LMNL at OneDome

I have a work thing in San Francisco, so I came up a few days early to spend the weekend with Cousin Roni.  And we had salads and went retro clothes shopping (and I got a sweater with little kitty faces on it) and I met her bunny and we walked around and I saw views and it was fun!

And today, I wanted to do something vaguely indoorsy, and Groupon hooked us up with LMNL at OneDome.  LMNL is billed as an interactive exhibit made up of 14 rooms designed by 14 different artists that you get to play in.

I had hoped for something kinda like Meow Wolf. 

Not so much.  It was more like Instagram Heaven.

First, we started with "Health Shots."  Served in skull shot glasses, for some damn reason.  No, wait, I know the reason.  Because this looks cool.

We were actually pretty lucky, in that we got there when there was no line, and most of the rooms were empty, or had only one group in them (and we could just wait our turn and get the room to ourselves).  But the people who were in there fell into several categories:

- Families with kids who were running and jumping and playing and having the bestest time!
- Artist-types who were feeling the vibe and sketching what they saw.
- Duos made up of one person who was clearly the Instragram model and the other who was her photographer.

Me and Roni were just there to, y'know, have fun.

I really like the room with strings of lights in it.  This was one place where the reflection in my glasses added to the effect.  Dude, we are in the Matrix.

You can't quite tell (because selfie) but we were SURROUNDED by the strings of lights; we're standing in a small space in the middle, but it's lights everywhere.

The wall in this one was surprisingly fun to play with.

Not sure why I was going for the "Chased by something" look here, but the wall totally adds to the panic.

There was one very small room (you could barely fit both of us in there) which was mirrored on all surfaces and the mirrors had flashy lights in them which responded to motion.  We stood outside the room for a bit, watching the Instagram Couple take all the photos they wanted -- she kept posing, telling him the pose she was taking, and directing him which shots to take.  It kind of cracked us up.  I told Roni that when we got in there, I was going to sit in the corner and completely ignore the camera, and then turn and stare blankly at it, like I so totally don't care about anything.

Roni says I nailed it.  I'm thinking of maybe starting an Instagram of "50-Year-Old Does 15-Year-Old Angst" poses, but, like, I just totally can't be bothered right now.

And then we stood up in the tiny room, and figured that if it's REALLY activated by motion, we should give it some damn motion.  So we did a little tango in there, and were rewarded with tons of bright rainbow lights, and we laughed and fell toward the doorway.  When Roni opened the door, we saw the Instagram Couple out there, and I wondered if they'd noticed us totally goofing in the room, but they were glued to their phones, reviewing their pix, and waiting for their turn to go back in and redo some shots.

Ooo, Universal Annual Pass

Tried out my Universal Studios Annual Pass today.  I've been to Universal in Florida five times in the past few years.  I know it well.  On the other hand, I've not been to Universal Hollywood since they put in the Harry Potter stuff, and, except for that one visit a few years back, possibly not for decades.

It's ... changed.

I moved to California in the late 1970s, and every time a friend or relative came to visit, my family would take them to Disneyland and Universal.  ("Tour A," we jokingly called it.)  When I got my driver's license (1984), I started volunteering to do the Universal runs myself.  My folks often let me do it; they were pretty sick of the place, but I loved it.

THAT's the Universal Studios I remember -- when Universal was a tram ride followed by four live shows (the Wild West Stunt Show, the makeup show, the animal show, and that fourth one where they use people from the audience as extras (how cool is that?)).  We would go back every time they added something new to the tram ride.   They added Jaws!  They added King Kong!  They added an Earthquake! 

I'd want to go back every time I saw something from the tour on TV.  That (hilariously bad) ice tunnel/avalanche thing?  We recognized it in that Bigfoot episode of Six Million Dollar Man (a classic of American entertainment).  They put the damn thing in an episode of "Knight Rider," and I'd want to go back and see it again.  It was that whole idea of being close to the Actual Real Stuff They'd Actually Used To Make The Movies.  Actually.

The tour guides on the trams would always tell you what stuff had been filmed Right Where You Were, and they'd give you Inside Info on movies they were filming (or had just finished) so that you'd keep an eye out for them.  I remember when they told us to look out for that "Back to the Future" thing they'd filmed in the town square.  Of course, the next time I went to Universal, they were pitching something else they'd filmed since; it took years for them to call it "Back to the Future Square" on the tour.  But that's because now it's not about showing you the Actual Stuff where movies are Actually Being Made Right Now.  Now it's shiny and packaged with video clips (and, if you time it right (or wrong) a song and dance number in Whoville) and a big ol' Fast and Furious Thing at the end.

