A Night At the Hollywood Bowl

Last weekend we decided to spend an evening at the Hollywood Bowl with Kylie Minogue.

We're not particularly great Kylie fans although I don’t mind her music and my hubby quite likes her bum. The main reason for going was because we wanted to visit the Hollywood Bowl. There are regular classical concerts at the Bowl throughout the year but not being classical music buffs we thought we would wait for something a bit more contemporary to come along and Kylie fitted the bill.

 

Rather surprisingly for America, the Hollywood Bowl is one of the few places we’ve visited where you are advised not to take your car but use public transport. This worked out very well for us because there was a park and ride based within walking distance of our apartment in Pasadena.  For once we could leave the car at home and set out on the bus. 

Back in the UK Australian born Kylie is a household name having transformed herself from a gawky teenage soap star into a succesful singer.  She has even been awarded an OBE for services to music.  In America Kylie isn't quite so mainstream - here she's an absolute icon on the gay scene.

As we boarded our bus with two other Brits, a couple of Ozzies and twenty well groomed good looking guys in check shirts, my husband did feel slightly anxious that maybe he was just going to be a tad out of place.  That was just a taster of what was to come.

The Hollywood Bowl is an amazing venue set in a natural bowl shaped dip in the Hollywood Hills.  It can take a maximum capacity of nearly 17,000 and rather cleverly each section of seating is bordered by a neat line of shrubs. As each section of seats is sold out, the shrubs are pruned back but the empty sections are kept hidden behind the uncut tree-line .  You can judge your popularity based on the amount of topiary you’ve been awarded!  I'd say the Hollywood Bowl was about a half to two thirds trimmed for Kylie.

We settled into our surprisingly comfortable wooden seats with a view of that famous HOLLYWOOD sign in the distance and watched the sun set.  This being America you are obviously expected to buy something to eat whilst you wait, and I was rather envious of those Kylie fans who had forked out their dollars for the stall-like boxes in front of the stage where you can sit up to table and indulge in a four course meal.  Instead we chomped on a couple of burgers and indulged in a glass or two of wine which, although purchased inside the Bowl in a bottle, then had to be decanted in a large plastic cup before we could take it to our seats (at an extra cost of course). Still, it’s probably something we’re only going to do once.

The actual show was quite spectacular; lavishly produced, very theatrical and great fun. Kylie was on stage for nearly two hours and about eight extravagant costume changes.  She sang most of her hits; had a good rapport with the crowd and was surrounded by a enough scantily clad muscular dancers to keep most of her audience happy.

It’s the first time I’ve ever been to a concert where there has been no wait for the ladies’ restroom which made a very pleasant change! Definitely a good time was had by all.

And of course, I can’t get that song out of my head either.

A Dog's Life

One thing it's very hard to avoid here in LA (and believe me I have tried) is the pampered pooch. They are everywhere - snapping at my ankles when I go for my morning walk, riding up in and down in the elevator at the apartment block where I live. An LA dog is not so much a pet as a fashion accessory. Everyone has one!

Personally,  I’ve always preferred cats.  Cats are my kind of animal – not the friendliest of creatures; they like being left to their own devices and are pretty contented with a regular supply of food, easy access to the great outdoors and somewhere warm to curl up and fall sleep.  A cat’s idea of loyalty extends no further than to whoever is opening up the next packet of Whiska’s. 

 

But dogs are different.  Dogs are loving, loyal creatures and even I can appreciate the company and enjoyment they bring to their owners. Occasionally I have this romantic idea of acquiring a canine companion of my own.  My dog would rush to greet me every day with a look of love, a wagging tail, a friendly bark; I picture us taking lovely long walks in the countryside; bounding through the park playing a game of fetch.  My dog would frolic happily on the beach, splash through the waves and spend every evening lying contentedly at my feet. That's my dog.

An LA dog is in a totally different league.

For a start, if you are a small dog, a Chihuahua or a Shihtzu type thing as most of them are, then you won’t have to walk anywhere.  You will be carried.  You might have to suffer the indignity of pink or blue ribbon in your hair, dependent upon your sex of course, and probably a little sweater or T-shirt, but generally speaking you will get to go everywhere with the master or the mistress, welcome or not, and you can yap and growl and bear your sharp pointy little white teeth as much as you like whilst everyone around you has to pretend you are amazingly cute – just because you are small.

