Magical

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"Oh, that's so cute, you guys match."

 

We exchanged looks and smiled.

 

Not this again.

 

We look awesome.

There's just something about dressing up that lends a sense of gravity to a situation. Even if that situation is watching old men in tiny rooms perform sleight of hand on tipsy audience members. We scored a visit to the Magic Castle last weekend and it brought back all sorts of memories. Mostly multi-colored spongy memories- Mr. E's favorite trick.

 

Of course, I'm partial to spongy memories too- just before Mr. E proposed with a flash and a bang on the beach he ramped up the excitement with some sponge bunnies.

 

We laughed and danced and ate and drank our way through the crowded corners of the Castle- photography strictly prohibited, unfortunately.

 

We learned some things:

-Whiskey sours are amazing.

-Irma, the playing piano, truly knows all songs.

-Uber is the most amazing service in LA.

-People still comment on the fact that when I put on a dress Mr. E's tie is guaranteed to coordinate.

 

Like that was new or something?

Book Fair

I already had my outfit picked out in my head- black on white stripes, jeans (per usual) and Toms (also per usual) with my book-shaped locket necklace. My hair up and out of my face- perfect for windy outdoor days AND for picture taking. I didn't know who I was going to meet, or what we were going to get into, but if it's LA and it's a fair, they mean business and I would too.

We trekked through the city to USC- Mr. E's almost alma mater. It's a beautiful campus, smack-dab in the middle of one of the worst areas of Los Angeles. But that's the way the city is. You need to brave the crazy and the potentially dangerous to find the gems scattered beneath the grime. Gourmet grilled cheese? A corner of Silverlake. Biggest book fair on the West Coast? USC. And the one thing you must know for all excursions? Even if it says it's free...parking will be astronomical and mandatory. Who wants to brave the side streets and the possibility of getting your car stolen, broken into or lost to avoid paying $15?

It didn't occur to me that a book fair would be geared towards kids. I guess I'm such a kid at heart that I assumed there would be fountains of books - and there were. But we hit the kids section first. Parents and teachers, working together, pouring over slightly used copies of the kindergarten classics. Makeshift shelves with glossy brightly colored covers and pop-up books free from rips and tears. My brief disappointment (this is it?) turned to wonder as I looked up and recognized tents as far as the eye could see- around peeking around building corners and rows upon rows down paved sidewalks.

There were authors.

There were publishers.

There were bookstores and libraries and newspaper peddlers.

But most of all there were readers.

Enthusiasts of the written word. Connoisseurs of phrasing and grammar and prose. There were T-shirts and book-bags and first editions and sales of all kinds.

This was a fair I could get behind. Keep your booz-y summer fairs and your military aircraft shows. Give me a three-for-one deal from Penguin publishers and a tote to boot.

Of course, some circus animal cookies doesn't hurt either...

Ren Faire

My only regret is that we missed the "Wines and Wenches Weekend", as I can only imagine the kind of cleavaged debacuhery that would occur.

Not that we didn't already witness our fair share. (Get it?)

Yes, it's true, the renaissance faire in Irwindale is one of the biggest on the West Coast. And yes, it's true, it's also a fantastic excuse for women to dress in corsets and little-to-no shirt product. But it's also a rockin' good time.

You can't fully enjoy the faire if you are not properly attired, as their many costumed booths could attest to, but as I don't have the guts (or the boobs) for a corset, eclectic gypsy-esque it was going to be!

Mr. E and I went a little early to fully enjoy the $26/pp experience, and later met up with some friends of mine from work. Accents and feathered hats, oh my!

Forgive their expressions- they really are excited to be hanging out with me.

There were booths selling all sorts of things, from woodworking to incense, pewter goblets to glass ornaments, hair twirling, baton twirling, skirt twirling, gypsy skirts, palm-reading, jousting, and the food...Turkey legs were almost mandatory. And corn on the cob.

One of the things I love the most is how supportive everyone is. There are all kinds at the faire, and some of them take their roles or their characters so seriously I'm pretty sure that's just how they are, but they are all so sweet to one another. They laugh and call out across stalls, compliment you on your skirt or your bag or your mustache, offer their services or stop you in the middle of the thoroughfare, stomp their feet and bow "M'lady..." before whisking away, cape in hand.

Who doesn't want to get treated like a princess for a day? A princess with all her boobs in her shirt, no less...

Paint Nite

Four colors.

Five paintbrushes.

Two beers and two slices of pizza big enough for Malibu Barbie.

Paint Nite (or Sit and Sip) has been sweeping through cities like crazy- all over social media (including Groupon, Living Social and Yelp!) we've seen pictures of cheesy girl friends, clinking wine glasses in front of half-finished canvases.

It was time we joined the trend.

 Also, I have a hard time saying no to 50% off.

The website is super easy to use- you scroll through and can choose your painting based on proximity of the location, the type of painting or how hard the painting is rated. Seeing as this was our first time (and after work), we needed close by, something we wouldn't get tired of looking at, and EASY.

Turns out, easy is in the eye of the previously-painted-before.

