The hell with the summer solstice nonsense. The real start of the summer pour moi is my first appearance at the Hollywood Bowl every year. And that happens tonight.
This experience truly rivals no other in Los Angeles, except for any day where the populis has cleared out and there's no traffic. The Bowl is, indeed, one of my favorite places in town. As the ads say, it is now "part of my life."
The Independence Day shows are always accompanied by fireworks. We're not talking Macy's over the Hudson River fireworks, but they do the best they can do given people live about 100 yards away. But, it is the ambience you crave after you have sampled the Bowl. The picnic dinners you bring. The wine. The cheese. The panini sandwiches. The wine. The fruit salad or ice cream. The wine.
It will be interesting to see how the Bowl fares this year, given that their longtime conductor, John Mauceri, has departed for some new gig in North Carolina. He is the only Bowl conductor I have known, and it will be a tough act to follow. I generally opt for the non-classical evenings, as that music (and the wine I have mentioned frequently) can induce me to a coma quicker than morphine. But, in any given Bowl season, there's enough to spark my interest. Broadway show nights. Movie music. You name it. Heck, I got to watch Angela Lansbury fall on the stage during a Sondheim tribute. And she probably didn't even have the wine I have mentioned frequently.
And, if you'll excuse me now, my glass needs a refill.
Dinner last night: the BLT sandwich at Islands.
1 comment:
What happened to my pithy comment? Was it Lenned?
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