It is redundant to die in Los Angeles

On curious corporeal insults, 105 degree days, and musical theater

said Truman Capote. Which is much nicer than William Faulkner’s tribute, calling us “the plastic asshole of the world.”

It’s September, which means summer in Los Angeles is merely approaching its zenith. When the rest of the country turns to spiced drinks and holiday folk-isms, Los Angeles ramps up its climate, renegotiating autumn into a 3-figure deal wherein October gets the last, blistering laugh.

I went to see a community theater production of HAIR last weekend, not knowing a single thing about HAIR other than my mom played “Age of Aquarius” on loop throughout my childhood (required listening if you are an Aquarian of the ‘60s). I certainly didn’t know that it was a completely plot-less show, but a new friend invited me for a first date and I went despite my musical theater trepidation (I like bursting into random song but I don’t necessarily want to watch other people do it.)

The producers of the show came out and informed us that the lead (“Burger”) had taken ill and because it was only a 4-night run, there were no understudies. A communal “Aww” came over the crowd. But wait! A member of the choir (“tribe”) had offered to fill in. He did not know the words, but he would try his best. Also, it was his birthday today. The crowd cheered. Then, the producer thanked everyone for coming, said this is what we needed in these dark times, to come together, and then her breath caught in her throat and she began…sobbing.

Oh, no, I thought. Oh, no. Silly tears started leaking out of my eyes as everyone applauded this woman weeping at the idea of people coming together in an outdoor amphitheater for HAIR, which I was about to find out was an immensely outdated, horribly-written play which is one song about the necessary freedom and respect for long-haired hippies after another, ad infinitum, man.

Here are some of the lyrics that did the opposite of aging well:

Because I really craved for

My chocolate-flavored treats,

Oh!

Black boys are nutritious,

Black boys fill me up !

Black boys are so damn yummy,

They satisfy my tummy !

Black boys are delicious,

Raisins in the sun,

Black, black, black,

Black, black, black,

Black, black,

Black boys!

2022 production couldn’t have maybe…skipped that one?

It gets better, though!

The bro who offered to fill in for the main guy nailed the first song, assuaging everyone’s (my?) worries, but in every scene thereafter, read his lines from a script in his hand. At one point, he read at least a full paragraph of stage directions.

“He crosses over to stage left. A hush falls over the tribe. Everyone goes quiet. He looks up at the sky.”

Hahahahahaha. Oh god I’m laughing all over again. It was so FUNNYYYYYYY. It’s also so funny because basically my two ONLY musical theater experiences in the last 20 years are:

Hamilton live at the Pantages theater, and this outdoor community theater production of Hair. What a combo!!!!!!!!!!!!

In other news, I bought a young olive tree and placed her just outside my bedroom window. I cannot recommend it enough, the feeling of waking up next to an olive tree. Silvery boughs that evoke crowns placed upon ancient accomplished heads, with alert, sparse branches that bow outwards and up, like so many arms flexing to show off Olympian strength.

In a YouTube comment for a commercial I was in, someone took curious aim at my non-Olympian, I guess, form:

I narrowed my eyes at it, then promptly forgot about it, but then, of course, it’s haunted me for weeks. I’ll just be walking around, then I remember a stranger out there who felt compelled enough not just to comment on my body, but to call its reason into question. Why am I built like that? What an enormously stupid question. Why does that guy have brown hair? Why are her eyes blue? Why do you ask daft questions in the YouTube comment section? People are built the way they’re built, let’s all shut the fuck up about it already!!!!! A unique cocktail of genetics that dared hew me into a body so covered with an oversized shirt in this commercial that I have replayed it a psychotic amount of times, watching for when, exactly, the Randomly RandomGuy might have even taken issue with it. Being a woman on the internet is a constant exercise in drudgery, and yet I persevere, because, a) that’s a primary Capricorn trait, and b) I love almost everything else about it. The Age of Aquarius, by the way, is still in effect, and will be so until the fast-approaching year 3500 A.D. or so, when it takes a turn towards The Age of Capricorn (allriiiiiiiight!)

This week, I fly to a tiny island off of Mexico to film the next episode of Islands Without Cars, from which Covid forced upon us a 3-year hiatus. You can find me where I belong: in the Age of Snorkeling (with Whale Sharks!!!!).