Saturday night was the Nominee's reception at the Wilshire Ebell Theater. That's my favorite party on Grammy weekend as it's just for the nominees and their guests as opposed to any one with $400 for a ticket and a crush on Justin Timberlake or Taylor Swift. I got dressed up in my one black cocktail dress by Randolph Duke and my friend Thom and I had a great time.
When we got home, Chris Wrobleski came over to deliver the paisley hand-made bowtie and teach me how to tie it. After a LOT of practice, I felt confident that I could get it right and went to bed.
The next day, Kris Evans came by at 10 am to help me with my makeup and Thom and I set out to pick up Aimee and head over to the pre-telecast which began at 1pm. Our award was the fifth one announced (out of a gazillion) so the torture was thankfully abbreviated. We did not win the Grammy. We were Bjorked. So we busted a move out of the pre-telecast since none of us were too invested in who won best Children's record or Best Latin Jazz record or the hundreds of other technical awards.
We went to eat at Mess Hall for a Loser's Lunch and, in a tear in the fabric of the time-space continuum, I even had a drink.
Thom and I dropped Aimee off and we headed back to Staples Center to see the main event. This was my fourth Grammy show and while I've learned that there's really no flow to the show because it's devised for television, I wanted to see Jack White and Frank Ocean.
We were driving down Hillhurst and turned left to get on the 101 when there was a piercing sound unlike anything I'd ever heard and the car lurched and stopped 20 feet from the entrance ramp. Thom turned to me, "Are you OK?" "Yes, I'm OK? You?" Once we determined that we were ok, we got out of the car to see that the entire WHEEL fell off the axle of Thom's Jaguar. Thom got on the phone to the insurance company for roadside assistance. I was already resigned to missing the show and going home to play Scramble with Friends, when a toothless guy came along and told us that there was a tow truck/garage place up the street. Thom explains to me that we're not in the greatest neighborhood as I'm sitting there in bowtie and tuxedo, he rolls up the window. While he's on the phone with the insurance people, a big brand new Dodge 350 Ram tow truck shows up in front of us. A super cheerful guy hops out of the truck and asks us if we need help. We do. He tells us that the guy who washes his vehicles at his garage up the block let him know that there was a car in distress. He surveys the damage and tells us how lucky we are that this didn't happen going 50 mph on the 101. THAT would have resulted in the car hitting the median and rolling over... he tells us we should always look at the positive side.
He hooks up the car to the tow truck and takes it over to his garage which is less than half a mile away. He takes a look at us and says "Were you going to the Grammys?" We reply "Yes." And like an angel sent from heaven he says, "I'll take you there because that's what friends do". We exchange cards and as he hands Thom his card, he explains that his name isn't on it. So he writes it on the card. His name is Erik Estrada. Erik Estrada! I am not joking.
So Thom and I arrived at the Grammy's in a tow truck driven by Erik Estrada. If we were drunk and wasted and fell out of the truck upon arrival, we could have been Edina and Patsy. Just my kind of entrance.
We missed Taylor Swift and got there just in time to hear Elton John and Ed Sheeran sing the "The A Team". The show was pretty good. Jack White's performance was the highlight and I was completely tickled that his feedback lasted into Katy Perry's introduction (she handled it well) and the techies were scrambling to rip cords out of amplifiers to make it stop.
Meanwhile, back on Horatio:
Almost done! Time to decorate soon....
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