Although there were some venues just down the street from us, we really liked the look of a particular painting, so we headed off to a little Italian restaurant (+ bar) in Glendale. We're totally coming back because those raviolis looked GOOD. The bar was big by drinking/eating standards but as soon as you throw in a 2x3 canvas at each place setting, cups, brushes, paint plates and beer, you're looking at pretty tight quarters.

Mr. E and I set ourselves up in a booth, and quickly realized that this was a class of friends. There were easily 30 people there, but it was less of a "date" thing and more of a "group date" experience.

Our instructor was sweet, had a little trouble with the feedback of her headset, but she played some good tunes in between the instructions (Don't mix your water and your drink!) and was generous with the compliments.

What I really liked about painting this way was all of the examples you had surrounding you. There was a finished canvas at the front, the instructor painted a second one with you, there were tiny examples sitting at your station and everyone else was painting the exact. same. thing. So comparison wasn't an issue- even if yours sucked (which you're not allowed to say out loud), you can bet you'll find someone worse than you.

What I didn't like? My perfectionist streak was not as thankful for the alcohol as my social butterfly self would have liked. The one beer may have loosened my inhibitions to strike up small talk, but when focusing on a certain method of brushing I could have used a little more focus.

Mr. E, suprisingly, was completely in his element. He loved the cathartic motions, mixing the colors and working to make sure that his background trees looked different from his foreground- he played with dimensions and perspective and showed a little competitive streak I didn't know his fine motor skills were capable of.

I think by far the best ending to a date has got to be: When can we do this again?

A Legacy to Leave Behind

Since we're coming up on the year anniversary of Mr. E's thesis film Ganas (and his graduation!) I thought it'd be fun to reminisce about leaving our mark on Dodge College.

 

 Don't tell my mother, but we definitely vandalized the theater.

We were sitting in one of the backrows during a screening or a class or some such, holding hands and enjoying each others company far more than we were enjoying what was onstage, when I realized the tiny gold plate on the arm rest was loose.

Inspiration struck and I stuffed that sucker in my purse.

A few weeks later we snuck in as a family to glue it back into place- so really we were maintaining the integrity of the venue, right? We squeezed our bewildered pup into my purse (she's half chihuahua, after all, she should be right at home) and walked in like we owned the place.

A phone flashlight and a bottle of craft glue later we were left with this. A legacy for future students to find and enjoy.

Let's go to the Museum

I've been to a museum or two in my day, so I was really excited to hear that LA's museums opened up their doors FOR FREE for a day. And even though we missed that day (there's always next year) it sparked an itch that only $10 could scratch.

Come to find out that the CA Science Center is free everyday, so a) science RULES and b) we made sure to go bright and early because I heard it was in the ghetto, which is actually Angeleno for next to USC. Mr. E and I reminisced about the skipped opportunity there as USC was originally his first choice for film school until Chapman knocked it out of the park.

The outside is absolutely lovely and I couldn't help think what pretty wedding pictures could be taken here. Now that I'm past all the wedding hassle, I love imagining industrial wedding venues (as opposed to the ethereal flowery type that is so often flaunted).

Inside, though? Not. As. Impressed.

 I mean, it was cool to look at all of the space things- the Endeavor (which is extra $$, so no thanks) and other space-related parts. The habitats of the world, their creatures and their patterns, the exhibit on LA and the trash we use, the functions of the body and how life evolves, changes and adapts to fit the world it lives in. But all of the exhibits felt old- the plastic was garish and the color scheme was reminiscent of a doctor's office.

In reality I was probably unfairly comparing it to the Children's Discovery Museum down the road from us in Orange. We passed that giant cube everyday and finally found ourselves on the inside one weekend. Granted, it may have been the Indiana Jones exhibit that tempted us, but we stayed for all of the gadgets and the activities. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves there, so to see the moldy too-dark rooms that LA offered was disappointing, in the least.

Like tap water when you really wanted Hi-C. At least there's always LACMA to look forward to.

Chinatown

One thing I certainly didn't expect to happen was how social Mr. E and I become once we moved to Los Angeles. We both prefer to hermit ourselves away at home, tinkering with our books and movies, but there is just so much to DO in LA we'd be remiss if we didn't enjoy it all. But sometimes the hanger takes over and you just can't enjoy yourself without food.

That's how we ate Greek fusion pitas at the Chinese New Year Parade in Chinatown.

We should have known that streets would be closed off- it was a parade after all. But we're new to this sort of thing and the streets of LA have a mischievous nature to them in the first place, full of hidden side streets and colorful expletives when you take the wrong turn. The tall buildings wink their bright windows at you in laughter and you quickly learn to avoid taking anything car-related personally.

The Catholic church we parked at was truly a haven in our time of need- both in (nearness) and in price. Any Angeleno will tell you that $8/day is an absolute steal. If we had lived any closer I would have parked our car their overnight on a regular basis. We followed the crowds down streets, around school buses, over and under bridges until we came to what we assumed was the end of the parade. The floats seemed sad and exhausted, more Mexican skirt-dancing children than dragon puppets and the ground was littered with the impressive aftermath of poppers and streamers.

