Update on the update

I was writing earlier mostly because I realized I had not in a while but it was not really gelling for me.  I have been doing a tonne of really cool things but I had not felt motivated to put pen to paper (or more accurately, two rapid index fingers and one occasional pinky thrown in for variety to keyboard).  The essence of the post was the fact that this is a city chock full of excellent performers, most of whom are on hand to discuss their work.  I started strong, then the LA heat started to suck the smart right out of me and I couldn’t finish.  I saved my draft and headed on out into the night to see Patton Oswalt perform at Largo at The Coronet.

The show was called “Patton Oswalt & Friends”.  Oswalt himself had been brought to my attention recently on a bit he does about KFC which is bloody hilarious.  (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tfan5MacmsI)  When I discovered he was doing a show here at my favorite venue I signed up immediately.  They did not disclose who the “friends” were and I assumed it would be a skit show much like the one I saw in May featuring Tig Notaro.  Not so.  It was three straight up comedy acts with Oswalt headline in the final position.  First up was Greg Brehrendt – he is the author of “He’s Just Not That Into You”  – a fact which he did NOT bring up.  He is a fantastic comedian.  You get the impression that the world of self help was a definite and unexpected left turn in his career because his stand up is brilliant. He has a rock band and does a podcast called Walking The Room that I cannot wait to check out.  Laughed until I wept.  Then they brought out the second act.

Janeane Garofalo.

I nearly fell out of my chair.  I LOVE Janeane Garofalo.  In my twisted mind, Janeane Garolfalo is the living embodiment of what is going on in my head, only well paid, more articulate and without any appreciable filter mechanisms.  The experience was heightened by my obsession with getting good seats. I am an awesome companion at film festivals – ask Jennifer – as I will line up with the devotion of an ardent 1950s postal worker, battling the elements to obtain the perfect site line, allowing my seat mate to breeze in a nano second before they turn the mics on to take their preferred position.  So I was dead centre, second row.  I could have performed a variety of esthetic treatments on any one of the performers.

Patton was last, he was fabulous as well.  I tripped out into the blessedly cool air, sides aching from laughter, misguided attempts at make up in rivulets down my cheeks.

The morning brings the Hollywood Farmers Market, then the West Hollywood Book Fair, then maybe a trip to a massive flea market being held in Dodger Stadium.

Life is sweet.

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