THEY DO CHICKEN RIGHT!

Bon Soir, Dear Readers,

The other night, I had the incredible fortune to attend Lucha Vavoom at the Mayan theater. This sort of precious opportunity, afforded on a random Wednesday night in June, is what makes America great. Of course, we mustn't forget that it was our brothers and sisters south of the border who started this whole piece of genius. So, what the hell is this lucha thing, you're asking oh-so-impatiently? It's Lucha Libre (Mexican wrestling) combined with a burlesque show, with a sprinkling of comedy thrown on top, in the form of the Sklar brothers. Lucha Libre actually means, "free fight," and though the night wasn't free in a monetary sense, it was definitely a free for all. What made it great, other than fat men in brightly colored spandex and sexy women who could mind-bend their own pasties? Well, normally, that would be enough for me, but Lucha Vavoom didn't stop there. They topped all that off with a midget wrestler in chicken garb (see above, as if you haven't already.)

That's right. You've seen it here first. Now who doesn't just live for this kind of thing? No really, who? I want to meet them. And spank them. In a corporal punishment way.

They also played the "chicken dance" song en espanol, which I adored, and loved clapping to. Clapping in the right place at the right time... ah, what a sense of belonging... But anyway, speaking of chickens, remember when they starting calling all Kentucky Fried Chicken "restaurants" KFC a few years ago? At that point, a rumor started circulating that they'd changed the name to KFC because they could no longer call it "chicken" in good faith. Apparently, the rumor went, these chickens had no beaks and no feet, (they were bred that way for efficiency) and were fed intravenously. I can't even count the number of people I know who actually believed that scuttlebutt. Perhaps I'm hanging with the wrong crowd?

Well, anyway, this midget chicken seemed to have both a beak, and a pair of feet, which is why I feel comfortable calling him "chicken," without much concern for the threat of litigation. And he definitely was a midget. My friend was in a music video the day before I went to Lucha Vavoom, and she said she co-starred with a midget lucha libre wrestler. I have the sneaking suspicion it might have been the same guy.... Oh, to be a midget. It just seems like it would be really cool to be a big fish in such a small pond. Okay, a big tiny fish. But you get my meaning. There's so much less competition for midget entertainers, compared to full-sized ones. And it seems like the affirmative action aspect would be pretty good.... Or maybe not. I'm trying to think if I ever came across a midget when I went to UCLA... I don't think so... But wait, I take that back--does Kerri Strug count? Let's just say she does. Okay then, one midget out of a 20,000 plus student body. I've seen more pitiful ratios. Somewhere. I'm sure of it.

SIGHT UNSEEN

Hey Readers,

So, I finally conducted my blindfold experiment this weekend. And let me tell you, it was a doosy. I spent several hours on Saturday afternoon wearing one of those eye masks that some people wear to sleep. Well, I can see why that's what they're intended for, because as soon as I put the mask on, I promptly passed out for about an hour and twenty minutes. Refreshing! I almost never take naps--maybe this was the universe's way of telling me that I ought to...

I'd subconsciously heard my phone ring during my nap, so when I awoke, I fumbled to find the phone and check my messages. Naturally, this presented a problem, as the numbers on my keypad are not in braille... So I tried to use my memory to figure out where the special little buttons on top ended and the numbers began. I punched a few keys, and suddenly, I was calling someone! I immediately hung up. What if I was calling some total jerk? Well, it turned out I wasn't. You know how I know? Because five seconds later, the phone rang. I flipped it open--receiving calls was the easy part. It was my dad, asking me if I'd just called him. I said, "There's a very good chance I might have." We chatted for a few moments, but I found that it was somewhat difficult to concentrate. I never realized that sight played such a huge role in my comprehension and focus...

After returning a few phone calls with the (reluctant) aid of my husband, I thought I'd listen to a little bit of Saturday afternoon TV. I heard part of a true-hollywood-story type thing on Destiny's Child. I noticed myself hanging on every word. I was dying to rip my blindfold off and see a picture of Beyonce from her junior high days, but I have too much self respect to just up and throw in the towel like that. So I listened to the trials and tribulations of the Knowles' family, what their parents gave up for the girls' success, and how incredibly excited they were when they were picked up from high school one day by their mom, who was blasting their first single on the radio. Beyonce almost passed out!

When I first "went blind," I tried to memorize the lay of the land of my apartment, so that I wouldn't get lost. We only have a two bedroom, so I didn't think that would be a big deal. It turned out that it was. Being sight-free can be quite disorienting. It got so, I knew I was somewhere in the living room, but had no idea which part. I tried to figure it out, and sustained a few bruises to that end. But don't worry about me, I'll be fine. The black and blue marks were nothing next to my husband's serious irritation at having to pour me frequent glasses of water, lead me over bumps in the sidewalk, and dial my friends' phone numbers.

My big suggestion: If you're ever going to attempt such tomfoolery, make sure you're paying your guide by the hour, and determine the currency beforehand.

WISH YOU WERE HERE, WILBUR

Pop Quiz!

The picture below is of:

a--me after a Ben and Jerry's jag.

b--an overly-flattering representation of our President.

c--an Iowan farm animal safari

d--none of the above

If you guessed "D," you're partially right. There might be a little bit of "B" in there too. I don't know. The picture is just in from the Roger Waters concert at Hollywood Bowl last week. Well, I've had the picture the whole time, just hadn't gotten around to emailing it to myself from my phone. Lazy!! For those who didn't have the good fortune to go, it was an amazing show. I'm not even a big fan or anything and it was still one of my favorite concerts. One of the best parts was the giant inflatable pig floating above the crowd. Disclaimer: I'm biased, because I love pigs, and there's a famous one named after me.

