surlyclown

So, last week was like this: Celebrity infatuation, (almost) community immolation and spiritual introspection.

The new show I'm working on is still casting and we've had a parade of perky actresses filling up the hallways auditioning for the lead female roll. Low and behold as Burbank began to burn down on Friday, Rachel Perry was here to audition. She's the voice of all those wonderfully snarky VH1 countdown specials and a VJ as well. Funny, snarky and Canadian. And oh yeah, she looks like this:

So, we wind up in a conversation about the impending demise of my town...and more importantly...how the hell am I going to drive home. She is genuine and empathetic and funny and I'm pretty sure I managed not to fawn over her as much as I wanted to. She rules.

In the spiritual part, it was a year ago last Thursday that my father passed away. I left work early to take a walk in the hills of Burbank and watch the sunset. I programmed a songlist of songs my dad liked, including some Hawaiian songs, into my iPod and had a nice long, thoughtful walk. When the sun had set, I began to walk home and put Ippy on 'shuffle.' The first song out of 6000 potential songs to play was 'Imagine' by John Lennon. The second: 'Rock-A-Hula' by Elivs Presley. If ever there was a philosophy of life summed up in two songs...that was it.