And the shows and rides have changed, too.  Sure, shows and rides ALWAYS change at theme parks, but if you walk into Disneyland, you still know "Pirates of the Caribbean" is over there to your left, and if you keep going, you'll hit "Haunted Mansion."  I walked into Universal today and couldn't find anything.  I happened into the "Special Effects" show, which was in the ... yes! that theater still has the exterior of a castle and that's where they used to do that classic movie monsters show where they made up some audience member like the Bride of Frankenstein.

(Shoutout to the "American Tail" show, also disappeared; now replaced by the "Minion Mayhem" attraction.)

And the "Mummy" ride.  (OK, pause here.  The "Mummy" ride in Florida is actually a "Mummy" ride.  It's got Brendan Fraser on video and something of a storyline and fire and stuff and it's THEMED right through.  The "Mummy" ride in Hollywood is a dark ride, with theming in the waiting area and the very first part of the ride, but otherwise contents itself with being a roller coaster in the dark which occasionally shows you screens with something scary on them.  However, the backwards bit rocks.)  The "Mummy" is a dark ride located where my memories tell me the "E.T." ride ought to be.  (And for all I know, they've probably still got some of the "E.T." stuff in there, just pushed to the side and covered with a tarp.)  There used to be that "Backdraft" attraction in the lower lot, too.  And ... wait a minute, something in the Special Effects show reminded me that there used to be a three-section Special Effects Theater down here.  What the hell happened to that?  Internet tells me "Backdraft" AND the Special Effects Theater were replaced with the "Transformers" ride.  Great.  A Decepticon stole my childhood.

When I was driving home from Universal, I was chatting with my parents on the phone and told them the park wasn't recognizable anymore.  Dad remembered having seen "Lord of the Dance" at the Universal Amphitheatre.  ("Not Riverdance.  The other one where the guy didn't do much in it.")  Dad wanted to know what happened to the amphitheatre.

Good question.  It coalesced with my interent search of "Hey, what did they build the Wizarding World on?"  Yup, Dad, Hogwarts is now on the site of the Universal Amphitheatre.  You could almost hear the echoes of the step dancers.

I'm not going to complain about the Wizarding World because it's kind of awesome (and, since it is similar to the one in Florida, it's the only part of the park I can more-or-less find my way around).  But I do wonder, as space considerations and a fickle public move on to the Next Big Thing, what will eventually take its place when it, too, is wiped away?

50 for 50: 46 - Destroy the World with Janet, Ellen & Janice

Yeah.  This sort of became a 50 for 50 by popular demand.  I mean, sure, "Escape Room" was already taken (when Cousin Seth and Cousin Gavi and I got screwed over by the "Don't touch the fireplace"/"Oh, well, actually you should touch the fireplace" thing).  But I wasn't managing to get in any OTHER 50 for 50 with Janet OR Ellen OR Janice, so when we all somehow agreed to do "Sherlock: The Game Is Now" in London, it got added to the list.

On the plus side, this is not your ordinary Escape Room.  It costs about twice as much and is WORTH IT.  The tech and the immersive elements in this are first rate.  ABSOLUTELY first rate.  (With one astonishing low-tech exception.)  You sort of get a hint of exactly how much quality you're going to get when you show up.  It's in a mall and takes up what looks like SEVERAL storefronts.  And you actually enter through a mock storefront.  (You are warned about this in advance.  The idea is that you're signing up for secret agent training so OF COURSE they're going to have you meet at a mock storefront.  And it's a pretty good mock storefront.  I mean, considering that this is JUST the place where you go in, store your crap (every group gets one giant box for their stuff), and fill out the waiver, they've put a lot of effort into filling the room with props (and human beings) to make it look like something it isn't.)

The room also requires four to six people.  Ellen -- a very nice lady from Germany who I met while watching Andrew Scott play "Hamlet" -- and I decided that we would do this as soon as it was announced.  But I can count to four, and me plus Ellen didn't quite get me there.  At the same time, I've been trying to get Janice into an Escape Room with me for years.  ACTUAL years.  Janice is a quick thinker (I've known her since we were part of the advanced math group in Junior High School) and I've been curious how she'd attack a room.  One of my regrets of this room is that I was paying so much attention to trying to get out of it, I didn't get to really watch how Janice got on.  ANYWAY, I invited Janice and her daughter Beth to come along.  (Janice lives in England, outside London, and they agreed to take the train in for this.)  We also added Janet and Rob.  Janet is a friend from work who -- for the second time -- found herself interested in going to London around the time I was going to London, and we were more than happy to add them to our crew.  Besides, we needed all the help we could get.

