Friday the 13th

Roll ‘Em

Vuk Mitrovic and Brian Morrison at the Los Feliz Film Fest (photo courtesy of the festival) In the days leading up to the 2nd annual Los Feliz Film Fest, I was in pain, and a lot of it. A recurring viral condition caused by a chronically damaged submandibular (salivary) gland was giving me the aches and chills and swelling to which I had become accustomed. During this bout, however, the amount of oral agony I was in led to troubled sleep, an inability to chew or swallow, a frequent unwillingness to talk, and occasional jags of sobbing. I did the best I could to get over it by staying hydrated, resting as much as possible (not easy given the pain), and popping Aleve like it was my job. It was more than a week before I felt like myself again, and as the film festival dates approached, I was quite concerned. My friend Vuk Mitrovic, whose brainchild the festival was, and who serves as Executive Director of the event (meaning he does almost everything), had asked me to serve as the master of ceremonies for the first two nights of the three-night affair. I was thrilled to do so because the event would present me with the opportunity to celebrate so many of the things that matter most to me, including Los Feliz, movies and the communal experience of coming together, sharing in story, and learning about each other in the process. Yet, I wasn’t sure my physical condition would permit me to do the job I so hoped to on behalf of the event, my community, and my pal, Vuk. There was something I would frequently tell my acting students when they would need to perform under less than ideal physical condition. I would tell Lily the same thing when she would have a stage performance for which she would be “playing hurt” due to illness. “You know who isn’t sick (or in pain)?” I would begin. “Your character.” Too many times to count, I would see performers fully open themselves to the reality of their characters’ experiences and suddenly, for, however long was required, the awareness of illness, ailment or physical discomfort would dissipate. On other occasions, I would point out that the illness, or injury, or discomfort might have presented itself because the character needed it in order to express itself fully. The most dramatic example of this I can recall was when Lily was doing a play at South Coast Rep in Orange County, a 25th anniversary production of Beth Henley’s Abundance. Largely a two-hander about mail-order brides in the old west, the play had its original world premiere at South Coast Rep before moving to New York. For its 25th anniversary, the play was revived in New York before finally returning home to Southern California. As opening night approached, it was apparent that they had yet to “find” the show. It simply wasn’t working. Lily was almost distraught. Then, on the eve of opening night, after a particularly frustrating final preview, a horrible and wonderful thing happened. Lily’s co-lead took an accidental fall, shattering her right hand in the process. As to whether alcohol and climbing onto a table were involved, it’s not my place to say. What I can say is that following emergency surgery, and in a great deal of pain, Lily’s co-star made the opening curtain. The performance that ensued was nothing short of breathtaking. No one would have known what had happened. The old west-appropriate fashion served to cover the cast protecting the surgically repaired right hand of my (now) wife’s co-lead. Incredibly observant audience members might have wondered why, when the two female lead characters met for the first time, they shook hands with their left hands, but that was the only available clue as to what had happened behind-the-scenes the night prior. Looking back, Lily stated, “the show was about pain” and so, it made a great deal of sense that what they needed in order to find the heart of the show was for one of the company to be pushing off against genuine, intense, physical pain. The rest of the run would proceed in spectacular fashion, with each performance probing deeper than the one prior. The night of the opening, while waiting for Lily and her cast-mates to get ready for the ritzy after-party, I took advantage of my backstage access to avail myself of the many blown-up images on display, all from opening nights past that had taken place in that hallowed theatrical institution. I came upon a huge shot from the opening night of the premiere production of the very show I had just seen gloriously revived. Something odd in the photo struck me. Had I been a detective of yore, I most certainly would have produced a magnifying glass. Instead, I ran out into the hall and found the show’s director, Martin Benson. I almost dragged him to the photo. Martin was SCR’s founding artistic director, so he had been intimately involved with Abundance during its original staging all those years prior. I pointed at the spot in the photo that so troubled me. Martin leaned in for a better look. “What is that?” I asked, knowing the answer, but not knowing I could trust my own eyes, or handle the ramifications of what I was seeing. “That’s right!” Martin exclaimed, as he stood upright. He confirmed that the lead actress of the production 25 years earlier had also broken her right hand prior to opening night, and was forced to wear a cast, well camouflaged by the authentic old west-period wardrobe. So, it wasn’t the actresses who broke their hands so much as the character who had a broken hand. Regardless of whether the roles we are called upon to play can provide (albeit temporary, perhaps) relief from physical ailments, or whether those ailments have come forth (in part, at least) to aid in our performances, the point I would always stress to my students, and to Lily, is the same: Don’t separate yourself from the character. Make your reality totally available to