Trivvies

A number of weeks ago, a friend of mine asked if I was interested in doing a trivia competition with him. I had been in past ones with him before. They were relatively casual ones at a local bar. I do fairly well at things like history, movies and sports (though with the last one, I do well only by comparison with the non-sports fans who are so numerous here in LA). This trivia night was a little different. Just getting a team in it was a competition in itself, I gather.

When the big night came, I'd already had a plenty long day encompassing a Toastmasters contest and matters of supreme domestic importance. I was tired and frazzled. Still, I dragged myself out to the place, where I'd been before for special screenings of movies on 16 millimeter film. I found myself waiting for my friend some thirty minutes. The rest of the team had already been there for much of that time if not more, but not knowing them by sight, I was at a loss (in spite of having their names, or at least one name and one apparent alias).

Oscars Road

We are here in Los Angeles coping already with the Academy Awards preparations, though the show is not to happen until Sunday. They shut down a stretch of Hollywood Boulevard a week in advance, which is naturally an inconvenience to people who live, work and recreate in that area. it's not a horrible problem for me, though the buses must detour just as the private cars do. Still, it's not a big deal for me except for if I should have an audition at one of the casting facilities south of there.

A problem on the day of the ceremony for me is that they shut down the subway station that falls within the security perimeter. Trains pass through in both directions without stopping. That is, I should say, only a problem if I actually need to be somewhere around that station. The odds are that I won't. I could need to be in Hollywood, but it would be to visit iO West nearer to the Hollywood and Vine station.That shouldn't be a problem.

Sad Guy

I begin every post that delves into what I perceive to be my depression with a caveat that, not being a licensed mental health professional, I'm technically in no position to make such a judgment of myself. If it is true, then my opinions are even more suspect. Who could trust the word of a crazy person that they're crazy? They're just not credible. In any case, I feel sure that I have at least periods of legitimate depression.

I always think of a broken compass. Just as an actual broken compass would leave you ignorant of north and south- ignorant, let's say, of whether you're blundering further into a lethal desert or heading back to civilization and salvation- I often feel that my emotional compass, which keeps me connected to what's happy and what's sad, is off. Just being sad is not sufficient to declare that one is depressed, I think. You've got to be sad with no pathway evident to happiness. Everything seems to lead deeper.

Morbid, Unhappy, Bitter

Yesterday, Harold Ramis died. He had written, directed and appeared in numerous classic comedies, and certainly the world is absent one of the better there ever was upon his death. Still, I find myself stopping somewhat short of the grief exhibited by others online. I read of his death, thought what a shame it was, and was prepared to carry on with dry eyes and the same level of focus with which I had begun the day.

Other people, it seemed, were wailing and gnashing their teeth; they were torn over whether they should leap off the ledge or instead thrown themselves on Ramis' casket and plead with him not to leave them alone. This is another of those situations where I realize how different I am from people. I wonder even if I could be a damn sociopath, so little do I feel by comparison with people I otherwise find respectable and intelligent.

Tie Loosening

The other day when I went to a standup show, the very same comedian who I denounced as a dumb loudmouth and later warmed to did something else that left me not well disposed towards him at first. In recent years, it has become more and more common for my home state of Arizona to be featured in the act of comedians. It's funny to think that I should be perturbed, because I grew up sorry that Arizona was relatively obscure in the national scene. It sure isn't any more.

One controversial law after another has ensured that the state remains a figure ripe for the sharp words of comedians eager to be topical. When I was a kid, it was the Martin Luther King Day issue. More recently it was the SB 1070 issue. Now there's the bill that supporters would say is a boost to religious freedom. Detractors call it a license to discriminate. I'm inclined to side with the latter group. Boy, who knew there was reputation and business left to lose after the last thing?

Comic Con?

I went to a standup comedy contest to support someone recently, and there was an interesting subplot to it for it. There I was, standing in line to get in. I'd been through the ordeal of a late subway train and speaking with two different people to get my comped ticket, which is more onerous for me than it sounds. Ahead of me in line is this loudmouth who is going off about how he has all this experience and wisdom about improv comedy or some such thing, and how he wants to impart it. It's sounding like he's been frustrated in this ambition. The guy sounds like he's full of shit.

We all go into the show, which starts wildly late (showing me again for being worried about tardiness). A number of comics perform, including the guy I was there for, but who else should be among them except the loudmouth. I was rather surprised, and also sure that he would be terrible. He wasn't, or at least he wasn't entirely. The memorable moment was the host initially misstating his surname as "Zulu" (when it was "Zullo", or some such thing.) He proceeded to do a quasi-African song/chant that sounded like the intro to "Kung Fu Fighting", dramatically turning the mic to the crowd. I enthusiastically sung the next part, and even though I don't feel I was alone in that, I somehow felt embarrassed.

Sick

I have been sick the last couple of days. Being sick is considerably less fun as a grown man than it was when I was a boy and it meant staying home from school to explore the world of daytime television. It's never felt good to be sick, but the break in monotony was then pretty well worth the pain. It helps also that then I was a minor under the care of someone else. All I had to do was loiter around the house and take pills. In an extreme situation, I might need to visit the doctor, and roaming around town in the middle of a weekday was its own thrill.

This particular illness is fairly mundane, but it struck with alarming suddenness. There I was, entertaining friends with some VHS tapes at my apartment. They left, and I made myself some spaghetti. I started to feel not great, but as it was now after two or three in the morning, it seemed reasonable to attribute my condition to simple fatigue. I woke up feeling significantly worse. It was all the classic, timeless symptoms. I had sore throat, coughing, runny nose and headaches.