Our plane landed at John Wayne International in torrents of rain. As the plane circled around the county airspace we could see a reservoir in the Anaheim Hills overflowing with muddy water toward a wash. Southern Californians don't handle rain very well. Hills slide downward and the roads become slick as water floats on oily asphalt. Nothing gets the regular rinsing we are used to in Western Washington. It stopped raining around days' end, though, and we were treated to a bright sunny day when we awoke on Saturday.
Paul took us to downtown Huntington Beach, along with Mabry their border collie, and we walked the commercial district, then along the beach for a couple miles, and back to the car through a residential neighborhood. Everybody in town was at the beach, celebrating that the Biblical floods had not returned and all was as it should be. The beaches are several blocks wide in some places, and carefully groomed. Law enforcement keeps a close eye on every cigarette butt,
dog discharge, and might-be alcohol container. There are strict statutory limits to the fun you can have, but considering the population density, there are hardly grounds for complaint.Cindy told me about some kind of raid that took place in their gated community a week or so ago. There were about five police cars and a helicopter participating about two blocks from their house. She said law enforcement is prompt and legion at most any complaint a citizen wants to call in. Just outside the city limits are the great unwashed, who are strongly encouraged to keep their mayhem on their side of the line.
When we returned to the house after the beach walk, Cindy was finished with her business and ready for a jaunt to Santa Monica and places trendy. We had tickets to a comedy club called the Groundlings, and the plan was to start at the Santa Monica Pier and work our way up Santa Monica Boulevard, through Beverly Hills on Melrose Avenue where the theatre is. They hadn't been up that way yet, so it was adventure for all four of us.
We passed the house that had entertained law enforcment the week before. There were balloons and crepe paper hung around the yard. "A birthday party?" Cindy asked. "More likely a Released Pending Trial party," said Paul.
We did not see the Bluth family frozen banana stand at the Pier. You can get your name written on a grain of rice, have your image sculpted with modeling clay, buy a churro, ride on a carousel, and enjoy all of t
he attractions California's pier parks are famous for. The amusement park looks a little tired, so do most of the vendors and performers along the walk. A man with a marionette called feebly to the passersby... his companion's strings were tangled and all they could muster was standing up and sitting down (an occasional turn) to Michael Jackson's "Thriller" on a boom box. One fairly well-dressed black man played Jimmy Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughn compositions on an out-of-tune electric guitar. A Japanese-American had the big spot at the end of the pier (past the greasy waterfront seafood restaurant) with a rythym ace and synthesizer. His guitar played one melody while the rythym ace and synthesizer seemed to be set to their own melodies. He sang in Spanish with an Asian accent. No one seemed to mind. The few tourists sitting in the bleachers applauded and tipped him. John said we needed to move on before he got carsick.A dozen people fished at the end of the dock while sail boats zigged and zagged out in the ocean. Some seals and pelicans sat on rocks that jutted here and there.
We left that idyllic scene for the Third Street Promenade that Cindy had heard about. While stepping away from the boardwalk, I was thinking where is the fantastic talent I hear about this close to Hollywood? Why is this famous Pier so sleezy? And just then, in the shadow of the Pier's police station was a young man with a guitar in tune and a very good voice singing something, probably original, with a small appreciative audience. But the march was on, so I couldn't stop.There are lots of Promenades in Southern California. That is what they call a sort of outdoor mall that is a transformed section of downtown retail blocks. The downtown cores that once died because of exciting new shopping malls are finding new life by turning the streets into wide pedestrian avenues. Restaurants have sidewalk seating and stores can display enticing samples of merchandise in front of their windows.
Street performers are of a better quality than at the Santa Monica Pier. A little bit of everything... a Flamenco guitarist, a high school jazz band, and a puzzling gymnastic performance by an amputee. This is not high-end retail, but what you might see at a small town mall: Crate and Barrel, Victoria's Secret, Baskin Robbins... that sort of thing.
Marching and promenading had taken us past lunch and we were all getting a little hungry. It was a little too cold, even by Washington standards, to sit at a sidewalk table. We found a pretty nice Italian restaurant that had some window tables. It was Valentines Day, and a Saturday, but only 4:00, so we inquired about one of the window tables. Yes, said the hostess, but I need the table at 5:15 or so.
Dinner was very good, and we enjoyed watching the people walking by. Some tourists, some locals in varying degrees of wonder and boredom.
Behind us in the dining room, two busboys carried a deuce table and two chairs, then plunked it down between two others, reducing the gap. Then came another. And another. Just like in the Marx Brothers movie, "A Night in Casablanca." Harpo and Chico were trying to find money for Groucho's bail. They discovered that the nightclub Maitre'd received a big tip each time he seated a couple. Harpo and Chico quickly began bringing in one table after another until the dance floor shrank to nothing while the patrons became dismayed. Chico flourished the wad of currency, shook hands with a grinning Harpo, and they rushed off to free Groucho.
I can't say much about Beverly Hills except that it looks fantastic, even in the dark. There are valet stands in the middle of each block, sometimes one on each corner. I counted three Pilates studios among the boutiques and bistros. This is clearly a neighborhood of elegance and convenience. You will not see a McDonald's or Blockbuster here.
Melrose Avenue is for the elegant eccentrics. The chic dining and valet stands continue, but are also stores called "Retail Slut," "The Freak Show Tattoo and Body Piercing Studio," and the "Snake Pit Ale House." But these are not the kind you find at Venice Beach... no, you need a platinum Visa card in your wallet.
That is where the Groundlings' theater is. Down the street a half mile or so is the Improv and some other famous places. I think someone said Paramount Pictures is nearby. The Groundlings perform in a very small venue. Maybe it seats seventy five people. There is a three-piece band tucked into a corner and a semi-circle wooden stage with a center curtain and a stage door on either side.
From Wikipedia: "The Groundlings is an improvisational comedy troupe based in Los Angeles, California, USA. The troupe was formed by Gary Austin in 1974 and uses an improv format influenced by Viola Spolin to produce sketches and improvised scenes. Many Groundlings performers have found success in movies and television, including several who have become cast members and writers on Saturday Night Live, MADtv, and Reno 911!."
I'm not going to write a review, but I will say this is one of the best shows I've seen in years. It was funny without being dirty... there was a little nautiness, but you could take your auntie to it.
After the show, as we stood at the valet stand waiting for the car, I looked around and said, "It's 10:00 and this street is just getting started!" Paul said it would stay festive until 2 a.m. He and John looked over toward El Guapo Rock & Roll Cantina. Cindy and I shook our heads. Overstimulated and worn out, we climbed into the car to close the evening.