them, and make their reality totally available to you. As the first night of the Los Feliz Film Fest approached, I was reminding myself of this over and over. Sure, I wasn’t playing a “character”, per se, but when I host, I am certainly embodying a “persona”, derived from the Latin word for a “mask” one adopts to become the ideal representation of a role. It is a public image presented to the world, often differing from the performer’s private self. For me, dropping into the persona of “host” allows me to more easily share my private self. After all, I hope to create a sense of intimacy for the audience and for those who will be taking the stage. The more authenticity I bring to my persona, the better job I do. Of course, the necessary aspect of sacrificing parts of myself (my ego, my fear, my judgment) in the name of fully playing the role of “host” often leads to me dreading the experience as it approaches. Sure enough, as the hours towards the Film Fest kickoff counted down, and I found myself feeling better and more physically able to perform my role, I also found myself finally free to plunge into energetic dread. I went from not being sure I could perform my role to knowing I did not want to perform it! In a previous essay (Fear as a Force Multiplier), I described what a dear friend refers to as “stage brain”, the preternatural focus and awareness I experience when hosting. It animates every cell in my body. If I have prepared sufficiently, it allows me to let go of that preparation and be fully present, to embrace what wants to come forward. If I feel I have NOT prepared sufficiently, my stage brain reminds me that the show is not about me. I am there to serve all those in attendance and the importance of that which we are there to celebrate. By the time I hit the alleyway that leads from Vermont Ave. past (the excellent) Bar One and into the Skylight Theatre, my stage brain had taken over. I was in a great mood. I wasn’t ready to go on, but I was ready to get ready and I felt the best I had in weeks. Skylight Theatre is something of a marvel. I love getting to attend shows and events there. No small theatre has the right to be as intimate AND as comfortable as Skylight. Most performance spaces trade the latter for the former. I had previously enjoyed the great pleasure of interviewing the brand new artistic director of Skylight, Cameron Watson (so new that he still has that “new artistic director smell”), for an episode of “The Voice of Los Feliz” podcast (episode 16). Long one of the truly great theatre directors in Los Angeles, Cameron has beautiful ideas for the many ways Skylight can become a true community hub. Night one of the festival was a showcase of films directly connected to Los Feliz, either made by local filmmakers, or shot in the neighborhood, or about life in our village and its environs. Cameron and his team made us feel incredibly welcome. The place truly felt like home. All who arrived were greeted on Vermont Avenue by the Hollywood Highsteppers. Cultural Affairs Committee co-chair Brian Morrison, as he frequently is, was a part of the performance by this local musical treasure. The Highsteppers not only served to thrill those who were attending the festival, but even the patrons and proprietors of neighboring businesses. I will never forget the sight of the young American Cinematheque employees sprinting down the street, phones drawn in filming position to capture (and no doubt post) videos of the performance. It occurred to me that there ought to be marching bands at the mouth of all alleys. If there were, there might never be crime again. And if you don’t think I shared that silly idea with Council District 4 Representative (and mayoral candidate) Nithya Raman during the evening’s festivities, then you don’t know me at all! While most were enjoying the pre-show festivities, including cocktails at the aforementioned Bar One, I was in the green room, running my monologue again and again. I still couldn’t be sure I would be as ready as I would like, but I knew one thing: If I looked as good to the audience as I did in the green room mirrors, I had nothing to worry about! Seriously, lighting is everything, and the lighting in that green room made me look easily 15 minutes younger than I am. Because my monologue was about the communal experience of coming together, sharing in story and learning about each other in the process, I decided to talk about the first movie I ever saw in a theater back in 1976. I would never describe the Disney live action film Gus as being anything but the Citizen Kane of football-playing mule movies. In truth, though, I spent most of the movie with my back to the screen. I was too busy staring over the back of my seat at all the people in attendance to watch much of the movie. I was entranced by the way the flickering images played across these people’s faces. I wasn’t so much falling in love with movies as I was with the idea of being part of an audience! Then I noticed there was a little room up in the back, from where the flickering images were being projected. And there was a little man up in that room. Actually, he was probably full-size, but from my perspective way down in front, he did seem quite small. Suddenly, I was struck by the realization that the flicker was caused by the light in the projector being literally cut off, over and over. The machine was not projecting constant images! It was alternating between dark and light. Yet, when I turned around and looked at the screen, there was always an image up there. How was this possible? Of course, I would later learn that when watching a standard 35 millimeter film projected, we were watching it in 24 frames per second. This was only a third of what was possible. So, in actuality, that screen was blank more often than it had images projected onto it! How was THIS possible?! It