|The Blog|| |
|"I'm Not Very Famous"|
posted February 27, 2006 @8:46p
Last night's Los Angeles trip ended up being pretty uneventful. Dinner was the highlight.
I dined with some famous people at my favorite sushi joint in the world, Sushiya on Sunset. It's out West a bit, right beside Le Petit Four. It's so fresh and delicious, I'm always pleased with my order. I highly recommend it.
The seating is a sort of "community" seating - long tables, side by side with strangers. I overheard a conversation of the two people seated beside me. I say "overheard," but our legs were touching, so it's really unavoidable.
Girl: "...It's really not like that. He really didn't know who I was. You can tell when people haven't heard of you. You know you can... ya know?"
Guy: "He didn't KNOW who YOU were?! WHERE is he from?? Are you sure??"
They were discussing the implications of welcoming people into your life (when you're well-known) when you never really know what a person's motive is.
I had ordered Tom Kha Kai (a Thai soup), and up until this point, it was splendidly amazing. I was enjoying every spoonful. But there was an item in it I hadn't tasted yet. I couldn't identify what it was. Was it a round piece chicken? A mushroom? Maybe...
I finally popped it in my mouth and starting chewing.
Chewing up that nasty trash was the longest two minutes of my life. It was the most disgusting, horrible, vile tasting thing (besides mayonaisse) I have ever eaten. Ever. It had a consistency similar to that of a water chestnut, but the flavor of... well, the only way to describe it is this: imagine a really old nasty dumpster with thick black sludge covering the bottom of it. Now imagine somebody climbs in, pours Lysol on the sludge to soften it, then scrapes a big chunk of it out and puts it in some soup.
That's what it tasted like.
I don't know how it's flavor didn't escape and ruin the whole soup, but it didn't.
Once I finally swallowed that piece of evil, I called the waitress over and asked her what it was. She answered, as if I should have known, "oh - you're not supposed to EAT that."
What?? If I'm not supposed to EAT it, WHY was it in my SOUP?
I asked, "what's it called? Is something bad gonna happen to me? Am I gonna I die?"
She answered, "I don't know what it's called, but... I don't... THINK you'll die, no. You should be fine."
That wasn't convincing enough for me.
So I decided to ask the famous people if they thought I'd die. Think of Will Ferrell doing his impression of Harry Carry saying, "hey... famous people,... do you know what this thing is in my soup? And if it were in your soup, would ya eat it?"
They didn't know what it was, but agreed it should NOT be in my soup. We ended up talking for awhile... about good restaurants, New York pizza joints and the pros and cons of LA. They asked me about Tennessee and rafting in the mountains, so I had to share the story of my having to be rescued by park rangers during my last tubing excursion.
We discussed music, and how best to get heard. Talked about fashion differences between the east and west coasts. I even coined a new term to describe people that talk about themselves incessantly: they're "pulling around a ME truck." Actually, it was an accidental coinage (I misunderstood what the famous girl said), but I'm taking credit.
I ended up getting back to the hotel pretty late, after having stayed awake 28 hours straight.
This afternoon, a guy gave me two tickets to the new Bruce Willis movie. I went to the theater, but I decided to watch... something else.
That's right, it was "Walk The Line."
Now I try to convince myself that by this point, I'm just going to see it because the number of times I have is starting to be pretty funny (currently eight times).
But I don't think that's the real reason...
...By the way, somebody do the math on that. Eight showings, with at least a large drink and some candy each time. I'm pretty sure I could have bought an old Volkswagen with the money I've spent. Anyway...
I've never been a big fan of Johnny Cash. And honestly, I don't walk away from the movie any more of a fan than I was. The movie is not really about Johnny Cash or his music. It's about a fragile man who messes up. Often. He lives in his head, and most of the time is, at best, oblivious of his surroundings. He's unintentionally self-destructive, and feels that deep down, he's really nothing to anybody.
I relate to that.
But don't worry, the movie isn't totally depressing. If you haven't seen it, there is some hope.
It's raining, I'm exhausted, I'm medicated, and I'm tempted to ramble. I'm off to find a place to perform under these perfect conditions.
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