(Second regret:  We didn't actually get much time beforehand to discuss strategy, and we've (obviously) never done a room together.  We were a little disorganized in the first part of this, because of that, but we got it together by the second room.)

OK, so they start you with your introduction.  In a private room, they give you video clips and an introduction to both the secret agent organization you're "joining" as well as an introduction to, y'know, REASONING and shit.  Making deductions from the evidence before you.  Your (live human being) host is showing you slides and asking what you can infer from them, and it dawns on me that we are pretty much taking our sweet time here.  It isn't just "sign the waiver and we'll drop you in the room"; it's sign the waiver and we'll get you all warmed up on the thinking (with much positive reinforcement along the way) and THEN we'll go in the room.

The little practice problem they give you is a modern take on a classic Sherlock Holmes story.  This fact hits at least three of us at the same time.  Beth notes the similarity aloud (go Beth!); I name the story.  Armed with this insight, we solve that one right quick and get taken into the sitting room for our pre-game photo.

This is supposed to be ... I honestly can't remember what they claim it's for, but I figure it's to be used for identifying our bodies when we fail.

(Along the way to the sitting room, we pass a cardboard cutout of Martin Freeman as Watson.  It's about two-thirds lifesize.  Our guide comments that it's actual size, and we laugh.  Our guide THEN comments that "some people say he looks like a hobbit."  We laugh again, and I mentally adjust my estimation of the patter upward.  This is VERY immersive and realistic, but also tongue-in-cheeck and playing with the fourth wall.)

In the sitting room, we're given a video introduction to our training by a (very bored) Mycroft and I'm honestly not really listening because any idiot knows that very soon something "bad" is going to happen and we're going to go into "this is not a drill" mode and THEN I'll pay attention.

It happens.  It's hilarious.  Andrew Scott is back as Moriarty.  And just around the second you think, "Oh wait.  Isn't he dead?" Video Moriarty says, "Yes, I'm dead."  Honest to God, people, whoever wrote Moriarty's speech on this video deserves an Escapey or whatever they call awards for Escape Room writing, because we have just raised the fucking bar on the standard "Oh, hey, I've kidnapped your leader and you have one hour to save him" speech.

We're actually in the sitting room with another group, and we're both taken out and led to our own (identical) Escape Rooms.  We know they have two sets; they probably have more.  (The website suggests they've got five.)

The tech is superb.  SUPERB.  You never have to open or close a door; it's all automatic.  There were a few physical locks; most were electronic keypads.  A few physical puzzles; but, again, most were electronic.  Lots of information you have to get out of a computer terminal.  Another room with numerous moving parts -- hit the right thing and hidden displays appear; hit the other right thing and control pads elevate from hidden compartments.  Hit the wrong thing and SOMEONE points you in the right direction.  (Frequently "Sherlock," typing something on a screen.  I am fairly certain that if you're actually GOOD at this, you will never hear from Sherlock at all.  We heard from him a lot.  Always encouraging, like, "Those first two things are correct," rather than, "You idiot; the third thing is obviously wrong.")

A couple times, they called us.  A couple times, we called them.  Clues were given.  We will ignore the fact that we solved the puzzles but had issues working the telephone.

(At the end of the game, you receive a card on which Sherlock has graded your group, assigning you to one of nine group personality types.  Each type has a positive and a negative.  We are categorized as "The Academics."  Our positive is "Breezed through the hard," and our negative is "Ensnared by the simple."  I assume this was based on our inability to use a bloody telephone.)

It isn't that there were unlimited clues.  (There WERE unlimited clues.)  It's that you paid enough money for this that you weren't going to fail, so they would give you enough clues (and, in some cases, just automatically open the damn doors, even if you hadn't earned it) to get through.

(OK, so, like, a couple weeks ago, I was with my aunt and uncle and cousin and cousin's kid and they each did this VR thing where they chased and killed a minotaur.  And my cousin killed the minotaur -- shot him in the head.  And my cousin's kid killed the minotaur -- shot him in the body.  And my uncle killed the minotaur -- shot him the delicate bits.  And my aunt ... look, the minotaur just backed into that thing and the grate came down and crushed his head.  Dead minotaur, ok?  That's this escape room:  the end result is always success; whether you actually had anything to do with it is another matter.)

Or, putting it another way, our little review card says our result was "Success" and our time was "60+" minutes.  Yeah, it's a 60-minute escape room.