was possible due to something called the “persistence of vision”, describing how our brains process images. Over the course of the coming years, it became MY persistent vision that motion pictures are meant to be shared communally. Sadly, the persistence of that vision has been shaken through the pandemic and through technological advances that have led to more and more of us viewing stories alone on our own screens and devices. So, it was with heartfelt gratitude that I thanked the audience for attending the opening night of the Los Feliz Film Fest. In so doing, they were supporting independent film. They were celebrating the act of coming together and sharing an experience. They were, perhaps, learning about each other in the process. In short, they were helping to build community. For all that, I was truly thankful. I am always grateful for any opportunity to share a stage with Nithya Raman. That night, in particular, it was a genuine pleasure to introduce the honorable representative for City Council District 4, as she is someone who truly understands the importance of movies and of Hollywood. Indeed, our local entertainment industry is of personal importance to her. More broadly, though, she is someone who understands the importance of storytelling itself, the way story can help us make sense of where we have been, of what is possible in the present, and where we might be able to head moving forward. As a host, the most important tasks for me are to set the right tone, make everyone feel welcome, build the energy, keep the trains running on time, and have fun with any delays or difficulties so that the energy can remain high throughout. The part I was most looking forward to that night, however, was getting to introduce my pal, Vuk, who had worked so hard to make the event a reality. All assembled expressed the genuine appreciation Vuk deserved and when his remarks were done, I was allowed to share in a delightful, and utterly unplanned moment of comedy with him. His remarks were brief and in a charming, self-deprecating manner, he referenced his Slavic accent, a product of his Serbian upbringing. He concluded by saying, “All that’s left is to say three words: ‘Roll ‘em!’” The audience applauded. The lights went down. Because I knew there would be a momentary pause before the first film would begin, and because I knew both of our microphones were still on, I could not resist … “Uh … Vuk,” my voice rang out in the darkness. “That’s only two words.” There was much laughter, and then Vuk’s response absolutely brought down the house: “That’s what I meant when I said, ‘Slavic accent’!” The films rolled, and the selections were nothing short of impressive, entertaining and inspiring. Afterwards all the artists in attendance that had contributed to the works screened took the stage for a panel discussion moderated by Jon Deutsch. Co-chair of the Cultural Affairs Committee, Jon has been tireless in his efforts on behalf of the community, and, not that it matters, I suppose, but he is someone whose taste in footwear I greatly admire. He did an outstanding job and the night just kept getting better and better. All that remained, aside from a few announcements, was the presentation of awards. To handle that duty, I called up to the stage Céline Vacher and Debra Matlock, two of the true pillars of the community. Céline is a member of the Cultural Affairs Committee, spearheads the annual Los Feliz Holiday Extravaganza, and has long worked on behalf of small businesses through various organizations including the Los Feliz Business Improvement District. Debra is the President of the Los Feliz Improvement Association and is my partner in our ongoing “Viva Los Feliz” stage shows. How many filmmakers receive congressional certificates just for participating in a film festival? The filmmakers at the Los Feliz Film Fest did! They also all received a wonderful book about local Hollywood history. After the event, as so many creative participants in night one of the festival, as well as many members of the audience, mingled in the pedestrian alleyway outside the theatre or grabbed drinks in Bar One, I checked in with Vuk. He seemed genuinely pleased by how the evening went. All my fellow Cultural Affairs Committee members expressed incredible pleasure as well. Several of us reminisced about just one-year prior and the inaugural Los Feliz Film Fest. Though a very fun event, that night had felt chaotic and we were all struck by how stress-free, relaxed and fun everything had felt here in year two. We proved ourselves a community that knows how to come together and put on a celebration, as if we did so all the time, and were well prepared to do so again. Hosting night two of the festival at the Barnsdall Gallery Theatre In fact, we were back at it, doing so again, the very next evening at the Barnsdall Gallery Theatre. It was night two of the three-night festival and the chaos we remembered from the previous year was, it turns out, saved for night two! It was a bigger show, in a bigger venue, with a pre-show deejay and an open bar in the downstairs lobby. Both the deejay and the bartender were provided by Tabula Rasa, a bar a few blocks away on Hollywood Blvd, where the night’s after-party would take place. While most of the stress to get the show started on time fell on Vuk’s shoulders, Jon Deutsch, Brian Morrison and I escaped the madness and the madding crowd, by sitting together in the front row of the yet to open house. As we relaxed, we discussed other possible ideas for forthcoming community events, pondering what the neighborhood didn’t have celebration-wise, but might need. I am not sure which one of us suggested the idea of a Mardi Gras parade through the neighborhood, but we all immediately sparked to it and discussions of having the first ever Los Feliz Mardi Gras celebration this