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A Weekend at the Crest with Bill Medley and Roger Ebert
Somebody said the other day that the meaning of life was to be with family and friends — oh, wait, it was Bill Medley who brought that up on stage at the Crest Theatre Friday night. The sentiment seemed odd to me, almost self-centered in a way, although everybody in the audience applauded. But then Bill Medley was born 12 years before me, lost his singing partner Bobby Hatfield to a cocaine overdose right before the Righteous Brothers were due to go onstage, and has had an array of experiences completely foreign to my own, so who’s to say; it’s just a different point of view.
I think the meaning of life is to try to leave the world in a little bit better place than when you arrived.
Then, not entirely surprising, my husband and I were at the Crest Theatre this Sunday to watch the premier of Life Itself, a documentary about Roger Ebert, the famous film critic who died last year after a long battle with cancer. People always say that those who survived cancer or didn’t immediately die from it are courageous or brave, is there really valor in choosing life over death? In Ebert’s case, I’m also not sure valiance is a necessary ingredient for pugnaciousness. When his time came to go, he slipped away willingly. It was a beautifully intimate portrait of his life, tears and all.
Both Roger Ebert and Bill Medley were born about the same time, give or take a couple of years. Roger, I should note, also lost his TV partner, Gene Siskel to a brain tumor. Both of these guys lost half of their act and weathered the agony and loss. They both also were no strangers to how laughter can help to pave the way when the road gets rough. My husband was poking fun at Bill Medley as I got ready to go to the show with my girlfriend. He kept singing: I lost my god damn car keys. Medley himself played off perceptions of old age by pretending to pull out his back when going down on his knees. Just wait until my husband gets old. He thinks he’s old now but he’s not.
I have this image of myself as an old lady. And let me insert here that my definition of being an “old lady” changes every year. When was in my teens and hitchhiking across the country, I thought 30 was old. When I turned 45, I thought 60 was old. Now that I qualify for a senior discount at the Crest Theatre, I think 75 is old, maybe 80. But when I’m old lady, I see myself sitting on the front porch of my home in a rocking chair, rocking a rifle in my lap, ready to take aim at the intruders who try to stick me into an “Old Folk’s Home.” Bear in mind I would have to learn how shoot a gun and purchase said firearm, if I intended to really shoot somebody, so it will more likely be a toy rifle I found online at Target, like a rifle Matt Dillon would keep on hand for official marshall duty, but ssshh don’t tell the cops.
Or maybe it would be over eminent domain. They might want to bulldoze my house to put up a casino. I’d sic our cats on ’em, point that rifle and scream: get offa my land. Hey, hey, You, You. No seriously, I will be a force of nature. I hope my husband is around to enjoy it.
Robert Randolph and the 86th Academy Awards Show
This will be the first night in many decades that I will have to view the 86th Academy Awards show on some other day. The reason is that Robert Randolph and the Family Band is bringing funky soul tonight to the Crest Theatre in downtown Sacramento. Randolph is a guy who got his start in southern church music and was named about 10 years ago to the Rolling Stone’s list of 100 best guitar players ever. I just hope he doesn’t make us get up on stage and dance because I’ll be fighting the bedtime nod-off time. Hey, 9 PM, I want to go to sleep. I don’t care where I am.
Of course, the downside is I will get up tomorrow morning and read in the headlines who won the Oscars, and I won’t have watched the Academy Awards. I have decided that this is OK, worked through the rationalization. After all, it’s not like I don’t know who is in the running. It will be one of those movies, and one of those best actresses, and one of those best actors. And 12 Years a Slave, a favorite, with 9 nominations and which isn’t yet out on Netflix (darn), will probably steal the show with many Oscars. That movie, which I wish my husband would have agreed to see with me, has generated a lot of momentum and buzz.
My fingers are crossed for Bruce Dern in Nebraska.
Then I will get to watch at my leisure the very amusing Ellen DeGeneres and fast-forward through all of the commercials. I read in Parade today that one of DeGeneres’ favorite top 5 movies is Steven Martin’s and Carl Reiner’s The Jerk. What do you know! That’s one of my favorite all-time movies, too, primarily because it’s a movie that makes me laugh out loud every time I watch it. It never gets old. Unlike some of us.
Plus, that movie is responsible for the way I have long been filling out biographies about my background. Whenever a document directed me to write a little bit more about myself or share private information, I would write: I was born a poor black child.
I hope nobody thought that was racist and they got the reference. See, this is probably why I had to go into real estate in the 1970s and why nobody would hire me to do anything else. I make an excellent Sacramento real estate agent.
David Lindley and Hot Tuna at the Crest Theatre Sacramento
All the old hippies were out in throngs last night in Sacramento and heading over to the Crest Theatre to see David Lindley perform, followed by Hot Tuna. Always good for a few great Warren Zevon songs, Lindley also kissed and stroked his ostrich shoes on stage, which is what I guess one would expect. We had great seats, too, front and center. Jack Casady, one of the greatest bass players in the world, strolled on stage wearing a long scarf, which he dramatically flung off his shoulders and then paused for recognition, looking very San Franciscan and cool.
He wore a watch, though. Jorma had a watch on his wrist, too. Who do you know today who wears a watch?
The only problem with Hot Tuna at the Crest was it was past my bedtime by the time they got to any songs I remembered from my Jefferson Airplane days, and I was actually thinking about resting my head against my husband’s shoulder, but I knew what would happen. What would happen is I would fall sound asleep. You think a person can’t sleep through a concert? Ha. The last one I slept through was a few years ago at the The Fillmore when we went to see Richard Thompson, and I love Richard Thompson. This is the problem with getting older.
The only thing worse would be to fall asleep and drool or snore. Which I just did not feel was appropriate when a person is sitting in the front row of a show. Fortunately, during the Richard Thompson performance, I was in the balcony and even though I was probably snoring and drooling, nobody could notice because it was too dark and the music too loud. This is what happens when there is a table in front of me, it’s past my bedtime and I’m tired. Even though Hot Tuna at the Crest was entertaining, I started to slip down in my chair . . .
Which brings me to groan about what else I’m tired about. I’m tired of real estate agents who fall off the face of the earth. A seller called me a few days ago about listing his home. I looked it up in MLS and it was listed at “expired, pending.” He was not in contract. He had no offer. On top of this, the listing had expired in December. Our MLS can fine a Sacramento real estate agent for an expired pending listing. Until a listing is removed from MLS, a new listing cannot be entered.
I cannot understand how an agent would NOT notice a listing like this in MLS. I mother my listings daily and hover over them, checking status, showings, tweaking verbiage, switching out photographs, updating days on market with new MLS numbers. But then somebody else probably can’t figure out how I could fall asleep in the middle of a rock and roll show, especially Hot Tuna at the Crest. We all be different.