I've never had so much fun failing.  It was not a VR room at all, but it was LIKE VR, in the sense that it was completely immersive (while you were always aware it was a game).  By the time we got into the last room, there were four (possibly five) puzzles we had to solve and I saw we had about ten minutes to do it.  (I may have said aloud, "We are so fucked.")  But I GENUINELY felt like we were well and truly fucked.  Urgent music playing urgently in the background; monitors in the center of the room showing different audio and video all hurrying us along; four puzzles we didn't even know HOW to approach; Moriarty about to take out our fearless leader; Sherlock about to be super disappointed in us; the shame of having to come online and admit to all of you that we failed big time ... Ellen later said she couldn't even concentrate on the game because it ACTUALLY felt stressful.  She's not wrong.

I scratched myself at some point in the game.  (Look!  Blood!)

I didn't notice until afterward.  I was so into solving this thing, I completely missed my own owie.

We failed (or, y'know, succeeded in over 60 minutes), and were escorted into the "you're done now" room.  Our hosts explained the puzzles we were stuck on at the end (another 15 minutes and maybe...?) as well as a place I'd personally screwed up earlier (sorry, y'all -- I broke the cardinal rule by thinking I had the solution to something myself without sharing the clue with everyone).

They then showed us an IMPRESSIVE amount of boxes full of stuff and jokingly tell you that the last puzzle is figuring out which box has your stuff.  I have a key.  I remember what the lock looked like.  I find a box with a lock like that, use my key, open the box, and find SOMEONE ELSE'S STUFF.  That's right -- for all the high tech in the rooms, they have two padlocks on the lockboxes which take exactly the same key!

Once we took hold of our own belongings, they led us into the last room:  a bar!  (I figured it would be either a bar or a gift shop.)  You're encouraged to grab a table and have a drink and deprogram.  We had a great chat.  Ellen and Janet had seen a LOT of the same plays, so they were talking theatre, while I caught up with Janice.  Then Janice had to leave, so I got to talk more with Janet and Ellen.  We discussed work and not work, and how to approach escape rooms (it was Janet's first, although her husband had done a few) and what we'd do differently the next time.  Ellen said that the hosts told her they'll change this room in the future, so we can come back and play it again.

I hope we do.

50 for 50: 45 - Hockey Game with Laura

Laura is one of those people I met through another friend.  She's been Peggy's friend since ... forever, I guess ... and I got to know her when we were both bridesmaids at Peggy's wedding.  Somewhere around here, I have a photo of us in up-dos and dark blue gowns which sort of matched--

-- I was grateful to Peggy for those dresses, really.  I've been a bridesmaid quite a few times, but this was the easiest, dress-wise.  Rather than make us all wear the same dress, Peggy gave us a color and a "line" and let us all get whatever top and skirt combination worked for us.  And we were all of an age where we all knew what style worked for ourselves.  It was the total opposite of an episode of "Say Yes To The Dress" -- that show where the bride-to-be tries on dresses and is generally badgered by mom to get the princessy dress until she finally stands up for herself and says she wants the sexy mermaid, dammit.  For Peggy's wedding, the team of us attacked David's Bridal, tried on what worked, and ordered the damn dress.  Done, done, and done.  Something to be said for a bridal party where everyone is old enough to be confident in her style.

Shit.  Now I have to find that photo.

:::Jeopardy music here:::

Aha!

That's Laura in the middle (and me next to her, workin' the cleavage).  So, yeah, we go back at least as far as Peggy's wedding.  And Laura lives in Pasadena near me, so sometimes when Peggy would come up to the area, we'd all get together.  (Dumplings were frequently involved.  Frequently.)  And sometimes Laura and I would get together without Peggy.  Usually at theatre or other cultural-type events. 

For some reason, I associate Laura more with classical music and other events more on the snooty side of things.  So I was pleasantly surprised when she said she wanted to go to a hockey game for my 50 for 50.

Especially because I hadn't been to a hockey game since... I can't pin it down exactly, but I'm pretty sure it was before I knew how to drive.  The Kings played at the Forum; it was the pre-Gretsky era; and hockey fans were pretty much thugs -- getting drunk, cussing loudly, and waving big foam fingers in front of your face.

For this one, Laura and I went for semi-snooty seats.  Got "Premier level" (ooo) seats on discount from Goldstar.  This meant we were on the same level as the suites.  "VIP" entrance; much less crowded concourse; somewhat nicer food selections; wait-staff to take food/beverage orders at your seat....  Look, this is how snooty it was:  the ladies' room didn't have soap in a dispenser, but had bottles of soap AND lotion next to every sink.  Ooooo.

