Reminded of Los Angeles
Today was the day that Tucson reminded me very much of Los Angeles. Specifically (on opposite ends of the scale), the somewhat rundown, heavily Mexican South Tucson and the house in the hills overlooking the city where, tonight, I attended a "house concert". (Not a performance of "house music" but a musical performance in a house.)
It was ostensibly a "folk" concert but the enjoyable, though not extraordinary, "John Smith" (really) seemed more a standard contemporary singer/songwriter than emblematic of anything noticeably folk.
Interestingly, I felt like this guy singing in someone's living room needed to deliver more than if he were performing in a club. Even though the show was basically free (they asked for a five dollar donation), included a top-flight meal and offered a window into the lifestyle of well-heeled hill dwellers, it somehow seemed that an extraordinary environment called for an extraordinary show.
Which we didn't get.
But what we did get -- or rather I did -- was a chance to further witness my father's extraordinary diet. (Although, terrifyingly, it may be his ordinary one.)
This is what my father ate today: Matzoh brei (like French toast made with matzoh) and some baked goods offered as dessert at the concert. He completely eschewed the delicious soups that were available, claiming he doesn't eat food he has to balance on his lap. (There were seats available at tables.) If I hadn't said I didn't want any (which was a lie), he would have eaten ice cream when we were out in the afternoon. I'm told he had a little soup before we went to the show, but still, is this any way for septuagenarian with a couple of arterial stents to eat?
I've sometimes said that my father's internal scale, in weighing cake against life, will determine cake has greater weight and value. We went to a movie yesterday, "Stranger than Fiction", wherein Dustin Hoffman poses a similar choice to Will Ferrell -- life vs. pancakes. "Who on Earth would choose pancakes over life?" asks Ferrell (not an exact quote). Well, Will -- meet my Dad.
I'd like to talk to my father about this and other things but it's hard. It'd probably be better for him if I could but, then again, he helped create the impediments to communication that exist between us and (I get no pleasure from this) I guess you do reap what you sow (sometimes, anyway).
The "folk" singer's songs were often emotional and often about father and son and I looked over to my father periodically, as I often do (it tends to make him uncomfortable), to see if I could figure out what he was thinking or feeling. (At a certain point, I think he looked over at me -- I wonder what that was about.)
We left and both noticed the vivid array of stars above us. Now, he's watching his new Hi-Def TV and I'm talking to you instead of him.
The other day we say "Dreamgirls" and I was teary-eyed the entire film, partly because I kept thinking about how the Supreme the Jennifer Hudson character was based on died tragically young and broke some years after being kicked out of the group. (*Spoiler*) The movie's "fat girl" doesn't share her inspiration's fate and as we were leaving the theater, my father was enthusing about the film while my awareness of the reality behind it still had me at the edge of tears.
I was about to tell him that the real-life story didn't end so happily but I didn't want to spoil things for him.
__________________________________
15 January, 2007 @ 06:49 GMT
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer
It was ostensibly a "folk" concert but the enjoyable, though not extraordinary, "John Smith" (really) seemed more a standard contemporary singer/songwriter than emblematic of anything noticeably folk.
Interestingly, I felt like this guy singing in someone's living room needed to deliver more than if he were performing in a club. Even though the show was basically free (they asked for a five dollar donation), included a top-flight meal and offered a window into the lifestyle of well-heeled hill dwellers, it somehow seemed that an extraordinary environment called for an extraordinary show.
Which we didn't get.
But what we did get -- or rather I did -- was a chance to further witness my father's extraordinary diet. (Although, terrifyingly, it may be his ordinary one.)
This is what my father ate today: Matzoh brei (like French toast made with matzoh) and some baked goods offered as dessert at the concert. He completely eschewed the delicious soups that were available, claiming he doesn't eat food he has to balance on his lap. (There were seats available at tables.) If I hadn't said I didn't want any (which was a lie), he would have eaten ice cream when we were out in the afternoon. I'm told he had a little soup before we went to the show, but still, is this any way for septuagenarian with a couple of arterial stents to eat?
I've sometimes said that my father's internal scale, in weighing cake against life, will determine cake has greater weight and value. We went to a movie yesterday, "Stranger than Fiction", wherein Dustin Hoffman poses a similar choice to Will Ferrell -- life vs. pancakes. "Who on Earth would choose pancakes over life?" asks Ferrell (not an exact quote). Well, Will -- meet my Dad.
I'd like to talk to my father about this and other things but it's hard. It'd probably be better for him if I could but, then again, he helped create the impediments to communication that exist between us and (I get no pleasure from this) I guess you do reap what you sow (sometimes, anyway).
The "folk" singer's songs were often emotional and often about father and son and I looked over to my father periodically, as I often do (it tends to make him uncomfortable), to see if I could figure out what he was thinking or feeling. (At a certain point, I think he looked over at me -- I wonder what that was about.)
We left and both noticed the vivid array of stars above us. Now, he's watching his new Hi-Def TV and I'm talking to you instead of him.
The other day we say "Dreamgirls" and I was teary-eyed the entire film, partly because I kept thinking about how the Supreme the Jennifer Hudson character was based on died tragically young and broke some years after being kicked out of the group. (*Spoiler*) The movie's "fat girl" doesn't share her inspiration's fate and as we were leaving the theater, my father was enthusing about the film while my awareness of the reality behind it still had me at the edge of tears.
I was about to tell him that the real-life story didn't end so happily but I didn't want to spoil things for him.
__________________________________
15 January, 2007 @ 06:49 GMT
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer
posted by Andrew J. Lederer at 1:25 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home