Anyway, this huge guy in front of me was smoking loads and loads of weed, and I asked him if I could "borrow" a rolling paper (I wanted to make a paper airplane, in case you're wondering.) I told him if he gave me a paper, I'd give him... a little herbal treat, that I already knew he'd like, without even knowing much about the guy. But then my whole "airplane folding" project went awry, and it was a total disaster, and I had nothing to give the guy but a tiny packet of M+Ms. This guy was so big that it probably would have taken about 30 packets of M+Ms for him to taste just one piece. But it was all I had. So, I handed them over sheepishly, and he, after examining them closely, even holding up a flashlight to them--I think he was hoping they might have been something slightly more psychedelic than chocolate candies--managed a shrug, tore into the pack, and started munching quite agreeably.

And we all lived happily ever after. Especially the pig.

A WHALE OF A POST

Hi Everyone,

Since I only had time to be blind for about fifteen minutes this weekend, I will attempt to edify you with a brief interim post: I just read today in the New York Times that certain species of whale can live for up to about 200 years. A story in today's Week in Review talked about Eskimo hunters having recently killed a whale in whose head they found a harpoon dating back to the 1880s! I think this is an important reminder we humans aren't the best at everything. Nor can we approximate all of the advantages of other species using new technologies. Though we are trying. Well, not me personally. I don't think I can claim responsibility for even one technological innovation in this or any other century. Currently, I feel a bit like a whale, having eaten a delicious vanilla cupcake from Hotcakes Bakes (in Mar Vista,) followed by some Trader Joes oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. They're not that good, but they're very faithful. They know to stay put in my cupboard until I command them to do otherwise.

The other thing I feel compelled to make sure you know about whales: They share a very close ancestry with cows. Can you believe it? A creature crawled out of the water, evolved, and then crawled back into the water and evolved some more? And now, you'd never know they were cousins. All of this begs the question: If a whale and a cow hooked up, would they have retarded children?

One more thing before I go to bed: During my short stint blindness experiment, my husband kept leading me up and down the same curb over and over again, in a zig-zag pattern, sabotaging my senses and disorienting me completely. I'm not sure if he's the best seeing-eye husband out there. Applications for guides are currently being accepted.

SNEW, PART TWO: NATIONAL SMILE DAY?

Hey Readers,

How are you? I'm in a really good mood right now, fresh from my smile experiment. As promised last week, I conducted this bit of research, smiling for (at least) a half mile walk on a pedestrian-trafficked street. Well, I will preface my report by saying that what started out as a half mile turned into about a mile and a half! Apparently, smiling can be addictive, even for your garden-variety curmudgeon (a category under which you would definitely find my name, photo, and fingerprints.)

So, as I started down towards the Main Street area of Santa Monica/Venice, adjacent to my home, I couldn't help but feeling a little nervous about what was to transpire. When I made reference to a straitjacket last week, it was only partially hyperbolic. Though I found it a bit straining to smile while gulping back a nervous mole hill in my throat, I resolved to keep up the good work, as it were. In fact, I decided to throw myself to the wolves and not only perambulate down Main Street with a smile on my face, but do some (smiley) shopping at the Sunday farmer's market. What I noticed at first was that a lot of people were looking right past me and my goofy grin. I figured my sunglasses might be the culprit, so I removed them, and allowed the games to truly begin. Once I did, I was slightly disappointed at first, to notice that some people were still looking right past me... I told myself this was a coping mechanism: How do you deal with another human being smiling right at you in the middle of a city? It's like dealing with any other urban hazard: you shut down, and retreat further into your metropolitan shell. So that's what I reckon these people were doing, and I forgive them.

But then, (and this, my friends, is the sprinkles, the frosting, and the maraschino cherry) my mounting cheek-ache started paying off, as stolid, somber folks started... smiling back. This occurred with both men and women. (Though I'll admit, the men were quicker to smile, and for that reason, I am calling all male readers to conduct this very investigation and report back, so we can all be privy to the flip side.) At this point, I was emboldened to really go for it--even though my allotted experiment window was technically up, I approached fruit and vegetable vendors with an unabashed beam. The result? Discounted produced. Full disclaimer: The market was wrapping up for the day, so farmers were motivated to move product. That being said, the sale price on strawberries was three bucks a basket, and I got them for two--the vendor actually handed me back one of my three dollars! I also got a free apricot, after already having committed to buying a pound. There were other bargains gotten, but I'll spare you the quotidien details.

Saving money on fruit seems reason enough to justify a perma-smile, but let me tell you, reader, there were other benefits. One, I'm pretty sure I cheered up at least a handful of people, including a lonely parking attendant, and a guy with a "visualize whirled peas" bumper sticker on his car. These instances more than balanced out the couple of scornful looks I got from people who really couldn't abide the sight of good cheer. Two, the whole smiling thing actually became habit-forming! When it was time for me to wrap up my research, I found it difficult to wipe the grin off my face. I accidentally smiled at a family with a young baby as I made my way back through the less-trafficked residential street to my house, and guess what? They returned the smile. Even the baby! Okay, maybe not the baby--his face was obscured by a stroller awning--but definitely the parents. But the final, foremost, (and some would say slightly objectivist) reason in support of SWIP (smiling while in public) is that it put me, a self-professed curmudgeon, in excellent spirits.

In conclusion, as "The Killers" have so lyrically urged, I strongly encourage you to "Smile Like You Mean It."

Log on next week for my second great experiment, in which I will spend the day blindfolded.