So we got there early, downed some upscale-ish stadium food, and found a nice table to sit at while we ate and chatted.  We'd peeked at our seats and it definitely seemed cold in there.  I'd brought a blanket (actually a Snuggie.  Shut up.) but Laura had forgotten.  We stopped by the little shop selling Kings crap and Laura looked at all the nice, warm sweatshirts for the low, low price of ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  (She settled for the nice, warm, L.A. Kings beach towel, which had the advantage of providing warmth while not requiring a second mortgage.)  We went in just as the game started.

It's the selfie!

It's the picture the nice usher took, so you can actually see the ice behind us!

Last time I'd been at Staples was for a Sparks game.  Totally different experience.  The Sparks game was underproduced and felt kind of amateurish (not the game itself -- all the stadium crap going on around it), while the stadium crap at the Kings game was super polished and professional and just SLICK.  And compared to the audience I'd had for that Kings game at the Forum -- also totally different experience.  This crowd was largely quiet -- nearly silent, even -- just really being into the game and only bursting into emotion when the Kings scored (or, alternatively, when a goal-scoring play was overturned on review -- there was a brief period of extremely negative emotion being shared).  But respectful and INVOLVED.

After the game began, Laura asked me whether one team or the other was expected to win this one.  I hadn't actually looked it up, but based on how the game was going, I thought it was fairly clear that the Kings were being outplayed by the Winnipeg Jets (who had managed twice as many shots on goal than the Kings had).  At least I was seeing some spiffy goaltending from Jonathan Quick.  Dude is, y'know, ... quick.

(At one point, the organist played the "Laverne & Shirley" theme song, and it took a second to process that's what he was playing, and then a half a second to process why.  And nobody said a word; we just let everyone else process it, and think fondly of Penny.)

And someone must've spiked the Kings' punch during the first intermission, because they picked up the damn pace in the second, and were dominant.  Faster play; many more shots on goal; actual goals scored.  Respectful and involved audience got a little dancy and politely celebratory.

I get a text from a friend during the second intermission, asking if I could pick up a special holiday ornament for him.  I ask Laura if she wants to go on an adventure with me, and we head on down to the main concourse level.

I'm glad we do this, both because it's good to compare the main level with the snooty premier level (main is more crowded and much more harshly lit) but also because Laura likes the ornaments and buys one for herself.

We need our tickets to get back to the premier level.  We knew this, and had confirmed that we had our tickets when we headed down, but somehow Laura lost hers.  And we need to basically go back up with just one ticket.  So I hold the printed out ticket in my hand, unfolded, to show to the woman guarding the door, while Laura is right next to me, with a non-ticket piece of paper folded in her hand, and we walk right in.  And I feel super guilty because I am INTENTIONALLY USING the fact that white women of a certain age just don't get questioned, but I freakin' do it anyway, because the third period is about to start.

Kings kind of lose their spark in the third, but it's ok, 'cause they win anyway.  YAY!  (At one point, they get a penalty for too many men on the ice, and it's just as the organist is starting to play Seven Nation Army, and I question whether the organist was playing Seven Nation Army because we had seven guys out there, and crack myself up at the thought.  Props to the organist, a second time.)

I come home and research the answer to Laura's question -- whether one team was expected to win that one.  Turns out the Kings are dead last in their division, while the Jets are leading theirs, so, I mean, yeah, this was a sweet, sweet upset victory.

Go Kings Go!

50 fo 50: 44 - Cat Cafe with Dany

Dany was one of the first people to sign up for a "50 for 50," and she selected Cat Cafe, and it took, like, two years to get this one done.  Which is a little surprising given that we both live in L.A., and there are a couple of cat cafes here.

But, y'know, THINGS kept getting in the way.  Dany and I met in the Drama Critics Circle, and while I don't review all that much anymore, she still does, so she'll be at the theatre on weekends -- and that's generally the only time I've got available.  (And, lately, she's been off learning to teach yoga.)

But we finally managed to make a reservation for the Cat Cafe -- Crumbs and Whiskers -- for this morning.

I read their waiver in advance.  It's a standard form.  You acknowledge that you know you're risking injury or death or ....

Death??!!

It's sitting on the floor, PLAYING WITH KITTENS, not skydiving.  It's the safest thing ever.  It's little balls of fluff!

And then, this morning, before I go, I decide it's time to clip Jasmine's claws, and she just slides one of her sharp little nails right into the flesh of my finger, nice and deep.  (Probably with malice aforethought.)  I get a band-aid, we have a Very Serious Conversation about Not Clawing Mommy and I rethink just how safe rolling on the floor with 25 kittens actually is.

