. The table cloth would be ironed. I'd hire a server for the evening. I would wear my black Prada pants, black patent loafers, a crisp white shirt with cuff links (good for conversation starting) but no tie or jacket. Wait, do I look like the waiter now? I'm changing my shirt to light blue. I'd also be obsessed over my hair. It would start crazy to look hip, then I'd freak out and make it very preppy conservative. I'd wear my black Hermes belt.

3. List five thoughtful questions you would ask this person during dinner. As if I'd be able to speak... well, I can write these down and just slide them across the table.

When I met him the first time (okay, the only time) my friend Cindy told me I should have asked him about his feud with Truman Capote. So this time I would.

I'd ask him about what drove him to buy a villa in Italy, how it felt to be an expat, and why he has returned to the United States.

I'd ask him what he thinks of the literary world today. Has it really changed from when he started. Is it like everyone childhood memories that get over romanticized in the fuzzy hindsight and things weren't much different?

I'd ask him what he would do to solve all the ills that the last 7 years have brought us and how would he go about raising the standard of the 24 hour news media world we live in.

I'd force him to dish deliciously on the entire experience of making "Myra Breckenridge".

(If you're curious about some of his answers - there's an interview with him)

4. Link back to Lazy Eye Theatre, so that people know the mastermind behind this meme.

5. When all is said and done, select bloggers to pass this Meme along to:

You can't make me do this.

Happy Valentine's Day Paula Abdul

For Valentine's day we were invited to dinner with friends of ours who have an interest in a new restaurant. Celebrity investors. Celebrity chef. Celebrity friends. The restaurant that is, not our friends.

The idea of a celebrity chef cooking in the kitchen got Lyle all hot and bothered and we had to cancel some plane tickets to be there then we would fly the next day. But it would be so worth it!

Then the writer's strike ended and The Celebrity investor had to cancel. And perhaps because of that The Celebrity Chef decided to not come and cook either. A little disappointed, we hoped at least one Celebrity Friend would show up. At last our prayers were answered - in walked Paula Abdul.
I am always dumbstruck in front of celebrities. I just go all mush mouth. And I must freely confess before I get busted that I have viciously mocked Paula in all her appearances where she seems a little, how does one say it politely?... "more than legally happy"?

In fairness to myself I almost always follow up with either a Southern style disappater of "Bless her heart," or more commonly, "Well, say what you will she has more of a career that I do."

So in walks Miss Paula. She hovers in front chatting with a few guests. Then she heads our way. Just Lyle and I. Standing apart from all others. Completely anti social outcasts.

And as she goes by she turns her head and says, "Hello."

Undaunted by celebrity, Lyle pounces and strikes up a conversation, "How are you?" And just like that, we're off and chatting!

I tell her how nice her blouse is with its red and black pattern running through it especially paired with her red leather jacket (cut very asymetrical with studs - think Thriller video). How nice it was of her to wear red for Valentine's day. Paula opens up her red leather jacket to reveal that the lining of the coat matches the blouse. That always brings out the Stacy London in me, "Shut Up!" I shout, "That's so cool!"

"Not as cool as your jacket," she tells me. Now I have to share, and I guess its a post of all true confessions by me. I was wearing my father's Black and Blue satin tuxedo jacket from sometime in the late '70s. I'd had it altered to fit about a year ago but had yet to wear it. I've seen many similar jackets back on the racks in stores this past year so I knew it was once again au current but trust me when I tell you, that for a number of years there in the middle it was also known as hideous. I paired it with a solid black shirt and black Roberto Cavali tuxedo pants (thank you H&M!). It was a great outfit. But I was warned by Lyle before going that I was to stop telling people it used to be my dad's in the 70's. All I could say to Paula was "Aw, thank you... uh, it's um, vintage."

This is the infamous jacket in the 80's worn ironically with white patent shoes and a tiny bow tie for a tacky costume party.

Then Paula moved on and chatted with others. She was kind and gracious and her date for Valentine's Day was her mother.
At the end of the evening she was leaving and I just couldn't get the courage to ask for a photo. She was so tiny and so nice. I was so disappointed that I couldn't find something crazy to write here about her. Paula if you're reading this, let's get together again and get goofy. I'd like that very much.

