Photos: a special visit in Beverly Hills
Nov. 23rd, 2008 10:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thehefnerSo by normal person standards, I wasted my time here in Los Angeles. Far more interested in rest, movie-watching, photo-uploading, and script-revising, I barely went out to the city at all. But today, with my marvelous hostess ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
adaptor in tow, I decided that there was one place, above all others, that I had to visit.
At first, we didn't know if we'd even find parking, with miles of these expensive, gorgeous Beverly Hills suburbs forbidden to lingering outsider vehicles. Then, as we pulled onto Charing Cross Road--a street I'd known only from the three fruitless times I'd sent letters--there indeed was enough legal space for just a couple cars. If only in this respect, I could maintain the illusion that I was both expected and welcome.
The gate opened, but not for me, but rather a bald man in a chef's uniform accompanied by another man. Of course he could enter: unlike me, that man actually offers him a service. He has a purpose being there.
I'd never have thought about such things, but it's hard to describe how utterly surreal this was to me. I just thought being here would be good for some laughs and photos, a frivolous curiosity. Not that there wasn't some of that too:
As I say in THE HEFNER MONOLOGUES, this was the first thing to really stand out to me as we drove up to the front gate, Dad and I. At seven years old, it struck me as mind-blowing that we were to announce ourselves to a speaker embedded within a large gray rock. "WWOW! He can put electronics inside rocks! This guy's so rich, he can put things... in other things!"
Seriously, though, we were both afraid of getting any closer at that point. On the ride over, I told KC, "Now, if Security does show up, you know you're just gonna keep shooting, right?" I had this whole visual planned out of a security guard saying, "Okay, okay, move along, buster," and me pulling out my ID, saying, "No, it's okay! I'm family!" "Yeah, yeah, and I'm the Queeeeeen of France. Hey, what's with that camera? You paparazzi?" *smashes*
In fact, once or twice a car would slow down by the house and we'd wonder, "Uh oh, is this it?" But once we considered that security probably wouldn't be driving normal bland sedans, we realized that these sightseers, many of whom probably bought one of the much-advertised star maps on the drive over.
So no wonder we weren't bothered. Unless we actually tried to break in, we were no different from any of those douchebags. I never even got the chance to say, "Hey, I'm not just any douchebag! I'm a family douchebag!"
And again, it's hard to describe the surreality of this visit for me. It's amazing how you can feel and think in some way, then come upon a trigger that can just dredge up all those old feelings. I can only wonder how I'd feel if I ever could go back. And that's just it, I still don't know if I really do ever want to go back or not. I mean, if I did, I'd never be able to do the original HEFNER MONOLOGUES show again, and I'll be much better off to make it on my own without so much as a bunny ear reference to help me along, much less his actual influence (if he'd ever grace me with it).
And yet... it's family. With Dad gone, there are eight Hefners left in the world. And seven of them are still in constant contact with one another. The sole leftover of the Hefner dynasty can at least stand here for a second and make silly faces.
Well, and considering I brought Dad's last bottle of Seagram's gin along to finally enact out my original poster idea for THE HEFNER MONOLOGUES, I guess you could say that he was there too... in spirit(s), har har har.
adaptor in tow, I decided that there was one place, above all others, that I had to visit. At first, we didn't know if we'd even find parking, with miles of these expensive, gorgeous Beverly Hills suburbs forbidden to lingering outsider vehicles. Then, as we pulled onto Charing Cross Road--a street I'd known only from the three fruitless times I'd sent letters--there indeed was enough legal space for just a couple cars. If only in this respect, I could maintain the illusion that I was both expected and welcome.
The gate opened, but not for me, but rather a bald man in a chef's uniform accompanied by another man. Of course he could enter: unlike me, that man actually offers him a service. He has a purpose being there.
I'd never have thought about such things, but it's hard to describe how utterly surreal this was to me. I just thought being here would be good for some laughs and photos, a frivolous curiosity. Not that there wasn't some of that too:
As I say in THE HEFNER MONOLOGUES, this was the first thing to really stand out to me as we drove up to the front gate, Dad and I. At seven years old, it struck me as mind-blowing that we were to announce ourselves to a speaker embedded within a large gray rock. "WWOW! He can put electronics inside rocks! This guy's so rich, he can put things... in other things!"
Seriously, though, we were both afraid of getting any closer at that point. On the ride over, I told KC, "Now, if Security does show up, you know you're just gonna keep shooting, right?" I had this whole visual planned out of a security guard saying, "Okay, okay, move along, buster," and me pulling out my ID, saying, "No, it's okay! I'm family!" "Yeah, yeah, and I'm the Queeeeeen of France. Hey, what's with that camera? You paparazzi?" *smashes*
In fact, once or twice a car would slow down by the house and we'd wonder, "Uh oh, is this it?" But once we considered that security probably wouldn't be driving normal bland sedans, we realized that these sightseers, many of whom probably bought one of the much-advertised star maps on the drive over.
So no wonder we weren't bothered. Unless we actually tried to break in, we were no different from any of those douchebags. I never even got the chance to say, "Hey, I'm not just any douchebag! I'm a family douchebag!"
And again, it's hard to describe the surreality of this visit for me. It's amazing how you can feel and think in some way, then come upon a trigger that can just dredge up all those old feelings. I can only wonder how I'd feel if I ever could go back. And that's just it, I still don't know if I really do ever want to go back or not. I mean, if I did, I'd never be able to do the original HEFNER MONOLOGUES show again, and I'll be much better off to make it on my own without so much as a bunny ear reference to help me along, much less his actual influence (if he'd ever grace me with it).
And yet... it's family. With Dad gone, there are eight Hefners left in the world. And seven of them are still in constant contact with one another. The sole leftover of the Hefner dynasty can at least stand here for a second and make silly faces.
Well, and considering I brought Dad's last bottle of Seagram's gin along to finally enact out my original poster idea for THE HEFNER MONOLOGUES, I guess you could say that he was there too... in spirit(s), har har har.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 04:45 am (UTC)I really really hope you can make it out! June 11-21, Montreal Fringe!
no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 05:27 am (UTC)And I'll definitely see the show during Fringe; not evening a question. I've got zero travel plans in June and I will be keen.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 07:40 am (UTC)And huzzah! I'll buy you a drink afterward and everything!