Spider-Man’s Balls

Here’s where my blog gets all edgy and PG-13.

A few years ago, during a visit to my hometown of Los Angeles, we made a couple of laps around the Hollywood Walk of Fame. It’s one of Rob’s favorite pastimes. A dude in a cheapie Spider-Man outfit was crouched on a trash can, facing the people passing by on the sidewalk. From our vantage point, and because of the stretchy material of his costume, I could discern the outline of his genitals.

I said to Rob, “Hey, look, Spider-Man’s balls!”

As I’m sure would be the case with any couple, the expression “Spider-Man’s balls” became quite the catchphrase in our household. If I want to persuade Rob to come with me to Los Angeles for any reason, all I have to do is say, “Spider-Man’s balls.”

For example, it was the lure that got him interested in going to see Daryl Hall and John Oates for an Independence Day spectacular at the Hollywood Bowl this weekend. And what a successful side trip to the Walk of Fame it was. He posed with three different Spider-Men, Rambo, Marilyn Monroe, Batman and Catwoman (leading me to coin the phrase “Cat Nip Slip”), but his favorite part was taking self-portraits of himself with Spider-Man’s back to the camera. Rob would take a picture, look at it, crack up laughing, then take another picture. It never stops being funny.

As we walked up Highland to meet my mom and Roy for a pre-Bowl picnic, I kept singing about how I make his dreams come true. Ooh ooh. Ooh ooh.

It was one of our best visits to LA ever. Which is saying a lot, since we didn’t even go to Disneyland or acquire a dog on this trip! But the weather was beautiful and every activity was a rollicking success, and I didn’t even feel the stress and time pressure that I so often feel when I have 16 different activities lined up for a single day.

I was forced to spend $45 at Amoeba Music though. Usually I wait in the car while Rob shops. I’m just not into music shopping the way I am into book shopping. And they have no place to sit or go to the bathroom. So I used the restroom at the ArcLight and planned to walk over to Borders Books and read something until Rob was through at Amoeba. (Another possibility would have been to sneak into part of a movie, which I did consider.) Sadly, Borders on Sunset is no more, so instead, I sat down by a fountain in front of the LA Film School, swinging my legs over the edge while I called my mother. I watched people pose with Optimus Prime in front of the Cinerama Dome across the street until a crazy man walked by, looked straight at me and said, “Fucking whore!” I made eye contact and there was no doubt, the insult was meant for me. Quite demoralizing.

I went into Amoeba, told Rob we’d have to go see Optimus Prime after he was done, then accidentally bought the following CDs: A collection of interviews with Tori Amos, an unauthorized biography of Tori Amos, Tibetan monks chanting, meditation bowl music and Shinto Shrine songs.

I was surprised how much the whole family enjoyed Hall and Oates, especially since we had to borrow a Greatest Hits CD to remember what all their hits were.