The Boss (Miss Ross)

On Tuesday evening we went to see Diana Ross in concert.

I had seen Diana Ross in concert many, many, many years ago in Portland with my friend Gwenda. It was an amazing show. This concert was to be the cruise group (I promise to get those posts soon). All six of us out for one last fun evening.

Except I have a cold - but I drugged up and went anyway. Diane had some stomach issue and didn't go. Lewis went, then halfway through realized he may have food poisoning and spent the remainder of the concert "very close" to the bathroom with Robb holding his hair.

That left Mickey, Lyle and I. Thank god we were in the one section of the auditorium that didn't pop up to dance to every single song. We were officially in the "old farts" seating. Good for us!

Diana did not disappoint. I can't believe how great she looked (I did not bring my binoculars) and how much she could sing. And for being somewhere in her 60's she has one high and fabulous ass.

The set she used was incredibly 80's. Her gowns seemed to be recycled from previous shows. I could have sworn it was drag queens up on stage as she seemed every bit a cliche of herself.

But who cared? it was Diana Ross!

There's a glowing review of her show on the Diana Ross fan site.

The concert was the last stop on a year long tour. Mickey and I had been crying off and on through most of the concert. I can never hear the theme from "Mahogany" and not cry. And for some odd reason "Aint no Mountain High Enough" got me right after. Mickey and I held hands on Lyle's lap and I passed out Kleenex. At the end of the show she told the audience that her father had passed away early that morning and she and her family would be flying to Detroit immediately after the show. It was all quite moving.

Lyle thought the dress she wore for the songs from "Lady Sings the Blues" was his favorite.

California Jade(d)

There was an Earthquake last night. Well technically early this morning. At about 2 am. I was on my way to bed and was in the bathroom.

First thought: Why is that dog scratching so hard that it shakes the house?
Second thought: Uh-oh, earthquake?
Third thought: UH-OH. EARTHQUAKE!
Fourth thought: I don't want to die in the bathroom. That would suck.
Fifth thought: Huh. That's all? No biggie.

Turns out it was a 4.2 which is really just a "truck passing" on the Jim scale.

The Jim Scale of Earthquakes:
Someone heavy walks by in an old building.
Large truck drives by outside.
Bottles rattle in kitchen.
Train drives by a few blocks away.
Train drives by on nonexistent track in front of house.
Train hits house.

So then I wondered if it was perhaps bigger somewhere else, say, further away. And I went and looked for it online. Even the news media are nonplussed by it. Here's the top stories.

It's last. After two celebrity stories and a beauty queen.

Rufus! Rufus! Rufus!

The Hollywood Bowl goes Over the Rainbow.

On Sunday we saw Rufus Wainwright perform Judy Garland's 1961 Hollywood Bowl Concert. Strange concept. Very intriguing. We were trying to get four terrace level box seats, but since I drug my heals, we wound up in the Benches. The joke of that is that for the price of ONE seat in the terrace box level, we had four seats and parking for one dollar more. YAHOO!

I won't bother to give a review of the concert. Many others have done that better than I can.

I likes me some Judy Garland. I'm not a crazed fan. I likes me some Rufus Wainwright. But again I am no crazed fan. I can tell you that some people seemed disappointed that Judy didn't show up. I say go see and impersonator. Some thought Rufus' voice sounded tired and there were times on some song endings where his voiced seemed to give out.

It seemed to bring home the point of how amazing must that original performance have been. At three hours of non-stop singing and you know Judy Garland was still belting them out. Murder I tell ya'. Murder.

What I enjoyed the most was the one of a kind experience it was. Rufus is doing this mini-tour recreation of the original tour. New York at Carnegie Hall, London at the Palladium, Paris at the Olympia and finally in Los Angeles at the Hollywood Bowl. I am always up for one of those "Only in LA" type of experiences, though in this case it was actually "Only in New York, London, Paris and LA" I still wanted to go. (the Carnegie Hall album and DVD will be available in stores December 4, 2007 - you know I'm getting that.)

I knew from reading a little in advance that he should at some point come out in the classic Judy Garland wardrobe for "Get Happy" which is a double breasted black tuxedo jacket,a black fedora and fishnet stockings. After he allegedly had sung his last song bu the orchestra was still on stage, I told my little group to stay put, they were going to love the encore. And sure enough he did not disappoint.

