Kimopolis

DISCLAIMER: I am not Jewish. Well, technically, I am a quarter (or is it an eighth?) Jewish on my dad’s side, but that doesn’t really count. I never had to go to temple, and I was certainly never given a Bat Mitzvah. That in no way implies that I’ve never been to a Bat Mitzvah, I’ve been to both Bat and Bar Mitvahs, a couple of seders, and the occasional Jewish wedding. As far as my family goes, we get together for Christmas and Easter, but other than that we are all pretty laid back when it comes to religious diversity. So, when a Jewish friend of mine suggested I try JDate.com (a dating service for Jewish singles, obviously), I figured, “Why not?”

Shortly after I had joined JDate.com, they sent me an invitation to a special event they were hosting. A new production was opening at the Kodak Theater…”The Ten Commandments: The Musical.” Immediately my mind makes the huge leap from the Old Testament to the New Testament, and visions of “Jesus Christ Superstar” fill my head. I had already decided I had to attend, even before I saw who the headliner was. Then, I read those four magical words: Val Kilmer IS Moses. Val Kilmer has, probably more so than any other actor, tackled the often impossible acting challenge of portraying historically significant roles. He has morphed from Jim Morrison to Doc Holiday. From Bruce Wayne to John Holmes. All without the aid of prosthetics. But perhaps the mightiest of all roles, played before by only a handful of extremely talent actors, was Val’s musical portrayal of the one and only Moses.

Before you could say “Burning Bush,” my ticket was purchased.

So, the much anticipated night finally arrives, and I haul my candy ass all the way out to Hollywood and Highland for the “event.” Have you ever been there? This place is freaking HUMONGOUS! I almost thought I was going to miss the show because the parking lot is this interminable downward spiral into what can only be the deepest pit of Hell. Luckily for me, I only had to go to the 6th circle of Hell to finally find a place to park.

A half an hour later I am once again above ground and headed toward Twist in the Renaissance Hotel. Apparently Sunday is a big day for events at the hotel, because when I signed in and was already half way into the party…I realized I had somehow wandered in to a John Kerry fundraiser. The nice young man at the information table gave me a button, told me to be sure to vote, and sent me on my way to the correct location.

About twenty feet past the John Kerry event, I spot Twist directly ahead of me. I squeeze my way into the restaurant/club and it’s like a production of Fiddler on the Roof wrap party exploded. Jews as far as the eye can see. Old ones, short ones, ugly ones, and by FAR more women than men. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, and not just a little bit out of place, I make my way to the powder room to collect myself. What had I gotten myself into?

Before I can even make my way to the mirror, I am accosted by a short, chubby woman who is demanding to know what I do, how long I’ve lived in LA, and have I dated any guys from the site…but instead of still standing next to me at the sinks, she has now entered a stall and without missing a beat, continues to grill me while she takes a pee. I am slightly horrified, but before my mind can process the fact that I should ditch this chick ASAP, she pops out of the stall, extends her hand and announces that her name is Elana. After a thorough hand washing, I go to exit the bathroom, and realize that Elana is not about to leave me alone. She is stuck to me like a freshly chewed piece of gum to the bottom of my shoe.

We go back to the party, seek out a drink and some food, and then after another 20 minutes of trying to lose Elana in the crowd, the hosts make the abrupt announcement that it is time to make our way to the theater. THANK GOD. Or Moses. Or whomever. Elena, my shadow, accompanies me to the theater lobby, but (another blessing) we discover that our assigned seats are nowhere near each other. I try to look disappointed, but I have a strange feeling this isn’t the last I will see of Elena.

After finding my seat, the lights dim, and the show begins. Shockingly, the show is pretty good. The music is catchy and I can even understand the words most of the time. Plus, the choreography wasn’t too shabby either. They even had some pretty awesome pyrotechnics (which actually totally reminded me of the musical John Travolta performs in the sequel to “Saturday Night Fever,” “Staying Alive.” For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing this fine piece of cinematic achievement, Tony chases his dancing dreams by leaving Brooklyn and heading for the Big Apple. Eventually he is cast in a fantastic musical called “Dante’s Inferno” where the only thing he wears is a loincloth, a headband, and about two tons of baby oil.). However, Val Kilmer is no John Travolta, and his singing and dancing was subpar, especially compared to the seasoned professionals he shared the stage with. I do have to give Val props, though, for giving it his all AND going topless for the first half of the show.

During intermission, Elena finds me somehow through the hoards of people to give me her card and her email address. Her tenacity made me wonder…does she do this all the time? Does she just pee and talk and then become a total stranger’s new best friend? Honestly, I don’t know, but regardless, it was oddly disturbing.

After the show is over, our host invites us to stay in the theater a little longer so that we could get the opportunity to talk to the cast. And when I say cast, I use the term very loosely since the cast members we got to meet didn’t even have speaking parts, as far as I could tell. No Val. No lead actors. None of the pivotal main characters. Of course the publicist came out with a big apology saying that tomorrow is the day they perform for the critics, so they really all need to get their rest. Whatever, my ass was sore from sitting, and my stomach was growling from starvation.

The only thing I want to do now is get a quiet table at California Pizza Kitchen, order the angel hair Bolognese and have a nice, big glass of Pinot Grigio. But, by now, it is well after 10:00pm, and everything but Starbucks is closed. I am PISSED. I realize that my only dining option is to get some disgusting drive-thru crap on the way home. So, I begin my descent back to the 6th circle of Hell to get my car…and suddenly remember, I have no cash. DAMN. At this point, I have to re-park, traipse back up the countless escalators to find an ATM, and then go BACK to my car so I can finally get out of this wretched place that Satan built. I am not a happy camper.

My evening ended unceremoniously with me and two complete derelicts eating Carl’s Jr. at 11:30pm. No Val. No dates. No nada. Just me in a cocktail dress and high heels alone with my Super Star and fries.

Good times.