coming February have continued at every subsequent Cultural Affairs Committee meeting. As Jon is quite rightly delighted to point out to all newcomers to these meetings, this is frequently how such events begin. Neighbors and friends show up with an idea and we talk about them. Before you know it, an idea that actress and impresario Hélène Udy wants to discuss has become Porchfest L.A. (now approaching its third year), or an idea teacher and “Literary Pixie” Sammy Ginsberg brings in evolves into the Los Feliz Writers Festival (fast approaching its second iteration). If you are ever hosting a live stage show, I hope you will be so lucky as to do so at the Barnsdall Gallery Theatre, where you will be likely to collaborate with technical director Sammie Wayne. He and his team are always a joy to be around, highly skilled and full of a delightful sense of fun. In the lead-up to the show, while Sammie was heavily engaged with Vuk, handling last minute technical issues, and while the seemingly insurmountable task of setting up the step and repeat was tackled, I decided I should play the role of host by mingling upstairs where different organizations had tables set up to provide information about their undertakings. Whereas our venue on night one fell within the boundaries of Council District 4 (hence Nithya’s appearance), Barnsdall, though still within the bailiwick of the Los Feliz Neighborhood Council, falls within the boundaries of Council District 13. Representing CD 13 that night was its Communications Deputy Andoni Elias-Nava. Though I knew of Andoni, and knew him to be an incredibly bright and creative individual, I had never before had the pleasure of interacting with him. We immediately hit it off, and I look forward to welcoming him onto the “The Voice of Los Feliz” podcast as soon as possible. Once the program began, Andoni made some wonderful welcoming remarks. My monologue that preceded those remarks, in part dealt with Aline Barnsdall and her vision for what became the Barnsdall Art Park. An oil heiress and an arts philanthropist, she wanted Olive Hill to house an entire complex where local artists and artists from around the world would come together to foster community. By attending night two of the Los Feliz Film Fest, everyone was helping to fulfill that vision. For the meaning of any artistic expression, whether it is on canvas, on stage, or on screen, is written in collaboration between the audience and the artist. The films shown that night came from many different parts of the world, were in a wide array of genres, and explored a richly diverse thematic terrain. Perhaps my personal highlight was watching a movie about comedian and actress Judy Tenuta (“The Love Goddess” as she was known). My mouth hung open in disbelief. Whereas many younger audience members might have actually had a hard time believing that this was a real person being portrayed, I had a hard time believing that anyone, let alone the talented young filmmaker and star, Taylor Blackwell, would have thought to depict her on screen! The film’s title, therefore, was particularly pleasing to all disbelievers no matter their generation - It Happened: The Judy Tenuta Story. A spectacular highlight of the entire evening was the participation by local Oscar-winning documentary production house Breakwater Studios, who sponsored a generous grant for the filmmakers behind the selected winner for Best Documentary. So much of Hollywood history finds its origins in our neighborhood and it’s thrilling to know that history is being made all around us still, especially by the likes of the Breakwater Studios team. Unlike the previous night, I allowed myself to imbibe at the after party, first pulling up a bar stool at Tabula Rasa to get better acquainted with its general manager, PJ Zettle, who had been overseeing a quite eclectic array of social events at the locale (you can learn all about him on episode 17 of “The Voice of Los Feliz” podcast). By the time the party was in full swing, I had made my way to the patio, where I found myself sitting with Vuk. The herculean effort it had taken not only to produce a second edition of the film festival, but to expand it from one night to three, no doubt exhausted him. Yet, sitting there, with one night still to go, he knew that the effort had gone toward an event that was an unqualified success. I felt really proud of my friend. Soon, our friends Jon Deutsch, Brian Morrison, and Céline Vacher were sitting with us. We all stayed there for quite some time, sipping on delicious beer and wine and savoring each other’s company. It was, in fact, the first time I had ever been able to enjoy a long, leisurely conversation with Jon and it was an experience I will long remember, a rare pleasure, indeed. As I glanced around at each of these wondrous souls, it occurred to me just how much they all matter to me. I came to Los Angeles to pursue a life in film. Although I have not made a feature film in almost a decade, the ambition to do so has been slowly returning. The ideas have never stopped, but the ambition required was lacking, the kind of glorious ambition displayed on screen earlier that evening at the Los Feliz Film Fest. Still, not making movies has been about my career in film, not my life in it. Again, my filmmaking dreams led me in pursuit of a life. Having celebrated over two nights the art of film, the people who make movies, the people who gather together to watch them, and our neighborhood that has such a rich history intertwined in no small part with the history of motion picture making, I was reminded of an important truth about pursuing one’s dreams. You may not know where those dreams will lead you, but you will absolutely meet the people you are supposed to. After night two of the 2026 Los Feliz Film Fest, I found myself surrounded by people I truly love. The Voice of Los Feliz is a reader (and listener)-supported publication. To receive new posts and new podcasts and support my work, please become a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit philleirness.substack.com/subscribe [https://philleirness.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2]

