March, Nineteen Ninety Nine
A weird, ugly, fun day.
I woke up around ten. Played some music. Robert Goulet, Sid Ramin, June Christy.
Around noon I realized that the hangover I’d been hoping to avoid was kicking in. Lying on the living room floor, I could hear car horns honking outside. Had no idea what that was about. I dozed for a while.
Woke up around two and told myself I’d have to move if I was gonna make the three forty show of Fallen Angels at the Beverly.
I walked out onto the street and saw that Cahuenga was a parking lot. Massive traffic jam. Then it hit me. The marathon.
I was thinking I’d catch the two twelve on Hollywood Boulevard, but the marathon meant Hollywood Boulevard was closed. Should I go back home? Skip the movie?
Nah. I didn’t feel too hung over at that point, and I felt like walking a little might clear my head. I decided to go down to Sunset and catch the bus over to La Brea in the hope that the two twelve would be running that part of its route.
But Sunset was closed, too. So I figured, okay, I’ll go down to Santa Monica. Which I did. The only westbound bus that went by was so packed I couldn’t get on it.
So I walked down to Melrose. By this time I wasn’t feeling too good. I leaned against the pole at the bus stop, wishing the bus would come. Another guy who was waiting told me that it was gone arrive in about five minutes.
Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. I finally decided to just go on walking, and it’s a good thing cuz not a single bus passed me in the time it took me to reach La Brea.
From there it was a short walk down to the theatre. As much trouble as it was, the movies were worth the trip. Fallen Angels was wonderful. And I liked Chungking Express much better seeing it a second time.