Posts Tagged ‘Donna Freberg’

The Birds

Wednesday, May 7th, 2014


me hilary donna, cutting hilary

First question from my husband this morning was, “Did you hear the birds?” I’m obsessed with the wild parrots that live together on Chautauqua, just a few blocks away so I asked if it might be them. “No,” he said, “big black birds.” Then I went straight for it, saying with so much conviction he was floored: “Oh, it was probably a crow funeral in a tree”.

And then I went on. Crows have this super intelligence that no other animal has. They remember the face of any human that slighted them and they tell all the other crows in the WORLD about that human’s face and then he or she is fucked (among crows, anyway) for life. Talk about a vendetta. I’m really up on crows. I saw a Ted talk about them. Am I a black crow in my grudge keeping? I used to say I have the memory of an elephant but I’m changing it to the memory of a crow. (more…)

Happy Hour

Thursday, April 25th, 2013

paparazzi photo from rivabella


What the hell is Happy Hour and why is everyone talking about it?  The happiest hour for me is when I eat.  But if it means standing around with drinks in your hand, eating from some communal barrel of glop, count me out.  I don’t think Happy Hour would have appeal for me even if it were at a restaurant I wanted to go to.  It just sounds awful.  Or am I a snob?

The other day, I was recommending my new favorite restaurant in L.A., Tar and Roses, to someone who then asked, “Do they have a Happy Hour?”  I was baffled by the question.  It’s so foreign to me.

And then I got an invitation to join my daughter and her best friend Cody and a bunch of their hot 27-year-old friends for what I thought was dinner.  But it wasn’t.  It was Happy Hour at some Mexican restaurant’s bar (Marix Tex Mex).  And while I think it’s brilliant for young people not yet making big money to be able to eat like that, I just couldn’t do it.  I asked for a proper menu. (more…)

Halloween, Celebrity Style

Tuesday, March 27th, 2012

I was in my early 20’s.  I had been invited to Dean Martin’s daughter’s Halloween party.  Yes, at her father’s house.  A big ass Beverly Hills home.  I planned to be Elton John.  The girls — Gina and Donna — who had invited me to the party were very close with Shaun Cassidy, and I was told Shaun owned Ziggy Stardust-style silver lame’ rock & roll boots.  I didn’t know him or what size shoe he wore, but I boldly called and asked to borrow them: “Hi, I’m Fredde Duke, you don’t know me but….”

I picked up the rock & roll boots at his mother’s house on North Oakhurst.  Found it on my Map to the Stars’ Homes.  Kidding.  I enlisted the wardrobe department where my dad had a studio deal to write “Elton John” in a sequined signature on the back of my satin, emerald-green man’s coat.  A friend worked for Bernie Taupin and Elton at Rocket Records, and he gave me a stack of unsigned Elton John headshots.  At the toy store on Beverly Drive, I bought a child’s baby grand piano.  By now I’m realizing it would have been a lot easier to go as Pat Boone.  Then I scored a man’s wig in Hollywood, but cut it at the crown to make me look like I was balding.  The piece de resistance was the blacked out Elton gap tooth.  Voila, I was suddenly a gay rock star!!! (more…)