Judy "Gets Happy"

Rufus "Gets Happy"

So I enjoyed the spectacle of it all. I loved the part where he went out into the audience and gave Debbie Reynolds a kiss. I loved that he brought out his performing mother and sister and included them. I loved seeing Lorna Luft (Judy Garland's daughter) perform and being able to close my eyes and hear Judy Garland on the stage. And in the end I'm glad we bought our $22 tickets and not the $100 tickets because then I can do more things like that.

Debbie Reynolds gets a hug from Rufus.

Lorna Luft and Rufus Wainwright.

This is a mini-movie I made with low quality images from my cellphone video camera. Clearly I added the soundtrack.

Here are some much better video's shot by other people:

Rufus Medley from glass on Vimeo.



Zing! Went the Strings... from glass on Vimeo.



Over the Rainbow (partial) from glass on Vimeo.

That was all fun and great, but now for the most interesting part. The stacked parking lot at the Hollywood Bowl. There were two lanes of cars parked between a green strip of grass wrapped in concrete curbs with Palm trees spaced in the middle close enough that you could not drive a car between them. In Stacked parking, no one goes until the cars in front are occupied and leave. You know this when you pull in. Oh well, such is the parking at the Hollywood Bowl.

Except for the Asshat in the minivan three cars back and one lane over.

Since we had been sitting for about three hours, when we got to our car and found no one in the four cars in front of us, I said, "No point in getting in the car and sitting some more. Let's just hang out here next to the car." A common sentiment around us as three other groups of people waited around their cars next us.

Then the minivan man flashes his lights and sticks his head out his window, "COME ON! LET'S GO!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR?"

Mostly the groups of people glance up then sort of laugh it off. He gotta be kidding. Right? Too bad he's not really funny.

Then he repeats his light flashing, shouting tirade. This time accompanied by honking his horn.

Oh my God. He's serious.

So I walk back three cars and ask him what he wants us all to do? "MOVE YOUR CARS!"

"Well that would be great!" I tell him, "Did you bring your car jack that lifts 3 ton cars and moves them to the other side of the parking lot? Or are you just so big and burly that you're going to come out of that car and he-man lift them all by yourself. We're not all just standing around for the love of standing. We have to wait for the cars that are in front of us, just like you do. So if you have some magic powers that the rest of us don't have, be my guest and come on down."

To which he responded, "Oh I'd like to 'Come on down' for you sweetie." with a slight mocking tone. To which I replied, "I don't think you'll ever be man enough to do that!" as I walked away.

I got back to my group of friends and asked them if they would tell me if he was getting out of his car with a crowbar and walking towards my back. They promised they would.

A minute went by and a man approached from behind nearly scaring me, "I just have to tell you, that was brilliant. Thank you." and he went back to his car which was parked next the the Asshat.

We continued to wait for the cars in front to be moved by their owners. Still not enough had arrived to free us. Then the lane behind us started to open up. The last car left, the next car left... but still one car was sitting behind us keeping us from a reverse exit. Oh well, what can you do. We started chatting to the people around us as we were out of topics to discuss amongst ourselves.

By now the lane next to the minivan was open but neither car in front of him nor behind him had come to drive away. Stacked parking has attendants that encourage you to pull in as tight as you can so they can fit one more car, one more car, one more car at the end.

But the minivan believed he could get out.

He started inch forward, turn wheel, inch back, turn wheel other way. Inch forward, turn wheel, inch back, turn wheel other way. This was going to be a lengthy 18 point turn. Then on inch forward and back number 16, he thought he could skip a step and pulled forward past the car in front... or rather he thought he would but instead scraped the hell out of the back bumper of the car in front. Then continued to jockey back and forth.

This did not sit well with the witnesses. One man from the car next to us reached into his car, got out his camera cell phone and went over to eh minivan and took a close-up photo of his license plate.

"What the hell are you doing?"
"If you aren't going to leave your contact info, I will." said the camera man.
"I didn't even hit it!"
"How would you know? You never got out of your car to check. Even Britney Spears got out of her car to check!" Which of course you must have figured out by now, that a Judy Garland Tribute concert there were in fact quite a few gay men waiting for their cars to be unblocked. Gay men love a good Britney in trouble reference.

