Friday Free-for-all #30: Questions, questions

Friday Free for All
NOTE: Due to a formatting error by WordPress, the original version of this post was corrupted, with missing text. This is the corrected version, which should now make a lot more sense.

This originally started as me answering one random question generated by a website, but the questions eventually got to the part where they didn’t really need long answers. So, instead, it’s turned into a slow-motion interview with multiple queries. Here are this week’s questions. Feel free to give your own answers in the comments — or ask your own!

Do you text more or call more? Why?

I absolutely text (or message) more. Calling is a tool of either intrusion or rudeness: it tells the person you’re calling, “Pay attention to me right now!” If they choose to let it go to voicemail, then they’re saying I don’t have time to drop everything right now and talk

There are only a couple of people, of course, who get an immediate answer, but since most of the calls I get nowadays are robots or sales calls, I rarely answer my phone. It’s kind of ironic that the feature that was so useful about these pocket computers when they first came out (as not really computers) has now become one of the most useless.

What is the fanciest restaurant you have eaten at?

It’s a tie between two for very different reasons. One is “money fancy” and the other is “atmosphere fancy.”

The former was the Jonathan Club in Downtown L.A., and as you can probably tell from the name, it’s a private club that’s been around since forever. The reason that I got my poor ass in, along with a group of co-workers/friends of equal socio-economic status, was that one of the producers on the TV show we all worked on at the time belonged to the club and took us there as a thank you.

Everything about it just screamed prosperity. It was a huge place — I think it took up the entire twelve-story building — and was a combination of “gentlemen’s” club, restaurants, and private suites for members’ use if they happened to be in town on a business trip. (The club is part of a network with reciprocal membership.)

I think the place may have even had a gym and indoor pool and all the amenities. It was founded in 1895, so had been there over a century when we went.

It was certainly impressive. We worked our way through a large, carpeted hall edged in dark wood with side rooms off it, each one with full bookcases and wingback chairs for the members’ comfort.

The dining room was huge, with big round tables surrounded by very comfy leather chairs that actually had arms. It was the kind of place with white linen everything, a placeholder dish with a placeholder dish on top of that to start, all the kinds of glasses, and every possible fork, knife, spoon and weird tool available in the cutlery collection, laid out in order, all in solid (not plated) silver.

It was also a menu that had only a few select items each day, and seemed to fall prey a little bit to the California cuisine fallacy that was even more in effect at that time: “Let’s find really great food and a bunch of fantastic ingredients, then throw in one or two things that absolutely shit it up but which pretentious foodies will think are the dog’s balls.”

Yeah, like that. That’s why I wound up ordering scallops, thinking they were fish, since they seemed like the least messed-up dish. (I didn’t find out until long after that they’re actually clams, which I never would have ordered, which is kind of weird because I do love me some New England clam chowder.

The food was amazing, and so was the service. A waiter would appear to refill your water glass the second you drained it, clean the tablecloth with a crumb-brush as the busboys took away the dishes between every course and, if anyone happened to go to the bathroom, they would come back to find a new napkin neatly folded in its original spot.

Yeah, that kind of fancy.

I have no idea how much it might have cost, but this was the co-executive producer and frequent director of a one-hour, prime-time TV series back in the day when broadcast TV meant something. And, to be honest, the real money was probably in the combination of directing and writing work, and residuals from both.

The other fancy place, which I’ve been to several times, is The Magic Castle, in Hollywood, which I’ve written about before, so I won’t go into great detail here. I’ll just say that for a membership club that allows ample guests, the prices are pretty reasonable, and if admission to the main dining room seems a little expensive, remember that it includes admission to all the mainstage shows — something you aren’t guaranteed if you’re cheaper.

Unfortunately, it’s mostly closed right now because of the pandemic, but when and if it re-opens, it’s worth going, and it’s not as hard to get in as you might think. Look up an L.A. magician who seems to do the corporate/birthday party circuit, figure out when they’re having a club show, then go see it. Afterwards, rave about their tricks and ask if they ever perform at the Magic Castle.

A lot of them do because they’re members, but at their level they’re like the dozens of garage bands that used to play tiny music venues in L.A., and sort of work for the same perks. Sure, they get to invite people because that’s how they get their audience, and those people spend money.

It’s exactly the same thing I experienced on the musician end of it, when in order to get a gig we had to guarantee a certain number of people. Oh, they all got in free, but there was a two drink minimum. The club made money off the booze. We only made it off of tickets that sold.

A lot of the non-name magicians at the Castle probably heard the same thing that we did: “You’re doing it for exposure.” But like we hoped to someday be good enough to play a larger local venue like the (late) Troubador before hitting a big theater or even an arena, they hope to open for a more famous magician or other variety act or, holy grail, go on “Penn & Teller: Fool Us” and do what the title says in order to become Vegas famous.

Hm. Musician, magician. That’s only a two letter difference: us vs. ag, which actually makes sense… a band is a visible group, an “Us.” Meanwhile, a magician appears to be going solo (they’re not), but it costs a lot more money, really, for the tricks and their development than it does to becoming a working musician, hence it takes a lot of silver; atomic symbol, Ag.

Okay, I somewhat pulled that comparison out of my ass. But whether the former or the latter, I like to think that both types of artists deal in illusions — although I guess only the former also deals in allusions.

If you didn’t care at all what people thought of you, what clothes would you wear?

I don’t care what they think anyway, but the real snag is that it’s not legal, because I’d rather wear nothing because it’s just more comfortable.

Okay, it’s not totally illegal, and this is another topic I went more in-depth on two months ago. But America really needs to pull it’s repression out of its ass, lighten up, and learn from other countries where nudity is no big deal.

We all got’em — bodies and all the bits — and there really aren’t that many differences between them. But I bet that if we normalized nudity, it would eliminate body-shaming, help people with self-image, and greatly reduce things like eating disorders.

For one thing, it’s hard to point and laugh at someone else’s when you’re showing yours, most of us are not uber-fit supermodels, and it would demystify the human body to the point that porn might even become passé. It’s like the old joke about the two guys at a nudist colony (there’s a dated expression!) who don’t notice the attractive young woman until she puts on a tight T-shirt as she prepares to go home.

And general nudity might even really cut down on physical confrontations, because do you really want to start anything with that butt-nekkid WalMart security guard?

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