a little friday night enlightenment for a brain that's gone on an extended holiday

by the time the weekend rolls around i'm either too tired to hang out or have nowhere to go. although some folks find myriad ways to enjoy weekends in l.a., i've always found the night life here a little dull. maybe it's just me. perhaps i need to drink less red rooibos tea and more red bull.

or just move.

actually, i had really planned to tackle the heavy workload i have this weekend but writer's block--something toni morrison once told me was "your brain telling you to shut up because you have nothing to say," prevented me from making a dent in the pieces i have to write up on justin timberlake, meagan good, anne hathaway and dwayne johnson. so, since my brain was no longer functioning, i thought about just hanging out.

one possibility was the sorority mixer i had been invited to in marina del rey. but after careful consideration i determined that with the cost of gas it was waaaaaaaaaaay too risky to journey across town to attend yet another l.a. event where folks would likely be tripping. plus, after having spent most of the day in the clothes i slept in (notice, i didn't say pajamas) the thought of getting all dolled up to hang out was most unappealing.

there was also the sweet baby j'ai concert downtown. j'ai is a local jazz singer whom i've been trying to catch at the biltmore for the past month. love her but sadly, the same issues applied.

gas and clothing.

i only had like a quarter of a tank left and my good jeans were all crumpled up in the trunk of my car and would need ironing. unfortunately, ironing to me is akin to undergoing a root canal just for the hell of it. i would never do that and i've actually only pulled out my iron or someone else's three times this year--when i absolutely had to.

i'm trifling, i know. but not to worry. i have many, many other fine attributes and/or skills--like talking on the phone while i'm taking a shower. it requires a shower head attached to a hose and some strong thighs.

my third option was to stay closer to home and ride my bike over to lacma (l.a. county museum of art) and listen to some live jazz on the courtyard. this was a no-brainer since it would require no gas and i could go in my cargo shorts, obama t-shirt and thongs.

sweet.

i arrived at lacma in time to get one of the seats in front of the stage but when i'm flying solo, like i was tonight, i prefer a more panoramic view and plopped my butt down on a concrete divider already occupied by several other jazz enthusiasts.

that's when all hell broke loose. an older man, wearing sunglasses, baggy jeans and a tweed blazer, turned toward me and actually spoke.

wtf? didn't he know he was breaking the rules?! black folks in l.a. aren't supposed to acknowledge each other! as if!! what if someone saw us? reps could be ruined.

scary.

seriously, i loved that he acknowledged my presence. after a long day of logging video clips, watching cnn updates on tim russert's sudden death, faxing paperwork so i can get paid and dealing with crack-head publicists, how could i not welcome the opportunity to talk to some seemingly harmless stranger?

i took a chance.

him: "how are you?"
me: (somewhat surprised) "hey, howya doin'?"
him: "i'm good.
me: "great, glad to hear it (and i actually did mean that)."

since he had uttered about five more words than i expected to hear from some random dude on a friday night in miracle mile, i assumed that would be the end of our conversation.

not even.

him: "i just had to come out to see red (the 82-year-old saxman). i haven't seen him since the '70s."
me: "wow, i've never seen him at all."
him: "really? you haven't? he used to play at this club--the, uh, ah...it's right on the tip of my tongue (two minute pause). oh yeah, the parisian. do you remember the parisian? everybody used to come through there."

i bet they did. at my age it's not often that i can say that something was before my time, but i had never heard of that spot. and since i'm not from l.a., i'm not too familiar with all the long-gone local landmarks.

me: "oh, ok (which is my stock reply to any stranger when i don't know what the hell they're talking about)."

that marked the end of our conversation. he started talking to the people on the other side of him and shortly afterwards took off. the interracial couple that claimed his spot while it was still warm apparently knew the rules and didn't speak. about 15 minutes later red came on and blew his jaws off, but i must admit i was more caught up in my surroundings.

i couldn't take my eyes off of all the old men stepping out.

they were everywhere. most of them wore cool hats, some were stylin' in tailored linen trousers and there was one old head kicking it in a really cool vest and some jeans that fit him perfectly.

not that i was looking.

i was really just digging the way they were all getting their groove on. there's something rather orgasmic about watching old heads tap their toes to a blues tune because you know that they, moreso than anyone else, can really relate to the music. not only can they name that tune, man they've lived those lyrics.

that's kind of cool when you really, really think about it.

that experience was far more interesting than sitting at home and listening to justin timberlake ramble on about the speedo he wore in "love guru." please. don't get me started. that's another post. i'll tackle that as soon as i break through this block or borrow someone else's brain.

any volunteers?

maybe i just need to spend more time at lacma. these jazz sets roll out every friday evening from 6-9 throughout the summer. sure, there's a risk in making this commitment. i might bump into someone else who doesn't know the rules, but with mid-grade at $5 a gallon and my iron collecting dust in a kitchen cabinet, it just might be worth it, eh?