Sidewalk Superheroes

He’s so cute, a Triscuit! Apples on the table, peaches on the floor, step back, baby, I don’t love you any more! Weird what playground games will stick in your head. Anyway, I don’t really have a boyfriend, though I do have a new crazy admirer to replace Homeless Boyfriend, wherever he may have gone. I think he didn’t like Padmé as much, so he stopped kissing the ground when I walked by. That, or he was finally committed. Anyway . . . I don’t know if I mentioned this before, and I’m too lazy to go digging back through the old posts to see, but there’s a new Michael Jackson on the boulevard!

He actually started coming ’round just after Christmas, but I didn’t really get a chance to talk to him until fairly recently. And he introduced himself to Catwoman, which meant more opportunity to talk. She said that he told her, “This is my passion,” so I guess he’s pretty serious about being an MJ impersonator. I haven’t yet seen the original MJ react to this guy, or talked to him lately, so I don’t know how he feels about his competition. There may be some Jackson drama, but I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it. I also have more pictures of White Mike on my Flickr account, under Hollywood & Highland. You don’t need to look at the rest, that’s non-superhero life. Very dull. Full of knitted cardigans and Belle & Sebastian references.

So Wednesday. Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday. Business was bad. Very bad. It was slow, hardly anyone was out, and no one seemed too keen on photos, which is bad for us. While there wasn’t business, there was plenty of other weirdness to go around.

I actually never got the story of this guy, though his friend in the leather (?) shirt did stop to talk. He used to be a character and may be back for the summer, so we’ll see how that goes. There was also this girl:

She was being filmed by a camera man from below, which is a bit gross, but I can’t complain because it wasn’t my hoo-ha being filmed. They were speaking Spanish, so maybe it’ll be on Telemundo.

Since it was pretty slow, we ended up wandering around the block a lot, trying to find a good spot with steady work. Since that wasn’t happening, we ended up walking past other characters who stopped us to talk. A lot. Everyone’s so very chatty there! I guess I’m just a quiet person. Anyway, the veteran Marilyn, Jerri Blank — and look, I don’t want to be mean with that comparison, it’s just that she does remind me so much of Amy Sedaris and that’s the only way I ever see Amy — had used me a few days before Christmas for some sort of film contest she was doing, and Wednesday was the first time I was able to talk to her since the holidays. She had already edited and posted the entry, and wanted to talk about it. Today she gave me the link, so here’s the film:

I’m the honeymooner in baggy clothing. 🙂 I wish I would have known in advance, so I would have packed nicer street clothes, but I usually don’t plan on being in films after being in costume, and I want something I can just throw over my tights and thermal tops. Guess I should learn. Anyway, she was saying that this was for a contest, and the prize was a million dollars. She said that if she won any prize money she would share it with all the people who helped her in the videos, which surprised me very much. That’s really generous, especially because I wasn’t expecting any compensation at all. That’s what happens when you’re non-union, kids: you get all the gigs, but none of the pay. Today she elaborated and said that she would be willing to pay everyone SAG scale wages, which would be really great. SAG pay alone makes me want to go back and get that last voucher to join the union, though I’m not too keen on constantly getting headshots and snotty casting directors and just the whole ugly downside of LA acting. I like acting, not schmoozing and begging and groveling for terrible parts just for attention and screen time. Eh. That’s a different discussion. So yes, that was a very nice surprise from her. I told her that any time she needed someone for her projects I’d be happy to help, and I meant it. Pay or not, I like the idea of the characters working together and giving each other work. If I had anything like that up my sleeve, I’d certainly like to help my friends out.

Jerri also had a friend with her, a guy I don’t remember seeing before. He was in a cheerleading skirt and a Playboy bunny tank top, with some sort of padding underneath that looked like one giant boobie. It was apparently love at first sight, because he insisted on introductions and kissed my hand. A lot. Then he wanted pictures with Catwoman and I. Jerri shot pictures on his new cellphone, which he was eager to show off, and Catwoman and I took pictures of each other with him on her camera. So when she gets on again with her pictures, you can see them in all their cross-dressing, ass-grabbing glory. I’m going to call him GirlBoyfriend.