We braved the throngs and walked single file against the current following the parade. I kept a firm hand on Mr. E's arm and a tight grip on my phone, trying to take pictures one-handed. I had never been to Chinatown and the shops beckoned with their foliage fronts and tiny animal cages. Would you like to buy a turtle? A song bird? Fresh vegetables out of soggy cardboard boxes? A knock-off bamboo hat, the only time Made in China makes you wonder if it's truly authentic.

We passed from restaurant to restaurant, feeling much like Mary and Joseph- driven by my midsection and turned away at the door. An hour wait was too long when you're surrounded with the smell of pork bao and chicken dumplings. The plaza was thick with people, but what struck you most of all was the color- the brightly painted walls and doors, the lanterns hung haphazard across roofs and bits of paper exploded periodically as late-comers paid $3 for a three-foot confetti cannon. I bought two buns and a donut-type confection covered in sugar and the size of my two fists, paid the young girl  behind the hastily erected table as she munched on an egg bun.

But a bun or two will never be enough to satisfy my husband's bottomless pit of a stomach and we were really intent on fully immersing ourselves in culture, but the day was long, the noise was loud and the food trucks were just so...available. They lined up like quaint little houses in the back alley, humming and whirring and emitting such lovely aromas you wanted to kidnap a food-truck-chef and bring them home because my kitchen is at least the same size so they wouldn't mind, right?

So we caved and congratulated ourselves on at least getting off the couch today, and look at all the walking we did plus food trucks are cheaper than Chinese sit-down restaurants. We munched our too-hot-pitas back the way we came, the streets quickly and forcefully being cleared of pedestrians so the street cleaners could hoover and sweep and spray all the litter away like it never happened, or maybe just happened last week. We held our noses past the bridge because the beginning and the endings always smell like pee- it's downtown, folks- and although we were really looking forward to seeing our pup again, we detoured to the church grounds because it demanded our attention in the setting sun.

And this is how I know my husband loves me most, because he'll suffer through an entire day on his feet, eat strange foods and watch strange people, tolerate the monster I become when I'm hungry and sit and smile as I sit in the passenger seat and sing my heart out, just so happy to have all of this.

And the Oscar Goes To...

I saw my name on the big screen. I had seen my name projected in the theater at Chapman, but this was different. Then I was a student; this time I was a professional. And on the screen at the Samuel Goldwyn Theater in Beverly Hills it looked great.

                 I worked on a documentary that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (the guys who give out Oscars every year) had made for Turner Classic Movies to kick off this year’s Oscar month marathon. It's called And the Oscar Goes to... I did some assistant editing work as well as some office work for the production (gotta start somewhere, right?). This wasn't my first professional project, but it was the first time I had the opportunity to go to a screening of something I was paid to work on.  I also worked on a movie last summer, Wish I Was Here, directed by Zach Braff, which should be in theaters in September, 2014.

                Dressing up and going to the premiere screening was an awesome experience. There were celebrities in the audience, as well as people I know and work with. But when I saw my name come up in the rolling credits I didn’t react the way I thought I would. I thought I would be proud, excited, scared… but more than anything I felt calm. It didn’t feel like as big of a deal as I thought it would; it just felt… right. I’m not sure how to explain it.

Brie, me and one of our LA besties Ms. Clay, Mr. Nelsen couldn't be there.

                I am not trying to become part of this industry to make millions or become famous (although I will not turn those down if I am lucky enough to get them), for me it’s about being part of something that will touch people. I want to tell stories and I think that filmmaking is the best fit for me as a storyteller.

I guess when I saw my name up on that screen I felt calm because it reminded me of all the love and support I have at my side. It was a gentle whisper that said, “You can do this.”

Groupies for the Blue Men

I know that fall has hit the rest of you, but I'm still sort of holding on to summer. Sure, night is coming a little faster and pumpkin-spiced anything has become a marketing epidemic, but it's still pretty warm here in the valley!  As sort of a last hurrah to the season we never seem to get enough of, Mr. E and I trekked to an LA tradition: the Hollywood Bowl.

We went to see the Blue Man Group play a special Bowl-only performance with (something) orchestra. What a fun date! We sat in nosebleed seats and waved off second-hand pot smoke from the bushes and enjoyed the antics of those crazy blue PVC performers.

Some shows at the Bowl are open early for show-goers to bring food and picnic. As we traveled the four escalators to our seats we watched ragtag groups unpacking kabobs, ribs, chow mein, sandwiches and bottles upon bottles of wine. In honor of the occasion (and the venue!) we made a summer pizza: dates, bacon, goat cheese and nectarines.

Yeah, sometimes I like to get a little crazy.

The original recipe called for figs and bacon and goat cheese, but you make do with what you have, amirite? The crust was brushed with balsamic vinegar, topped with stuff then drizzled with honey and baked til melt-y. I will enjoy you, LA, even if I have to stuff myself with bacon to do it.