Driving to the Cat Cafe, I think I'm going to be a little late -- I'm actually going to get there just about on time, but they have no damn parking, so I know I'll be driving up and down side streets looking for a free spot, and my parking karma is generally pretty shitty.  So I call Dany and give her my food order in advance.  (The Cat Cafe takes all your food and drink orders at the beginning, so if you want the "cafe" part of the experience, you've got to get there on time.)

I get there and, sure enough, parking karma is legit shitty, and I'm driving around for another 7 minutes or so, until a spot appears a few blocks from the cafe.  I pull in and race-walk over to the cafe, having to stop while some Damn Tourists stop for photos in front of some wall on the list of "Best Instagram Spots in L.A." (and I idly wonder how many of these folks are stealing parking spots from people who have actual business to conduct nearby.  Like, at the cat cafe.)

I get in the door and say, "throw me a waiver and cover me in kittens!"

It doesn't EXACTLY work that way.  They first need someone to tell me the rules of the place (no picking up cats, no feeding cats people food, no waking sleeping cats, and no stealing cats - but adopting is encouraged).  Dany is already there, petting a kitty.

It's basically a single room, scattered with cat baskets, big soft poufs to sit on, cat food stations, cat perches, cat toys, and cats.  I'm told there are about 28 of them. 

I am not, however, covered with cats, due to the somewhat annoying presence of Other Human Beings.  I ask the helpful staff member who replies that they let about 18 people in at any given time.  The helpful staff member groks my unspoken question (to wit: then why is there no cat on me RIGHT NOW?), picks up a cat from someplace (THEY are alllowed to pick them up) and plops said cat in my presence.  This repeats a few times -- every time I am catless, she brings one over.

Everyone is following the rules, but I am a bit bothered by the failure to follow what I believe is common courtesy.  I mean, I don't go for a cat when someone else is petting and/or interacting with said cat, but some of the other guests don't seem to care about that, and try to, y'know, steal a cat away from me with a sparkly toy or by petting the other end.

(I remain polite, though.  It's very hard to seethe when you're petting a cat.)

Dany doesn't like being photographed (like, at all) so she turned them down when they walked around with a Polaroid taking snaps.  I took mine, though.

The beverages and foods (ordered from a restaurant nearby -- there's Health Code rules that prevent the place full o' cats from actually preparing food) finally arrive -- at which point 28 kittens start trying to make 18 humans break Rule #2.  Heck, the kitty with Dany wanted to eat the cardboard box her croissant came in.

While we were there, I made a very important discovery.  Jasmine herself is a solo cat -- an alpha with no betas -- but, someday, I will find myself "between cats," and needing of a new feline companion.  And, given the fur situation (to wit: on everything I own, all the time), I was thinking my next cat would be a short-hair.

But, OMG, the long-hairs are sooooo much softer!  Petting them right next to each other made that choice pretty clear.  The super-duper softness you get from petting a long-haired kitty is more than compensation for the pain of when they jam their widdle claws in your finger.  (Affectionately.)

(Ow.)

50 for 50: 43 - Cosplay with Ali and Jonathan

It is super fitting that my 50 for 50 with Ali comes right after my 50 for 50 with Deb, because Ali was that law student who moved in to that condo below me and next-door to Deb, and was part of that same little circle of neighbors who were good friends for a number of years.

We shared good times and bad times and leaks and mold and incompetent management companies. And decorating for the holidays and our usual table at Yang Chow.  And pets and card games and Ali graduating law school and "Oh my God, Ashley bought a truck!" 

We shared each other's lives in the way that you do when you live so close that when you need to share your joy or your pain or your excitement, these folks are just a doorbell away.

And then we all moved away.

And the only thing Ali and I really share now is Marvel movies.  We've been going to Marvel movies together at Arclight Pasadena ever since we lived within walking distance of Arclight Pasadena.  (We even won a drawing for free "Captain America" crap when we saw the first "Captain America" -- she kept the cap and I kept the T-shirt and I fucking love that T-shirt.)  And neither one of us lives there any more and now Ali is "Ali and Jonathan" and we STILL meet up at Arclight Pasadena for the opening weekend of every Marvel movie.  And it's good that we still have this thing, because we had so many things before.  And it's even better that we have this thing with Jonathan, now, because it's good when things evolve.

(Also, Jonathan can fill me in on the comic universe, and doesn't get judgy about my ignorant questions -- like some comic nerds do.)

