I guess me and Mark, my boyfriend, are sort of growing apart. He just moved in to a little house over in University Heights, and he is hardly ever here anymore. We still talk on the phone, but things are just, different.
So it came to no surprise to me that last night, instead of seeing a show with Mark, I saw a show by myself, because Mark was at a different show. We just have totally different taste. Though we both love Wilco and the Dandy Warhols and The Who, I’m a little bit Britpop and he’s a little bit Alt-Country. Last night Mark went to see Bob Dylan, and I went to Hollywood to see Clinic. Clinic are from Liverpool, and they are really, really weird. They have a totally unique sound and a sort of crazy energy with blasting piano and what I like to call Chris Isaak guitar. I had to go see them – it was mandatory.
Made sales calls all day, and then went and checked in to one of my favorite Hollywood places, the Best Western Hollywood Hills. I poured a glass of wine and turned on the five o’clock news because the L.A. news shows are so tabloidy it cracks me up. (Once I watched a segment where, during the holiday season, an escalator in a mall sucked up some people’s limbs, and there was mass destruction. I am serious.) There was a little bit on the escalating price of gas, and everyone interviewed had an SUV. One woman said, “well, my husband and I both drive all day for work, so there is nothing we can do about this…” Yes, there is, you silly cow. BUY A SMALLER CAR.
Anyway, after the news I went downstairs to my favorite place in Hollywood, the 101 Coffee Shop and ate a BLT and corn on the cob. I don’t know how they make that corn so good. They put this lime chili stuff on it, and it is seriously the best corn in Southern California, if not the world.
This left me at about 7:30 with some time to kill, so I went out into the night. I stopped by the Frolic Bar to have a cheap drink before getting raped by the cost of drinks at the theater. I ordered up an Absolut Mandarin and soda, and it tasted vile, like stale limes. There was a lime in my drink, and I fished it out. I have this little problem with my face, or making faces. Sometimes I make faces even when I am not aware of it – like a nervous tick. So the bartender comes over and asks why I am making a face. “Too limey!” I say. (The point being, if you are ordering Mandarin vodka, you want it to taste like orange, NOT lime.) “More soda?” he asks. DUDE. “No…” I say. “More vodka?” he says. Now that’s more like it!
I am such a picky, pain in the ass date.
The Frolic Room was sort of boring, so I left and headed to the Henry Fonda Theater, figuring I might as well check out the opening act. In line at Will Call, there was a couple behind me who did not look like the types who would like a band like Clinic. They reminded me, looks-wise, of Larry and Cheryl David from Curb your Enthusiasm. The guy even tried to be funny. As I pushed my confirmation from Ticketweb towards the box office person, he said “Ticketweb? Do you ALWAYS get your tickets from Ticketweb?” Huh? What kind of inane question is that? “Uh,” I said to Mr. Funny, “only when that is where the tickets are sold.” “Are they the same price?” He says. Ummm… what are these people doing at a Clinic show?
Thankfully, the bar was not far away. The bartender made me a rockin’ Mandarin and soda (Grey Goose this time) but for NINE dollars! Add a two dollar tip to that one, and it is shaping up to be an expensive evening. Damn, I had sort of forgotten what an expensive date I am.
The opening act, Sons and Daughters came on, and they were really good. They were sort of twangy and after awhile I realized, they were totally into Johnny Cash. The guitarist was SO into what he was doing – he kept staring violently into the audience during his solos. It was pretty damned hot, let me tell you.
After they were done I made my way to the rail because I hate having to look at the back of people’s heads during a show. There was a guy there, arms stretched out, saving a big space for someone. “Can I squish in?” I asked him. “I won’t take up too much room.” He had promised his friend not to let go of this space, and I totally understand because I always make people guard rail space when I am at a show. He let me in, though, so I offered to buy him a drink. Please, please don’t order a call drink, I thought, and was pleasantly surprised when he only wanted a Coors Light. That, and another drink for me, was only $13.
Eventually the friend of the rail space saver came back. She was a young hot thing who met the bass player from Clinic after the last show and got to go backstage. She told me the show would be weird, but like me, had some trouble describing Clinic. “They are really… antiseptic, on stage,” she said. Hmmm. Well, I understand how it is hard to find the right words.
Finally Clinic came on and something like forty minutes later they were gone. Just like their records, frenetic and bizarre. But I think I psyched myself up too much, because in the end it was disappointing. Even with their surgical masks and brown scrubs, Clinic were just Not Weird Enough. A great band, definitely in the studio, and I am sure they have put on some really amazing shows. But I longed for the intensity the guitarist for the Sons and Daughters had.
I could have hung out with Girly Girl and her friend, but instead I split – I am always nervous about possibly meeting the band, because I sound like such an idiot when I talk to musicians. I went back to the Frolic Bar, for no better reason than it was just too early to end my date. After a couple sips of another really nasty drink, I was like what the hell am I doing here? This drink SUCKS. Luckily I had some Doug Margerum Rhone Blend, half a corn on the cob, and some cold sweet potato fries back in the room.
Let’s just say, today I am sort of recovering. One last note, one more HUH? When I checked out, my hotel bill was $87, and I handed the hotel guy a $100 bill. He asked, “don’t you have anything smaller?”
HUH?????