Phillipe's and the Holy of Holeys
Sept. 30 Monday
The last day of September. There's something alarming about that. Why?
Because I'm reminded of how preciously short is one's lifetime. Not that everyone holds their life precious; only if there is something they want to do other than die. Anyone whose desire is to create, bitterly loves their short little life.
I'm getting flabby. How old was I when my father was my age now? I was seven. I had just started second grade. He and my mother were about to divorce.
It's hard for me to think cuz I'm gettin' hungry. The retard Dodgers lost the third game of the series against San Diego to be swept from the Division Championship and now must play Atlanta as the wild card. Gip and I stopped by his parents' place on Van Ness so he could pick up a clean pair of shorts. His dad was on the couch in their living room reading the Times. We drove up Wilton to Sunset and parked outside the stadium parking lot to save five bucks. It was a hike to our seats on the top deck. Before that we went to Phillpe's on Alameda up the street from the Pueblo at Olvera, across from Union Station. Rumor has it it was once a brothel, and now it has long wooden benches with sawdust on the floor and people waiting in long lines between the benches to get the best dip sandwiches in the world. A girl sells gum and newspapers from a cage. And there are nooks and crannies with tables and stairs leading to little rooms and pictures of old LA on the walls. We waited in line and ordered sandwiches and potato salad and coconut cream pie and lemonade. The Giants were upsetting the Vikings on the TV over the bench where we sat. A sixty-four-year-old woman held a stool for whoever was waiting in line to order their food. I unfolded the funny page. Miguel said that what we did in La Paz stood out more than what we did in Cabo. The lady's like-aged companion alit alongside the stool next to her. He said, "Hello, fellows. Are you going to the game?" We said as much. He said, "My wife and I were at church, but the minister wasn't there, so we said to hell with it." I said, "Maybe he's going to the game." He asked, "Where are you from?" I wondered aloud if he thought I was from the Midwest, like so many other people say when they meet me. Then I said, "I'm from right here. I was born in Hollywood. How about you?" "The Midwest," he answered. "That's where I'm from Iowa." I said, "What brought you out to LA?" "Hollywood," he said. "You wanted to get into the movie business?" "Well, yeah. I was in acting before I was hurt in a car accident." "He was in the originial 'Oklahoma'," his wife added. "I had just finished a picture for Universal when I got in the wreck. Couldn't walk for a long time, let alone dance." "What are you going to do for good luck, so your team will win," asked the woman. I indicated my "holy holey old World Series shirt from 1988" that my nipple pokes out of.
The last day of September. There's something alarming about that. Why?
Because I'm reminded of how preciously short is one's lifetime. Not that everyone holds their life precious; only if there is something they want to do other than die. Anyone whose desire is to create, bitterly loves their short little life.
I'm getting flabby. How old was I when my father was my age now? I was seven. I had just started second grade. He and my mother were about to divorce.
It's hard for me to think cuz I'm gettin' hungry. The retard Dodgers lost the third game of the series against San Diego to be swept from the Division Championship and now must play Atlanta as the wild card. Gip and I stopped by his parents' place on Van Ness so he could pick up a clean pair of shorts. His dad was on the couch in their living room reading the Times. We drove up Wilton to Sunset and parked outside the stadium parking lot to save five bucks. It was a hike to our seats on the top deck. Before that we went to Phillpe's on Alameda up the street from the Pueblo at Olvera, across from Union Station. Rumor has it it was once a brothel, and now it has long wooden benches with sawdust on the floor and people waiting in long lines between the benches to get the best dip sandwiches in the world. A girl sells gum and newspapers from a cage. And there are nooks and crannies with tables and stairs leading to little rooms and pictures of old LA on the walls. We waited in line and ordered sandwiches and potato salad and coconut cream pie and lemonade. The Giants were upsetting the Vikings on the TV over the bench where we sat. A sixty-four-year-old woman held a stool for whoever was waiting in line to order their food. I unfolded the funny page. Miguel said that what we did in La Paz stood out more than what we did in Cabo. The lady's like-aged companion alit alongside the stool next to her. He said, "Hello, fellows. Are you going to the game?" We said as much. He said, "My wife and I were at church, but the minister wasn't there, so we said to hell with it." I said, "Maybe he's going to the game." He asked, "Where are you from?" I wondered aloud if he thought I was from the Midwest, like so many other people say when they meet me. Then I said, "I'm from right here. I was born in Hollywood. How about you?" "The Midwest," he answered. "That's where I'm from Iowa." I said, "What brought you out to LA?" "Hollywood," he said. "You wanted to get into the movie business?" "Well, yeah. I was in acting before I was hurt in a car accident." "He was in the originial 'Oklahoma'," his wife added. "I had just finished a picture for Universal when I got in the wreck. Couldn't walk for a long time, let alone dance." "What are you going to do for good luck, so your team will win," asked the woman. I indicated my "holy holey old World Series shirt from 1988" that my nipple pokes out of.
posted by johnz at 1:06 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home