The Voice of Los Feliz (podcast) Episode 17

It’s summer and there’s music in the air! A souvenir shot glass purchased at Albertsons depicting Los Feliz as … a beach community? This month’s show picks up where Episode 16 left off, with Phil hanging out at Alcove with Los Feliz Neighborhood Council District D representative Raina Pratto. They discuss the importance of the “hyper-local”, the importance of celebrating and fighting for joy, the importance of preparation, and an ad-hoc local committee dedicated to community defense and to keeping our community safe. Regular listeners have heard many mentions made of Tabula Rasa Bar. Located at 5125 Hollywood Blvd., it has served as a locale for several public events discussed on this podcast, from the Los Feliz Writer’s Festival, to an after-party for this year’s Los Feliz Film Fest. On this show, the establishment, itself, is squarely in the spotlight, as Phil sits down with its general manager, PJ Zettle. Cultural Affairs Committee co-chair Brian Morrison and Porchfest L.A. executive director Helene Udy at the very first “Sundays Before Sunset” Porchfest L.A. returns in October, but the team behind Porchfest is producing “Sundays Before Sunset” every Sunday through the end of August at the Vermont Triangle. Phil has the details (and some live music samples recorded there). The Dynamic Duo - The Stew and The Doctor - celebrating more than 50 years of dynamism! Los Feliz is a great place to make new friends. If there is anything better than making new friends, it’s having lifelong friends move into the neighborhood as one of Phil’s oldest and dearest pals did. They get together in Franklin Hills to compare notes on the neighborhood and on the town where they grew up. Phil is actually filing this month’s show from Kiawah Island. Before signing off, he congratulates past guest, Chef Joshua Whigman, on the recent Michelin Guide recognition his Casa Leo restaurant received. As always, musical director Jon Lawlor is dropping the killer tunes, and stalwart announcer Marc Hershon makes with the funny. The Voice of Los Feliz is a reader (and listener)-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, please consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit philleirness.substack.com/subscribe [https://philleirness.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2]

Friday the 13th

Robert Frost made great hay out of two paths diverging in the woods. Of late, especially since my wife “rang the bell” on March 4th, I have been far more interested in the way paths converge, often when the traveler does not expect it. For those people who are unaware (and until the day in question, I was one of them), the end of daily radiation treatments for cancer patients is frequently commemorated through the ringing of a bell. This ritual signifies the transition from active cancer treatments into post-cancer survival therapies. My father would have been particularly pleased that this ritual took place for his daughter-in-law on March 4th, as he always loved that day, often pointing out that it was “the only command on the calendar”. My cousin, Daisy Gordon, literally calls it “Command Day”. So, it could not have been more fitting that on March the 4th, Lily marched forth into her post-cancer survivorship. That the same day of the calendar marking this ritual of transition for my wife was also my sister’s birthday, served to make the day a personal convergence of two paths. Moving forward, the fourth of March will be a day of celebration for the path from illness to health that my wife has been walking. It will be an anniversary of her new beginning. It will also always be a reminder of not only my beloved sister’s birth, but also her death, and the absence of her in my life. So, two very different paths converging on the same day, inspiring, no doubt, a wide array of emotions and recollections within me. A few days after ringing the bell, Lily was strong enough for us to head out of town for the first time since Thanksgiving. Though we were only traveling as far as Montecito, I really did not know if she would be up for it. Those radiation treatments are serious business and quite a while before we reached the end of them, Lily was spending most of her days exhausted. Less than 36 hours after ringing the bell, however, her delightfully eccentric sense of fun had returned. She announced this fact by making me laugh in a way that had been a regular occurrence prior to her Christmas Eve surgery, but which she had not been able to attempt in the ensuing weeks. Lily’s mother, Betsy, and stepfather, Barlow, made the trip out to Santa Barbara to spend several days with us. It was the first time Lily had been able to see her mother since October. One night, at Lucky’s Steakhouse in Montecito, as we celebrated this much-needed mother-daughter reunion, as well as my mother-in-law’s birthday, I confided in Betsy that the feeling I had was the same as when we were emerging from the pandemic. In both instances, after months of being or feeling “bunkered”, we had emerged from mostly staying in shelter and found ourselves reunited with Betsy and Barlow at Lucky’s in Montecito. Indeed, our very first return to indoor dining at a restaurant (after getting our Covid shots) was at that venerable steakhouse. All these years later, it truly felt as if our post-pandemic and post-cancer paths had converged. Unfortunately, during the intervening years between those two meals, I had forgotten that two of the classic gin martinis at Lucky’s is definitely one