So the man got out of his car to come and check the damage to the front car's bumper. He deems it just minor dust disturbance. And his wife shouts that he doesn't know how to drive and she will now be taking over. She gets out of the passenger side, wobbles, then staggers to the driver's side and revs the engine.

"Oh my god, she's hammered!" says Lyle.

She pops it into reverse, jumps the curb behind her, pushes on the palm trees (which luckily stopped her from going into other traffic) then swings the car hard around to ram into the front of the car the used to be behind her. Hell yeah,she's the better driver! She made a much louder noise!

With no intention of leaving anymore information this time either, the husband goes to get in on the passenger side and the pair of them will make their getaway. Except for all these pesky people who've been watching. The mob drags over a parking attendant who has been watching but from a distance. As if to protect himself from becoming involved.

Mob member #1: You need to stop them!
Mob member #2: Don't let them drive away!
Mob member #3 (to different attendant): You! Go get the police!

And the mob steps into the van's way and the parking attendant walks over to tell the man that he's going to have to wait where he is.

It takes longer than it should to get the police there. They are standing at the base of the driveway (about 500 feet away) and seem reluctant to step away from watching traffic drive past them. But finally one officer arrives,then a second. The drivers are both removed from the minivan and it is discovered neither one has brought their license.

Now the owners of the scraped cars return. Cameraphone photos are sent and finally the drivers of the last car behind us has arrive. Except that blasted van is now blocking our reverse escape!

Lyle tells the police to move the van. The protest that it is now a crime scene and can't be moved. Lyle tells them that the crime happened one lane over and the van has already been moved so why not let all the nice people who did their job of holding the drivers leave by the reverse escape route and the police finally agree.

As we are departing, one friend in our car is chanting "Cuff 'em! Cuff 'em! Cuff 'em!" and I make Lyle promise to lock the windows so he can't shout that as we drive by.

So, to the Asshat who was in such a hurry that he thought he could do a 36 point turn and leave after the Rufus Wainwright concert, I hope those 15 minutes you thought you could save were worth the night you probably spent in jail Smart one.

Bassey Belts

A few years back I was watching a concert/documentary with Shirley Bassey (as the subject, not sitting next to me on the sofa), and Dame Shirley Bassey refers to a review someone wrote about her in which they said, "Bassey Belts." I've always thought that would be a good name for a line of pant cinching instruments.

In 2006, Marks & Spencer in Britain had an ad campaign with Shirley Bassey singing Pink's hit "Get This Party Started." It was BRILLIANT.

I've been wishing I could own it ever since then... and now we all can. Miss Bassey has released a new album. Sort of. One new song and a bunch of remixes. I don't care. I must posses it.

Oh, and our dear girl Shirl is 70. I've got to discover her secret...

Catching up part 2

After my post of 8 things you may not now about me, the Clever Fool asked me to elaborate on number 8 - Some of the nicest people I know work in porn. Some of the scariest as well.

Well this is LA. One night, drunk off my ass and getting more drinks at the bar I turned around and literally ran into a guy in a white tank undershirt (much like the shirt in this blurry photo of him), spilling some of my precious vodka cranberry on him and his shirt. “Hey, you almost ruined my shirt,” he smiled as he said it. I’m so sorry, I can see it’s designer and if you'd like I can give you $5 to go buy another. Yes, drunk and bitchy at a gay bar, imagine. He told me only his friends were allowed to mock his poor taste in cheap clothing.

A bit later, my friend and I stumbled closer to him and his group of friends. He looked up and pointed me out, "That's the guy that made fun of my shirt." His friends applauded and invited me over to meet them. That's when I discovered one of his friends was a photographer and he worked with my boyfriend. We were now close enough to mock him in person. I asked him what he did for a living, and he told me, “I’m Matt Bradshaw.” Uh, that’s a nice name, but what do you do for a living? “I’m Matt Bradshaw. That’s what I do for a living.” Turns out he was a porn actor. His real name was revealed and also that he cuts hair as his day job. Over the course of the next year I’d see him out, at parties and even met up with him out one night to show my out of town friends what a variety of interesting people I knew in LA. After living in LA for about 6 years, I have to say he was one of the most genuine and honest people I had come to know. Once I stopped drinking every and going out every night (I still drink, I still go out, just not EVERY NIGHT) we didn’t see each other nearly as much.