And before we saw ... musta been "Black Panther," we were grabbing some dinner and we talked about the 50 for 50, and they selected "Cosplay Somewhere."

And we thought LA Comic Con would be a good place to do this.

(Yes.  In the space of two years, I have gone from "no cons since the early 90s" to Comic Cons in three cities, plus D23.  I'm not entirely sure how this happened.)

A couple weeks ago, I asked if we were going to do a group costume.  Given the Marvel movie thing, I had assumed we'd do something in that direction.  (Besides, I have an Agent Carter costume in the closet.  I figured I could wear that, and Jonathan could be Cap, and Ali could be Black Widow.  And that would work, right?)  And Ali says she's doing "Punk Eleven" and Jonathan is doing Chief Hopper -- and all of a sudden I realize I am not going to get away with reusing Agent Carter but I'm gonna have to make myself a "Stranger Things" thing.  And I think that I really freakin' SHOULD, anyway, because if this 50 for 50 is intended to get the complete cosplay experience, maybe I ought to actually make something.

I consider a Barb (but where am I going to find a Trapper Keeper on such short notice?) or a Joyce... and when I'm thinking that Joyce really needs the alphabet wall, I start googling for pictures of the alphabet wall and --

-- I wish I could take credit for the idea, but someone had it before me, so thank you brilliant anonyous cosplayer who realized you could just DRESS UP AS THE DAMN WALL.  And once I discovered I could get a string of LED Christmas lights with a little pocket-sized battery pack, the whole thing ended up being within the very narrow range of Things I Could Do (or, more precisely, Should Be Able To Do), and when it was all said and done, this happened:

Yeah, you can't see the letters unless you're looking for them, and the Christmas lights don't show up great at this angle, either, but it worked well enough in person that people got it, and dug it, and we got many compliments on the group and I even got a handful on the dress itself.  (Some dude gave me a thumbs-up and called me Joyce.)

Here, this solo shot came out better:

My parents asked me why people actually cosplay.  I'm a little cautious getting too far into the psychology of this thing, because I'm still pretty new at it.  But I'll take a shot.  Setting aside the professionals who do this for, y'know, money and fame and stuff, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say people do it because it's fun. 

(That's why we did it, anyway.)

When we stopped for lunch (they have food trucks -- a great idea, but an insufficient number of trucks for the number of attendees), Jonathan observed that a bunch of the cosplay here involved people crossing gender lines, or being blind to race or ethnicity.  And while the three of us were definitely cosplaying within our gender and racial identity, I agree that part of the appeal of cosplay is the non-judgmental premise of it.  Which is to say, you don't "have" to cosplay your gender, race, age, body type, or disability status.  Cosplay whomever you want.  (Footnote:  Except blackface.  Don't use blackface.  Greenface OK.  Seriously, man, I saw a Shrek & Fiona.)  So, in addition to the "fun" part, cosplay just gives you an opportunity to be who you're not; or who you are deep down inside but nobody gets to see. 

And speaking from the experience of someone who has been to a surprising number (being as it is non-zero) of comic cons this year, I can now add that another thing cosplay does is identify you as a member of the Geek Community.  My Lyft driver dropped me about a block away from the convention center, and while I was walking over, I joined a bunch of other people walking over, and a few of them were in costume, too.  When I had walked to New York Comic Con, I followed the cosplayers in what I mentally called "the parade of the nerds" down to the convention center.  I joined the parade, but I wasn't in cosplay.  Today, I was.  In New York, I followed them, because they were my people and I knew they were going my way.  Here, my costume TOLD THEM that I was one of them.  Proud self-identification as a member of the clan.

Later in the afternoon, I split off from Ali and Jonathan (they went to some panels) and a couple people complimented me on the dress and a few asked for photos and I was flattered and smiled and said "of course," and they took the pictures and they said "thank you," and I said, "thank you," and that TOO was cool -- because I'm no supermodel and when has a stranger EVER wanted to take a picture of me?  And my favorite was when a father asked if he could take a picture of me with his two kids and I looked at them and was all, "Of course!" and it was kind of perfect so he offered to take one with my phone, too, which is why I have this now.

And I should probably note that I never Never NEVER let anyone else hold my phone.  Because it's my damn phone.  (And handing someone your phone while it's unlocked to take a picture risks that they're going to run off with your unlocked phone and THEN you're well and truly screwed, aren't you?)  But dude's kids were dressed up as Eleven and the Demogorgon and we are sharing this moment of both having put in time and money to go out in public dressed as characters from THE SAME DAMN SHOW and of course I'm going to trust him.