too many! A few days later, on Friday the 13th, I again found my path converging with the past, when I realized that the last time we had a Friday the 13th in the month of March was six years prior, in 2020. It was the first day I had ever visited the Montecito property that has become our home away from home. The next day, Saturday March 14 2020, in the woods outside Cupertino (where I grew up), Lily and I had a memorial for my mother. And the day after that, lockdown orders went into effect around the country. Lily and I drove through Turlock on our way back to Los Angeles that day, so that we might check on my father and my sister. It would be the last time Lily ever saw my father alive. I have never had any superstitious feelings towards Fridays the 13th. Yet, now, I sort of wish future calendars might just skip the 13th of March when it falls on a Friday, the way so many high-rise elevators seemingly skip the 13th floor. We had been unable to travel anywhere by airplane ever since Lily began her testing and treatments in May of last year. With her Christmas Eve surgery a success, however, Lily began to set her sights on visiting the D.C. area for the first time since late 2024. In addition to spending time with family and friends with whom she grew up, she desired to celebrate Easter in the nation’s capital. Life-saving surgery on Christmas Eve followed by recovery and personal resurrection on Easter. The plan made sense to me. So, in the early morning hours of March the 24th, along with trusty feline companion Fuzz Aldrin, we found ourselves waiting at Delta Gate 22 in Terminal 2 at LAX. Lily had eschewed the wheelchair arranged for her by the airline. She was definitely feeling the effort it took to make it thru check-in and TSA, however, when we heard the following announcement: “Would Jane Fonda and Lily Leirness please come to the desk.” Though this was the first time these two performers shared billing together, I have high hopes it will not be the last. In this instance, the reason these ladies were urged to come forward was because they were to board first. What I learned about Jane Fonda that morning is that she actually prefers to board last (perhaps so she won’t have to sit captive in a fishbowl, feeling all eyes upon her). On the other hand, what I learned about my wife is she really can use the extra time boarding first affords her. In fact, she probably always should have boarded first. It would have made countless trips far less stressful for me. In this instance, given her uncertain strength, and her sudden and frequent side effects-induced need for restrooms, early boarding was an absolute godsend. Sure enough, as soon as she had made certain that Fuzz was settled in beneath the seat in front and had verified that I had correctly placed her carry-on luggage into the overhead space according to her exact specifications, Lily immediately availed herself of the on-board facilities. Full boarding had yet to commence when she returned and announced, “I saw Laura Friedman!” Los Feliz sits squarely within California’s 30th Congressional District. Our representative is Laura Friedman. The last time my path had crossed with the honorable Congresswoman was at a town hall sponsored by the Los Feliz Improvement Association. I served as master of ceremonies at that event and it was there where I first announced publicly the news of Lily’s cancer diagnosis. Now my path and the Congresswoman’s were converging again at the start of Lily and my first post-cancer trip. On that long ago-seeming night at the town hall in Friendship Auditorium, Representative Friedman had a “hard out” (another event she needed to attend), which I knew to be a birthday party for her daughter. Yet, instead of making a timely departure that night, she loitered in order to be able to spend a few moments in conversation with me. She shared with me her own story of survival and offered to be available to Lily and me should we ever need to talk. Our paths converging on Delta Flight 392 allowed Lily and me to share with Representative Friedman the news of Lily’s prognosis, express our appreciation for her humanity, and to tell her how much her words had meant to us. I also got to thank her for her hard work on her constituents’ behalf and tell her how much I admire her taste in eyeglass frames (look her up - she sports seriously bad ass frames!). She introduced us to her daughter (with whom she was traveling) and invited us to visit her on “the hill” for a tour. That kind invitation was one Lily was not yet physically prepared to accept. More than that, however, considering that coming weekend’s “No Kings” protests, we planned on giving the Capitol a wide berth during our stay. Not that I was going to eschew my civic duty, of course. Indeed, I went with my mother-in-law and step-father-in-law and their friends to the No Kings rally in the Friendship Heights section of Bethesda, Maryland. The crowd there was definitely on the older side. I might actually have been one of the younger protesters at that locale! It was heartening to see so much joy and wit embodied by so many in service of protest. My favorite sign that I saw read, “Even if I wanted a king, it wouldn’t be this guy!” As I stood on a particularly well-trafficked corner, taking in the exuberant show of community going on all around me, in again, an area literally known as “Friendship Heights”, I realized that I had packed up and brought with me on the trip a whole lot of sadness. It was a sadness I had only let myself glimpse when my guard was down, and then, only out of the corner of my eye, and it was becoming assuaged by the sights and sounds and energy around me. My friend Isaac Prado sings a song he describes as being about the silence of “not wanting to show our sadness for fear of the flowers dying.” Since Lily’s cancer diagnosis, I