Me and Miss Kaylani share an intimate moment...

In another incarnation, I have been a wardrobe stylist. One off shoot of being a wardrobe stylist is the interesting people you get to work with. For instance dressing porn actresses. And of the 8 -12 I have met and dressed consistently, I keep about 4 in my cell phone and manage to see them at least twice a year. VERY interesting perspectives on life can be gleaned from this group. Let me gratuitously drop a few names to increase strange traffic to this site from search engines, Kaylani Lei, Stormy Daniels, Sydnee Steele. No, I have not dressed Jenna Jameson. Yes, I have met her once. But it was no big deal. Well, not to me.

Miss Stormy Daniels just won "Best Breast" at the F.A.M.E. awards...
I have no idea how

Have you noticed that in the last few posts all my shirts in the photos are so bright and bold? What's up with that? I swear my usual uniform is a white v-neck T-shirt. That's what I am wearing right now. That is my default. I guess I knew I was getting a few of those photos so I may have reached about in the closet for something a tad more glamour...

Catching up with me.

So many little things to clarify, answer or share. Here's one.

Two weeks ago we went to see Madame. As in Wayland Flowers and Madame, except that Wayland Flowers passed away about 16 years ago, so now it’s Madame with Joe Kovacs. It was held at M Bar and Restaurant in Los Angeles. It was a dinner show and so we ordered dinner. What a mistake. It was like Chef Boyardee had served up some ravioli and to compensate for the lack of ingredients in the food, he went crazy with garlic. Common wisdom is that if you eat garlic, you become immune to its odor. And it is said that if you are going to have garlic, everyone at the table should have it, that way you will all become immune together.

We ate Friday night. I was still apologizing on Sunday. Ugh.

Back to Madame. There were three portions to the show. Madame’s entry and opening monologue. Then came a different puppet, Crazy Mary. Finally Madam returned and closed the show. Mercifully.

The opening was alright. I kept thinking I really enjoyed the original Madame and wondered how close this performance was to that. In my mind it was falling far short.

Turns out it was incredible close to the original. Apparently we were younger and simpler then.

Then out came Crazy Mary. AWFUL. So bad that the refrain “whore toe” rang in my ear longer than the garlic stayed on my breath.

Back came Madame and I began to wish I did heroin or LSD. Anything to make this performance funny. Show over, we ran for the exit and I managed to dodge meeting Madame on the way out. AS you must be fully aware, it’s a rare day I dodge any sort of celebrity meeting chance. Yeah, that bad.

Wonder(ful) Woman

Wow, where to begin.

What’s that?

The beginning?

Oh Fine.

Be like that.

That's so like you...

Good friends of ours are photographers. About a month ago I received an e-mail that said “Guess who was at our studio today?” I opened the email and there was a photo of Keith and Lynda Carter. That’s right television’s Wonder Woman.

Then I am told that the photos are to promote her Cabaret Tour. And then they tell me that she is coming to Los Angeles and they are going to see her. And taking the hubby and me. And we will get to go backstage after and meet her.

I plugged in my camera battery to start the charge.

When you think of Lynda Carter you think Wonder Woman. However she did win the title of Miss World USA representing her home state of Arizona in 1972 with singing as her talent.

So let’s get past all that and get to tonight!

If you are ever going to refer my blog to someone, perhaps this should be the time. I can’t imagine I will have many posts so celebrity laden in the near future. Yes, I know I live in LA. Yes, I do take celebrities for granted. And to be fair, I am horrible at recognizing celebrities and getting their names right. Unless they are from my childhood.

So we begin with Florence Henderson walking in with Freda Payne. They stop by the table to be introduced to our photographer friends. When the name “Freda Payne” is said out loud, my head explodes with her hit “Band of Gold” and I break out in goose pimples. When she shakes my hand and says hello, I nearly jump out of my seat.

As she and Florence walk away I keep gasping, “Freda Payne! Freda Payne!” and pointing to my arm awash in goose flesh. My kind friends point out “And Florence Henderson.” Yes, but you can expect to run into Florence Henderson, you never think you might run into FREDA FUCKING PAYNE.

I am now on seriously high celebrity freak out alert.

