Easter Best

When I was a kid, Easter was a big family affair. Perhaps one day it will be again, when I have a family of my own. But for many years now, I've often found myself away from my family on this holiday. Being away from my family means spending Easter without any of the traditions I was used to as a kid. Now every year is different. I miss the fam, but there is something interesting and exciting about seeing where the holiday may take you. This year was a fun one.

After 19 missed calls, Meredith finally succeeded in rousing me from my slumber a few hours before the sun went down so that I wouldn't completely miss out of this lovely Easter Sunday. Half asleep, I asked her what she wanted to do. "We'll start at the coffee shop," she said. As I pulled myself from my coccoon, I began to feel excited about what I might wear for my Easter outfit! Surely, it wouldn't be as impressive as the days when my mother would put weeks of preparation into getting the perfect Easter dress, as, after all, I was her only girl and that was the one day she had to dress me like a living doll. I searched my closet for a dress or skirt that was neither black nor skanky. Turns out that doesn't leave me with too many options. I ended up looking something like a pink gypsy. Meredith and I met for coffee and cigarettes and chats at the coffee shop where everyone actually does know our name. Five hours, three rounds, two crushes, and one sunset later, we moved on. After a destinationless drive with some great tunes, we decided to have ourselves a nice Easter dinner with the Cheesecake Factory gift cards I found in my coffee table. As we drove past the local towny bar on the way to the overstimulating upscale shopping plaza, we both knew that indeed the night would lead us there.

Indeed, after fruity martinis and pricey entrees we wandered into our favorite dive bar, and brought the grand total of patrons present to about six or seven. We ordered a couple beers and lined up Johnny Cash on the jukebox. Avoiding a creepy drunk southerner, we went out back for a cigarette. As I sashayed out there in my big poofy skirt and pink lace 'do rag-ish hat a middle aged, long haired man pulled into the alley on a bicycle and exclaimed "A gypsy girl crossed my path on Easter Sunday!" He then proceeded to pull out his cell phone and yell in into it in Russian, slipping the words "gypsy girl" in there in English. Then he slammed his phone shut, dropped his backpack and marched past us into the bar. We'd seen this guy here before. He was a resident barfly, who reminded me of Rex Manning from "Empire Records"... the washed up old rock star, who now seems more like a cautionary tale. He had hair to his shoulders, a white undershirt with black suspenders, and a leather jacket. He spoke like he had smoked a couple packs a day for decades. His weathered skin implied that he'd had himself a good time in the late '60s and '70s. A few minutes later, he came back outside with a drink in hand. He asked how our Easter had been and disclosed that no one had invited him for Easter Dinner this year. This time he spoke in a perfect American accent. Confused, I asked him where he was from. "Boston", he replied. That answer always excites me. "I'm from the North Shore," I said, "Topsfield." He told us about a time decades ago when he and a friend of his drove out from East Boston to go to the Topsfield Fair to see a new band from England that was supposed to be good. "What band?" he had asked his friend. "I don't know. Something Zeplin," his friend told him. They then dropped acid and watched colors dance as Led Zeplin played in my little country home town. As our conversation progressed, we learned that he is an actor, who attended Emerson College, like Meredith and I. He graduated 36 years before us. "How long have you lived in LA?" I asked him. "Too long!" he groughly replied. "How long?" I wondered, but figured it best not to push it. He began to talk about a convention he would be attending soon with George Ramiro, that should put a few bucks in his pocket. "George Ramiro? You know George Ramiro?" Now, we come to find out that he is something of a celebrity to zombie movie fans, as he played a major role in Day of the Dead. I was embarassed to admit that I hadn't seen this zombie movie, even though I'm a huge fan of Night of the Living Dead. I wasn't sure whether to look at him as an Emerson success story or not. He'd studied under the same acting teacher as Henry Winkler and Dennis Leary and is chummy with a legendary filmmaker, yet he's spending Easter night, like every other, alone at the bar, after no one invited him to Easter dinner. Had we been visited by the ghost of Emerson Future? Should we get out of LA before it's too late?
I'm not sure, exactly. Regardless, Joseph was great company and walked us out to our car to make sure no drunk creepos gave us any trouble. He also encouraged us to come back for live jazz Monday night. We might just go.