have known the sadness of witnessing her fear and pain. I have known the sadness of having no idea what would become of me if something happened to her. I have known the sadness of utter powerlessness. Though I have also known great joy amidst the sadness, what I have not known is the freedom to speak of such sadness in any meaningful way. It was not a freedom I was refused. It was one I denied myself out of fear I would be unable to control it, that I would, in the process of expressing it, kill so many flowers and do so at a time when I was all too aware of their fragility. Being on the East Coast at Easter is a powerful reminder that the flowers do bloom again. Kyoto, Japan, is one of my favorite places on Earth. I was fortunate enough to visit there while the ancient imperial palace was open and while the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. At the time, I doubted I would ever be in a locale more breathtaking in its beauty. Of course, I didn’t know then that in 2026, I would be able to stroll through the Kenwood neighborhood of Chevy Chase, Maryland, with Lily, her siblings, and their mother. It was both a stroll down memory lane, as it was the neighborhood where Lily grew up, and a nature walk, as the canopy of full-bloom cherry blossoms created tunnels of color on the residential streets. D.C. was famously gifted thousands of cherry blossom trees by Japan and tourists visit every year to take them in. The Tidal Basin, East Potomac Park and the National Mall are just a few of the iconic locales of these trees. Take it from me, though (an insider’s tip if you will), Kenwood in full bloom cannot be beat. Lily returned to the neighborhood several times during our two-week stay back east. Being surrounded by the rebirth of those trees did her healing a world of good. Everywhere we went those two weeks, Lily paid particular attention to the astonishing array of flowers we encountered. The “Lil and Phil” suite in the Overlook neighborhood of Bethesda, Maryland, offers us (and especially Fuzz) a breathtaking view of a spectacular grove of trees. When we arrived, they were still in their midwinter state of stark nudity (why is it humans shed their clothes in warm weather, but plants and trees shed theirs in cold?). In fact, the trees were so bare I would have sworn that they must have been dead. Remember, I’m a West Coast boy, born and raised, and after forty years in Los Angeles, spring is more of a concept to me than an actual season. So, to witness those trees burst back to full vibrant life in a matter of days was nothing short of astonishing. I truly believe I could actually see the leaves grow before my very eyes! Maybe this means I am old, but the phrase “watching the grass grow”, which used to be to me a descriptor of something being boring, now seems like a miraculous activity for which I would gladly volunteer. Just down the road from the grove of trees is Little Falls Stream Valley Park, in the shadow of the Capital Crescent Trail. Though there is a paved path leading through the park, if one sticks close to the stream, much of the park can feel like wild woods. It is this experience I usually choose, as I did one day while taking Fuzz for a hike. The plan was to meet up with Lily and my sister-in-law somewhere in the park. As the minutes crept by, and the temperature started to go down, and Fuzz grew restless inside the cat backpack I wore (on my front, actually), I realized we needed to be on the move. I was hopeful that Lily would find us somewhere in the woods. This did not happen, however, and as the time wore on, Fuzz, now outside of her backpack and showing no interest in the ducks frolicking near the stream’s shore, chose to go in search of Lily. While Fuzz marched through the woods, calling out with increasingly plaintive howls, I was struck by a debilitating thought: This is what life would be like if something happened to Lily. By the time Fuzz and my paths did converge with that of Lily and her sister, almost an hour had passed. I was in bad shape. My back was locking up from carrying Fuzz on the front of me, and my emotional well-being was in an even more fragile state. I handed Lily the cat backpack, said, “You need to carry her” and made it back to the Lil and Phil suite as fast as I could. Once there, I lay facedown, flat on the floor of a walk-in closet (that doubles as my podcast studio). I did not move for more than an hour. There were times during Lily’s dance with cancer where I felt the pull towards paralysis, physically, emotionally, and mentally. Now that we were, if you will pardon the expression, out of the woods, I plunged into that paralysis. As Lily I walked this path over the past year, what has frequently kept me out of any kind of paralysis is my drive to celebrate those things that matter to me. So, on Easter Sunday at St. David’s Episcopal Church, I found myself particularly moved by a panel in the stained glass behind the altar. It depicts King David and features the words, “I will sing and give praise”. Lily’s journey since Christmas Eve had been one of rebirth. It has been an arduous journey, at times. I am truly grateful to have witnessed it. In that church pew, I heard the rain outside, I smelled the freshly bloomed flowers both inside the church and out, and I allowed myself to be swept along upwards by the collective of voices in shared song all around me. I thought about how it is possible to re-grow the parts that have died. Nature teaches us this. Offering a joyful noise unto the creator and celebrating all that truly matters is what makes that growth possible for me. Following Lily’s cancer treatments, her recovery from surgery, and her radiation treatments, it was a bit of a gut punch to realize that the next phase for her medically (the post-cancer treatments) will last for many years. Since getting back from