GirlBoyfriend was quick to talk up his phone and his plan for said phone, from Metro PCS. It sounded a lot better than my Verizon, but then again, most plans do.
“I’ll get you a phone, baby,” he offered with a sly look.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I demurred.
“I want to! As soon as I get my next check, I’ll get you a phone just like this, set up your plan, and pay your bills myself.” Skeptical, I turned to Catwoman, who was too busy laughing at me.
“I’ll get you one too,” he added.
“I want an iPhone,” she demanded.
“Okay, I’ll get you an iPhone. You want one too?” he asked, turning to me.
“”No, I want a Blackberry Touch!” I said. As long as we’re being unrealistic here . . .
“Oh, that must be new,” he said. “Never heard of it.”
“Yeah, it just came out.”
“Well, I’ll get you whatever phones you want, pay for them, and pay for all the bills myself. All you gotta do is use them, okay?”
“Uh . . . okay.”
He then leered some more, and made some jokes, and then got to the heart of the matter.
“Are you single?” he asked me.
“Maybe,” I said coyly.
“I’d like you to be my girlfriend.”
“Oh. Um . . .”
“See, I just lost my mom recently, and we were very close,” he said, launching into a long story. I kept trying to say, “I’m sorry to hear that,” some sort of condolence, but he just kept going.
“I really like your smile, you have a real open and honest smile and a good heart, and I like to walk on the beach, I’ll cook you a romantic dinner, we can cuddle, I’ll be so good to you. I really want you as my girlfriend.” There was even more, but it was said quickly and it’s all a blur to me now. When he did finally stop, I gave my condolences.
“We should get back to work,” Catwoman said.
“Yeah, I haven’t made a single dollar yet!” GirlBoyfriend said, frustrated. My mouth actually opened to say, “Oh, you’re working?” but I somehow kept that to myself. He let us go after more profuse hand kissing, a hug which may have gone too far south in the back, and batting of the eyelashes on his part.
About five minutes after we walked away, he came running back up.
“I have something for you, darlin’,” he said, holding a small square in front of him. Warily, I took it.
“It’s a picture of me,” he explained as I looked at it.
“Oh! Um.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later,” he said. “You be safe!”
“Um, don’t you–?”
“I don’t want it back!” he scoffed. “Keep it. I know what I look like, I want you to remember what I look like.”
“Uh, okay,” I said, and tucked it into my utility belt. What else could I do with it?

Wonder Wig appeared off and on throughout the day, though she was keen to keep her work far away from Catwoman. She approached us and was as friendly as anything, so whatever. We nearly took one of those two hour Starline tours for free in costume because one of the tour drivers likes us, but his manager freaked out and wouldn’t let us. He said something about insurance, but I can’t imagine any fleet insurance stipulating that people in costumes are expressly forbidden from riding. I call stupid excuse on that one.

At four o’clock we’d had it, and business was dropping off even more. Deciding to cut our losses, we went back to Catwoman’s and ordered a pizza and a mango sorbetto. Which was ridiculously delicious, by the way. While waiting for the food to come we worked on the video she posted last night, and while eating, we watched the first hour or so of Confessions of a Superhero. I was probably the only person on the block who hadn’t seen it. I don’t want to give anything away for anyone who hasn’t seen it yet, but wow. A lot more than even what I was told, and some surprises I didn’t see coming. Only half of the four still work, Superman and Who Dat (what everyone apparently calls Joe, The Hulk), and it was very interesting to get some background on them. I’ll leave it at that.

We left without finishing the film because we had sort of booked ourselves at a Hollywood birthday party for some celebrity designer, Daniel DeCriscio. This meant hanging out at a party in our costumes, which would be more than a little weird. And no pay, but we were hoping for an open bar. Or one for us, anyway, since we’d be in our itchy masks all night. Not wanting to just saunter in to a strange place in full costume, we left the whip and gauntlets in the car along with our masks and threw our jackets over the costumes, and peeked through the windows to see if anyone else had come in costume. There were a few oddly dressed people, though it was West Hollywood, which really meant nothing. As we were standing outside the patio, debating on whether to just change back into our street clothes and just hit the party as normal people, a guy in a bizarre green getup (I told my mum later, “It looked like St. Patrick’s Day threw up on him”) ambled down the street and into the party.
“Okay, let’s get our masks,” Catwoman said, though we opted to keep our coats on and not fully suit up until we were inside.

A photographer approached us and asked to take our pictures, and we said we weren’t ready yet. We held up our masks.
“Oh! Um, okay,” he said, rattled.
“There was an ad for costumed characters and I answered it,” Catwoman explained.
“I had no idea,” the photographer said, though he seemed pretty cool with it all. We introduced ourselves and moved off to the bathroom to gear up.

Coming out, we were noticed a lot more than when we’d slipped in, and everyone wanted a photograph with us. I have a small pile of business cards from people who snapped us, and while not all of them are up yet, there are some cute ones out there already.

Oh, let me be a little vain.

Anyway, there was no open bar, though an off duty bartender charmed us and offered (but we didn’t know if he was serious, so we waited until it was too late), so we just stood around, watching. The birthday boy had a song sung to him and blew out his candles:

The theme of the party was Freakshow, and I guess more costumed weirdos like us were supposed to show up to make it more freaky. As it was, we just looked like a low level kink factor. But we did some networking, met some interesting people, and I got to that point I always get at parties where I start to photograph the fixtures:

Most of the party, however, was spent talking with the photographer. Well, there was more than one, but we befriended the main one. I’ll call him Photographer Friend, until I think of a more clever nickname. PF for short. He’s a really nice guy, and I liked him so much I wanted a picture, maybe the only one he’s actually in out of the whole night:

You know what? I’ve got a really nice butt. I hope you noticed that. We ended up closing the place down talking to him, and while that sounds impressive for a Hollywood party, it really wasn’t. Last call was at 11, and the place was empty by midnight. We just kept talking and talking, though, and when we started to get a few too many sullen looks from the cleanup crew, we stood outside and talked some more on the pavement. He pretty much wanders the streets at night photographing, so we exchanged information with the hopes of meeting up fairly often and seeing more of the LA nightlife. And also to get together for book talk and a cuppa tea, since we’re all firmly non-coffee. While the party was pretty eh to us, meeting the people that we did totally made it worthwhile, which I guess could be a meta statement about life in general.