N. and I each hurriedly rushed out of our office to catch the first Hollywood Bowl Metro bus that is scheduled to depart at 5:40 pm. Along the way we stopped by a Taiwanese bakery, Japanese grocer for sushi, and Trader Joe's for an inexpensive bottle of pinot grigio and some cheese, all to be enjoyed at our picnic night out with the Los Angeles Philharmonic. Usually the thought of Thursday late afternoon drive toward downtown and Hollywood is as unappetizing as eating at Taco Bell. But upon hearing about the park and ride program, which transport concert goers in Torrance straight to the Bowl without stops, we decidedly purchased the least expensive ticket available online (face value $6, plus $5 process and convenience charge by Ticket Master) and headed toward an evening under the spell of Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody. We arrived at the stop around 5:40, but fortunately the first bus was still there. We boarded the bus and found seating; we were mostly surrounded by enthusiastic senior citizens with picnic baskets and canvas bags. A single trip fare costs $2.50, with the benefit of not having to worry about driving and expensive and troublesome parking at the Bowl.

During the bus ride, curiosity and excitement interlaced heavily, in part due to the concert, but another for the bus ride along the 110 freeway, a first since my residence in Los Angeles. I looked out the window while the bus sped past cars as it slowly disengages from the massive flow onto the carpool lane, surpassing the gridlock of one-person vehicle lanes that I often find myself the victim in the midst of. Somehow, when I am not driving, the perception of the city softens, exuding a sense of skittishness. As the bus make its way past the tall steel and glass section of downtown, I dozed off; so did N. The muffled combustive sound of engine worked like a gentle lullaby. In under an hour we were delivered to the front entrance.

The crowd was heavily gathered at the monied section. The back benches where we belonged were occupied sparely. N. and I laid out the wine and the food on the bench, and decidedly put on our talent of eating on display. When the wine was drained about half way, the sky begin its gradual enclosure of darkness, and cool breeze gently blowing, along carried the strong scent of acidic red wine from fellow neighbors, soaking the evening air like spilled wine eating up white tablecloth. The open-air venue exposed a wide cloudless night sky, though only a handful of stars could be seen. The droning sound of cicadas regurgitated through the ears. Besides the eating, we conversed on just about every conceivable topics between two good friends, under the hidden stars. Then we spent the best Thursday evening immersed in Mussorgsky, Rachmaninoff and Tchaikovsky.

Tags: Hollywood Bowl, Los Angeles Philharmonic,