You might occasionally have the urge to run around and chase a stick and feel the fresh green grass under your feet, but that’s not really very likely to happen.  Most of the day you will be housebound and the only time you will get taken out for a walk is to answer the call of the nature.  But that’ll be once around the block at the most.

Being a small dog and easily portable does have its advantages.  You will be able to go to the doggie boutique and choose your own clothes. You'll look gorgeous in Gucci.  If slightly too big to fit into the Prada handbag, you might be able to persuade your owner to invest in a pet stroller which will make visiting the mall a lot easier. Yes you might occasionally get mistaken for a human baby but don’t fret; as soon as your admirer realizes their mistake they will just coo and aah even more. Oh a dog…that’s so adorable (yes that’s your cue to bite their finger off).

If you are unlucky enough to have a master or mistress who is out at work all day, then suggest they book you into doggie-day-care.  It’ll be far more fun than being cooped up in an apartment. If you are left home alone, then don't panic I've found just the answer - you'll never have to chew on an old  slipper again.  Your owner can now download a computer game for you to play - yes I've just seen it advertised on TV - apps for pets or a blog for a dog or something similar  (and look how that's kept me occupied!)

When it comes to the evening meal, as an LA pooch you will be spoilt for choice.  None of that shop-bought Winalot for you! Ask your owners take a subscription to Everyday Rachel Ray magazine (Rachel Ray is a sort of American Nigella Lawson – but even more so). I was recently flicking through this mag at the Orthodontist and realized that Rachel does a super line in home cooked gourmet dog food – recipes for owners and their pets to share, up to table of course!

Unfortunately the major hazard of this super indulged pampered pooch lifestyle is that one day you might suddenly find yourself out of favour.  Fashions change.  One stain on the carpet too many; yet another trip to the vet and suddenly the Chihuahua is out of vogue.  Dogs are so last year, meet the micro-pig.

As for me, I’ll stick with my  cat – currently residing very happily with the in-laws back in the UK and un-eagerly awaiting my return.  I am slightly worried I might have a job winning her affections back when the time comes but hopefully regular portions of Rachel Ray's mouth watering Mexican bean and white fish stew and her own Twitter page will do the trick. Now there's an idea!

Manic Monday

It’s the start of the week and another typical day here in the bubble. 

 

7.30 am and it’s time for the school run. This five mile drive to school never passes without incident and this morning is no exception.  Positively incensed by the ignorance of the super-school mom and dad who decide that rather than drive into the drop-off car park they will actually block the exit whilst dropping their kids off  in the street. Never mind the rest of us!! Quick blast of the horn and scowl. 

Forego the power walk and the gym this morning and return home for a housework-out instead.  I haven’t picked up a cleaning cloth since we got back from England over a week ago. Vacuum, scrub and dust for at least an hour but then admit defeat against the LA grime which filters into the apartment despite the window screens. Abandon plans to tackle the teenager’s bedroom.  That’ll have to wait. It’s Ex Wives club day and I’m off out for coffee.

10.00 am Ex Wives coffee morning. There are eight of us today –  all our partners bar one have moved to California to work on the same project.  No-one is looking forward to the next stage of the assignment when the men have to relocate to Saudi Arabia but so far only one wife has definitely committed to accompanying her husband out to the Middle East.  Everyone else in a bit of a dilemma as to whether to go or not. We’re all bored silly here in California where we have all the freedom in the world; being stuck on a compound in the middle of the desert sounds like no fun at all.  We console each other and agree to meet again in two weeks for lunch. What a life!

12.00 noon Head home and pay a visit to the post office.  It’s Monday so, just like back in the UK there is a long queue. Only two “windows” open and this being America nobody hurries themselves.  One of those moments of quality time to reflect and meditate. Can't help but overhear inane conversation behind me – one women complaining to the other that she has had great difficulty finding a Mother’s Day card suitable for her sister (?) I’m not surprised.

Quick lunch and then, revitalized, bravely set out with the vacuum again – there’s just time to tackle the teenage bedroom issue before the afternoon school run.