the east coast some four weeks ago, she has been sick. Her illness has been caused by a confluence of factors, but the side effects from her various medications, as well as her reaction to the pills she takes to quell those side effects, will take some getting used to I am sure. I, myself, succumbed to a particularly painful bout with a viral condition and what got me out of it was the opportunity to celebrate my neighborhood, my love of movies, and the value I place on people coming together to share in story. At a time when joy itself can seem under attack, gathering together in community for story, for song, for protest, is no luxury. It is necessity. The next Friday the 13th on the calendar will serve as a reminder to me of this fact. It will be in November. On Friday the 13th of November in 2015 gunmen and suicide bombers conducted a coordinated series of attacks that culminated in a massacre at the Bataclan concert hall in Paris. For as long as we have been together (almost 19 years now), Lily has had a large framed poster advertising the Bataclan. It now hangs on the wall on my side of the bed. On that day in November, my path will converge with all those whose lives were irrevocably altered by the worst of human impulses, to seek out joy and community and attack them. And I will continue to sing and give praise. The Voice of Los Feliz is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit philleirness.substack.com/subscribe [https://philleirness.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2]

The Voice of Los Feliz (podcast) Episode 16

Spring has sprung and there is a definite buzz about Los Feliz … And brand new episode 16 of “The Voice of Los Feliz” is certainly no buzzkill! Cameron Watson is the brand new Artistic Director of the Skylight Theatre Company. Host Phil Leirness sits down with him inside the Skylight Theatre to discuss what the future holds for this local treasure and how it could become a truly integral part of the community. Submissions are still open for the 2nd annual Los Feliz Film Fest, which takes place April 26-28 at Skylight Theatre and the Barnsdall Gallery Theatre. Phil gets together with festival founder and executive director Vuk Mitrovic to discuss the latest and to find out how interested locals can still get involved and help out! A recent open house (presented by Council District 4) revealed the up-to-date plans for the refurbishment and reopening of our local “Municipal Plunge”, the Griffith Park Pool. Friend of the show (and frequent collaborator) Debra Matlock, the president of the Los Feliz Improvement Association, attended that open house and provides a full report. Phil is actually filing this month’s show from the nation’s capital, where he is enjoying family, Easter and the full bloom of the cherry blossoms. Before he left for the “other” coast, however, he got together with Los Feliz Neighborhood Council District D representative Raina Pratto at Alcove, for an in-depth conversation that is equal parts hilarious, thought-provoking and inspiring. As always, musical director Jon Lawlor is dropping the killer tunes, and stalwart announcer Marc Hershon makes with the funny. The Voice of Los Feliz is a reader (and listener)-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit philleirness.substack.com/subscribe [https://philleirness.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2]

The Voice of Los Feliz (podcast) Episode 15

Welcome to our first episode of 2026 and our longest episode yet! Boasting interviews with four special guests discussing no fewer than three big community events, and full of comedy, music, vulnerability and good cheer, we trust that Episode 15 offers something for everyone … (Laura Fuller and Phil Leirness both wear many hats, but for Porchfest L.A. they frequently found themselves wearing the same hat as each other!) Laura Fuller is a somatic therapist, a yogi, a dancer, and a writer. And she was integral to the success of Porchfest L.A. in 2025. In one of two interviews conducted at The Trails Cafe in Griffith Park this episode, host Phil Leirness and Laura do a full debrief on Porchfest, and before you know it, they have gone DEEP! (Musical performer Isaac Prado on stage at the Autry Museum of the American West, opening December’s “Viva Los Feliz: Tinseltown” - Photo by Larry Underhill) A brilliant makeup artist, musician and singer, whose personal story might not leave a dry eye in the house, Isaac Prado sits down with Phil outside on a beautiful afternoon in Barnsdall Art Park to get better acquainted. (Host Phil Leirness and Los Feliz Improvement Association President Debra Matlock with “The Most Beautiful Bell in the World” at “Viva Los Feliz: Tinseltown” - Photo by Larry Underhill) Longtime friend of the show (and even longer-tenured President of the Los Feliz Improvement Association) Debra Matlock returns and she and Phil discuss their work together on Porchfest L.A.’s Porch #8 (The Fighting 8th!) and on their most recent “Viva Los Feliz” show. They also share thoughts on how to move forward with these ongoing stage shows. (The Los Feliz Neighborhood Council District representative whose brainchild the inaugural Los Feliz Film Fest was) Finally, Phil’s Los Feliz Neighborhood Council Cultural Affairs Committee colleague Vuk Mitrovic treats Phil to drinks at Tabula Rasa Bar on Hollywood Blvd. and shares the latest news regarding the fast-approaching 2nd annual Los Feliz Film Fest! As always, musical director Jon Lawlor keeps your toes tapping, and stalwart announcer Marc Hershon tickles your funny bone. The Voice of Los Feliz is a reader (and listener)-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, please consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit philleirness.substack.com/subscribe [https://philleirness.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2]