Cosplay is the secret handshake.  Except it isn't so secret.

50 for 50: 42 - New York with Deb

Deb used to be my neighbor.  My condo was above her family's, and over one, back on Euclid Street.  I can't recall when I actually first met her, although I have a vague recollection it had something to do with using a Blockbuster Video card to jimmy the door open.  (I kept a Blockbuster Video card long after Blockbuster Video just for that purpose.  Damn, those things were of the perfect size and flexibility.)  But I REALLY met Deb when the smoke alarm in the then-vacant unit next to hers and below mine WOULD NOT FUCKING STOP BEEPING.  It was a problem somewhat unique to our two units, and one night, when we couldn't take it any more, we called the police, who called the real estate agent who had the listing, and got SOMEONE to break in there and RIP THAT DAMN SMOKE DETECTOR OFF THE FUCKING WALL.  (Blockbuster card would not have worked; they'd set the deadbolt.)  We became friends; we ultimately became friends with the law student who eventually bought the unit with the offending detector, too.  We were a weird little bunch, demographically speaking -- I think I was closer in age to Deb and the law student was closer in age to Deb's daughter, but we all got along in various combinations.  Frequently over Chinese food at Yang Chow.  Sometimes watching "Pushing Daisies."  Often baking cookies.

(Ask her about the Unfortunate Apple Pie Incident.  Go on, ask her.)

She moved away.  Then I moved away.  Then she moved REALLY away.  Several states away.  We kept in touch with cheerful text messages, although the text messages which used to say "Neighbor!" now started with "Former Neighbor!"

We decided to meet in New York City.  This was a pretty cool idea because "Broadway" was on my list and "New York" was pretty much on hers.  Deb hadn't been in New York in (more or less) ever, so I was excited to use my vast knowledge (limited to a finite number of blocks in the theater district) to show her around the place.

We got in Tuesday night, and went to tea at a quaint little place called Alice's Tea Cup, which I'd always wanted to try.  (The tea selection looks like they've stolen a fraction of Chado's menu, but the sandwiches are thick and the scones obscenely large.)  Deb and I squealed over each other's new "looks" and got caught up and shoved way too much food in our faces.

For today, with one small, super annoying exception (I had to go pick up my badge for New York Comic Con because they sent it to my house too late), I pretty much left today to Deb.  It was hard because there was just SO MUCH she hadn't seen and wanted to see, but we ended up with ... well, we ended up with me putting, like, more than 18,000 steps on my step counter.

We started at the Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum, which is WAY more than a decommissioned aircraft carrier.  We started by touring the Growler, a Cold War era guided missile submarine.  It was super cool and I took a selfie in the torpedo room.

Then we went up to the flight deck of the Intrepid.

And then we walked over to the pavilion where they had parked Enterprise, because if you need a place to park your Space Shuttle, OF COURSE the deck of an aircraft carrier is the logical choice.

And once we'd finished with that, we had lunch and we talked about the Kavanaugh nomination and #metoo and racism and sexism and the right to identify however you damn well want and how to have legitimate, respectful dialogue with people on the other side and we solved all the world's problems so nothing to worry about there, you're welcome.

And THEN, we took a Lyft down to Lower Manhattan and did a walking tour that was one of those self-guided scavenger hunt thingies.  We got to see the Wall Street Bull and Fearless Girl; the Ground Zero site; City Hall; lots of parks; the Vietnam Memorial; Hamilton's grave at Trinity Church; anna bunch of public art.  It ended in Battery Park so Deb got to see the Statue of Liberty (albeit from a distance).  We named our team "Euclideans" (after our street), and we ended up scoring 9th out of something like 84 teams who've done this hunt.  Which was fine and good (except some construction prevented us from solving one of the clues, and I sent them an email because someone owes us 75 points and at least 10 minutes and no, I'm not competitive, SHUT UP).  And I'm glad Deb got to see some of the stuff she'd wanted to see, and I was glad I did too -- I'd always MEANT to catch up with Fearless Girl, but had never taken the time to go down there.

When we finished, we grabbed some Chinese food ("real Chinese food" having also been on her list) and saw "The Nap," which was a British farce played Way Too Slow.  (I was speculating that they'd intentionally slowed it down so American audiences would understand the Yorkshire accents, but slow farce is deadly.)  And that's pretty much enough time spent talking about that play.  We'll aim a bit higher tomorrow.

We came back to the hotel, enjoyed some leftovers from last night's tea for dessert, and crashed.

Bit of a day.