 

2.00 pm and it’s time to hit the road.  What delights can I look forward to on this trip? Stop at lights and realize the driver in the car next to me is eating some sort of ice-cream Sundae.  It looks very yummy and this guy will be a strong contender for my weekly “Multi-Tasking Whilst Driving Award” (last week’s winner was the woman  spotted in traffic on main street Pasadena with an i-pad balanced on her steering wheel).  Multi-Tasking whilst driving is positively encouraged in America; in-car dining facilities can make or break a vehicle sale -  never mind miles per gallon, it's whether the drinks holder take a super-grande-mocha-chocco-latte-frappe or not that counts. I speed swiftly away from the lights and leave Mr Whippy scooping up his nuts.

How was the teenager’s day? Surprisingly good - she was supposed to have sat a test she’d missed in history but the teacher had said she could do it the next lesson.  He then handed out the results to the rest of the class who had done the test whilst she was away and went through the answers.  That’ll be an easy one then.

Back home and I walk across the road to Ralphs to pick up some groceries.  I’ll do a big shop tomorrow –  living in a 5^th floor apartment, large shopping trips have to be planned with military precision and always involve several extra-strong reusable bags and a small suitcase. Today I just nip out spontaneously to pick up a few things for tea. We’re detoxing so it’s salad.

6.00 pm and hubby’s home unexpectedly early.  Feeling like a desperately bad housewife because he’s caught me on the computer again, I hastily assemble the salad.   After dinner we sit down and as the others can’t find a suitable alternative on any of the remaining 300 TV channels, I get to watch House Hunters and House Hunters International for the rest of the evening. 

9.30 pm and I realize I must have dozed off, either that or the unassuming British family buying a rustic little place in Spain have doubled their budget and magically morphed into a couple of wealthy Americans searching for something luxurious in the Caribbean.  It must be time for bed.

Oh the excitement of living in LA!

In Perspective

Now that I have been back in LA for a few days and have had time to reflect on my trip - I mean vacation - back to the UK; did this new pseudo-American me see things a different light?  Do I have a new perspective on the "old country"? Did I find it claustrophobic on those tiny little roads?  How did I cope with a stick-shift? How did pub-grub scrub up against all this fast food and speedy service I have become accustomed to? How did it feel to be a Tourist?

Well I did spend an afternoon walking around the village with my camera in my bag.  Look at the river, that’s so pretty SNAP. That windmill is totally awesome SNAP. The church, that’s so……old  SNAP.  

I  did desire a bit of retail therapy and rather than going  into Southampton with it's a big modern convenient shopping mall I decided to go to historic Winchester instead; quaint old attractive buildings; tiny little shops; cobbled streets.
 
Despite myself I was avidly glued to the TV on Friday morning – watching Kate and Wills take their vows.  I positively reveled in all that flag waving and thought why don’t we do this more often? Why don’t we fly the Union Jack in our front gardens like all those Americans with their Stars and Stripes.

Yes I did see things in a new perspective. As we flew back to the US covering the entire length of  Britain in less than an hour and a half, I realized how small and compact the UK really is. A little island patchwork of green and I think I’m beginning to understand why Americans always assume we all know each other – that old “I’ve got cousins in Liverpool” thing. You can drive from one end of the country to the other half a day and whilst a Royal Wedding is a once every 20-30 years or so event, it did bring the whole country to a standstill. We do all know each other – not on first name terms of course – but because we share the same the same history and the same heritage.  We’re all on the same time zone so we do all watch the same TV channels at the same time, read the same newspapers, receive the same weather forecast, live by the same laws.  That just doesn’t happen in America.  It’s too big, too young, and too culturally diverse. 

From happy tourist in the "old country" it's back to school run mom in the "big", and I do think of the US as "home" because this is where I do all that normal routine stuff – the housework; the shopping; ensuring the PE kit is washed and ready; the shirts ironed.  The surreal has become the real. I've acclimitized; resigned myself and despite a shaky start I think I've done my best to integrate.

But do I really want to  fit in?

As we arrive back in LA we watch the evening news and there's that good ol’ Stars and Stripes being  triumphantly paraded up and down in Times Square and along Hollywood Boulevard in celebrations of an entirely different kind.  Personally I think there are times when a bit of sobriety is called for and with these images being beamed around a watching world,  that American "patriotism" doesn't seem quite so wonderful after all.

And then I make my first school run of the week and within a space of 15 minutes I have to take evasive action twice to avoid being hit by other cars, both of whose drivers appeared to be completely oblivious to the fact that there might actually be another vehicle on the road. Welcome “home” with a bang.