I have been in this situation before. I was introduced to Gore Vidal at a benefit a long time ago and he introduced me to his “dearest and oldest friend Betty. Betty Bacall.” More familiarly known as Lauren Bacall. I stammered. I stared. I think I forgot to close my mouth and drool slid out. I took a photo (with my own camera) for a friend, of her sandwiched between Gore and Betty. I could not bring my feet to move forward and get a photo of myself with the two of them. I am a celebrity cripple.

So as to hide how badly I want to rush forward and grab them and explain every moment of my life they may have influenced, I hang back. I nod politely. I speak nothing. If you know me, you know that is RARE.

So Flo and Freda have gone to their table. Next in the door is Bruce Vilanch. That Muppet scares me so I am able to remain calm as he passes by.

I am seated with my back to the door. My seatmate’s eyes all light up and they say, “Who is that? Jim, turn around you’ll know.” I casually turn my entire body to view the door. OHMIGOD. It’s Joan Van Ark! Joan Van Ark! Joan Van Ark! Yes, I actually did repeat it three times as I wiggled in my seat to keep myself from bolting directly at her.

I loved Knots Landing! If Michelle Lee or Donna Mills had followed her in I would have been forced to stand up and squeal like a girl. Will Joan be seated over on the other side with Flo and Freda? It's seems to be the celebrity side. That's where they took Bruce off to. No. Joan will be seated DIRECTLY BEHIND ME. I think I wet myself a little.

Then another woman came in to join Joan’s table. Slightly older, a little harder to recognize. The table once again asks me who it is. I can’t place her without staring. And I am so overwhelmed with celebrity reluctance I can’t bring myself to stare. After she is seated with Joan Van Ark. Oh my god, JOAN VAN ARK is still sitting RIGHT BEHIND ME. I hear the other woman’s voice. In that instant I had my answer.

I leaned in to my table and whispered loudly over the music, “Renee Taylor. Fran Drescher’s Mother on The Nanny. I. LOVE. HER.”

Finally the lights dim. Thank god I won’t be able to see any more celebrities enter as I did not being an extra pair of underwear and it is seriously all I can do to commit to doing some Kegel excises right at the table to keep from wetting myself.

Lynda Carter sings for about an hour and a half. She is surprisingly impressive. Her voice reminds me of Linda Ronstadt but not quite the same full range. Her stage presence is very personable. She seems almost selfless in her banter. Favorite performances, Patsy Cline’s “Crazy”, the jazz number based on a Charlie Parker solo “Cloudburst” and finally a number made famous by Rita Hayworth “Put the Blame On Mame.”

Near the end of the show Lynda graciously announced all the other celebrities in the audience and I was shocked to find out I had missed some. Les Moonves and his wife Julie Chen (I thought that Asian woman looked familiar). They were seated at the table in front of us with Lynda's husband and two children. Hi Les! Hi kids! Hey Chen-bot!

Les Moonves and Julie Chen (not how they looked tonight)

Gospel, jazz and blues singer Linda Hopkins who’s sequined jacket I had been eyeing all night trying to figure out why I was staring at that sequined jacket on that woman. Another singer, Andrea Marcovicci who in the dark I had wondered if it was a young Cloris Leachman (but then I also wondered how did Cloris get that time machine working so soon?). And all the rest of the people I mentioned earlier, thus confirming it really was Renee Taylor seated right behind me with Joan Van Ark (JOAN VAN ARK! RIGHT BEHIND ME!).

After the show was over, we were escorted back to the green room where Ms. Carter had gone to change. Funny, the room was actually painted green. I hate the color green on walls. I could never work in that kind of hostile green paint environment.

And finally, my dear friends and husband went to work snagging people to take photos with me because as you can already imply, I still could not speak or move or engage people (even non celebs) in normal conversation.

Without further ado, here’s my evening in pictures...

Lynda Carter looking FABULOUS after an hour and half in the hot lights up on stage.

Florence Henderson makes me look like Shrek in comparison to her petite frame. I seriously considered editing this photo to enlarge Florence and make me look normal size.

Freda Payne working her assets. Of course I told her I loved that top on her!

JOAN VAN ARK!
I think they all knew each other from the days of "Battle of the Network Stars".
I'm considering making this my Christmas Card this year. Unless I somehow magically get a photo with Cher.