There's no business like show business

Last night was the gala premiere of Sean and Curtis' magnum opus, Death Valley. Sherman, the guy who owns the New Beverly Cinema, was even kind enough to change the marquee to reflect the evening's programming. (Curtis said he seemed reluctant to put the title up until he learned that it was only 2 bitty little words; apparently he is still scarred from the double bill of The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz and The Mad Adventures of Rabbi Jacob.)

About 200 people showed up, most of them primed for a schlocky good time. Bruce, whom I think I haven't seen since Sean's and my wedding, drove all the way out from Redlands and it was wonderful to spend some time catching up with him. Lorie and Hamp drove down from Santa Barbara, and Keith and Yvonne made the trek from Riverside -- it was quite the cosmopolitan audience. There were, of course, tons of people there that I didn't recognize, mostly friends of the actors. Grayson showed up in a limo, which seems distinctly un-Buddhist to me.

I sat in the next-to-last row between Sean and Curtis and had a good view of everyone's reaction. The boys screened Significant Others before Death Valley, and I was startled that my three-second performance got a big shout-out from the audience. It felt as nice as winning an Oscar (and it's the closest I'll ever get). As fun as the evening was, I am utterly relieved that the creative aspect of Death Valley has come to an end and I can get my husband back.

On the way home, Susan hit a horrendous pothole. I was sitting in the back seat on the passenger side, and the rest of the drive back I could hear these disturbing metallic grindings and groanings coming from the wheel closest to me, though I think everyone else in the car was oblivious to them. So much for Susan's brand-spankin' new Ford.

Currently:
57.7 degrees F
my eyes hurt
a large pot of boiling water awaits pasta