I can feel my blood pressure rising and my shoulders tense.

And that’s when I know my bubble hasn’t burst.  Yes pub grub was lovely; yes I coped with a stick shift.  Yes I loved driving around on quiet country lanes only one car wide and no, I didn't hit anything.  Home might well be in Pasadena but my heart is quite definitely lodging somewhere else.  I’m going to creep quietly back into my cocoon, watch the new series of Dr Who, munch on a bar of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk and crack open that bottle of Pimms.

It's time to face the truth. I have tried, but me and America –  we have compatibility issues.

Jet Lag

One of the hazards of all this international travel is of course that where ever you go you spend the first couple of days feeling completely lousy.  I’m not a particularly good traveler; I have to dose myself up with Bach's Rescue Remedy and practice childbirth breathing techniques just to get on the plane in the first place.    

Flying is a means to an end, and if I don’t fly I don’t get to see my friends and family so I always console myself with the fact that statistically I am far more likely to be involved an accident on the way on the airport than any incident up in the air.  I always have a drop of wine at the first available opportunity and have conditioned myself to view those 10 hours stuck on the plane as quality time to catch up on some Oscar winning movies.  What else can you do? My husband who is a seasoned traveler simply buckles up his seatbelt and falls asleep – and yes, he has even slept through take-off (?!!).

The real killer though is jet lag.   Apparently it takes one day for every hour of time difference to get over the effects of jet lag and despite trying different remedies I have yet to find a cure.  I read somewhere that you should get yourself into your new time zone 24 hours prior to departure – especially when it comes to eating meals.  So if I had skipped breakfast and started the day with my dinner by the time I reach the UK the next morning I should be feeling as fit as a fiddle. I haven’t try this one yet but I did once try some homeopathic anti jet lag tablets that left me feeling so spaced out I couldn’t have cared less what time zone I was in.  Perhaps that’s the answer.

Anyway, so how can this arduous task of travelling back and forwards across the Atlantic be made more enjoyable? Well, travelling with Air New Zealand certainly helped.  This was the first time I’d flown with Air New Zealand and I was well impressed.  Our flights were smooth and on time; the planes were brand new and despite a small design fault with the snazzy looking pull-out drinks holder – basically it didn’t hold the drinks – everything on board the plane seemed to work brilliantly. 

 

The crew were relaxed and happy, the food surprisingly edible, and the in-flight entertainment was excellent.  The safety-video was the funniest I’ve ever seen – those antipodeans have a wonderfully wacky sense of humour!

And you’d need a pretty good sense of humour to want to spend 26 hours sat on a plane going to New Zealand.  It’s an awful long way and I have every admiration for those brave folks who had to get off the plane when it re-fueled at LAX and face the joys of the American immigration department, before continuing on their journey to Auckland an hour later.

However, the real highlight of the return trip for me was discovering the British sit-com “Episodes” on the TV channel.  I sat and watched the entire series in one go, spellbound. “Episodes” is a comedy about a screenwriting couple who re-locate to LA to write a US version of their award winning TV show which, by the time the US network has made them change the entire plot and most of the characters to appeal to an American audience, is totally unrecognizable. Matrimonial disharmony ensues.  Even my teenage daughter was enthralled – she kept nudging me, “that’s us mum – that’s you!”.  Tamsin Greig is believably funny as a comparative sane woman buckling under the strain of America and trust me, I know exactly how that feels! Anyone out there thinking of re-locating to LA – watch this show – it’s a pretty good representation of what you are up against. 

5,800 miles after leaving Heathrow we were back on the ground and ready for the final leg of our journey back home to Pasadena, and I can assure you that I felt an awful lot safer up in the air with those happy-go-lucky New Zealanders than in the hands of a manic LA cab driver determined to break the land speed record and jump every red light.  Those statistics don’t lie.

So now it’s just the jet lag to contend with.  This feeling of being out of sync and disorientated; waking up full of beans at four in the morning and falling asleep on the sofa at seven at night. And I know I must be jet lagged because rather worryingly I realize I’ve just referred to Pasadena as “home”.  Is that a Freudian slip?  If Pasadena is home what does that make the UK? Just a holiday top spot? Does that mean my bubble has finally burst?