July 26, 2006

So Let Me Tell You About a Tuesday LA Party...

I just got home. Worked the Chamberlain from 6 this morning until 1:30 in the afternoon. Then, drove to Chinatown to work from 2 until 1:30 this morning. Long day. And that’s saying not much. Oh, yes…and I’ll be back on the clock at 5:45 tomorrow morning, paranoid and helpless…spinning and depressed when that bitch of an alarm clock rips me from a dreaming slumber. One of forever love and a burn in the gut. Of a world that speaks poetic and spins fantastic…not yet.

Fuck tomorrow, sleep when you die. TODAY, I pulled enough coin to cover 20 nights in a European hostel.



So this party was…how shall I stamp it? Dinner theater.

Or…performance art.

Maybe, porn. Maybe.

We went through 6 standing courses, each with a wine or cocktail pairing. And in between, the “talent” would perform for the audience as a compliment to the course. The night was tabbed, “a sensual evening of surprise.” And it didn’t take long for the guests to get it.

I know what you’re thinking. Creepy party, strange crowd, middle of nowhere Los Angeles. Why can’t your city just fall off the flat side of the world?

Of all the parties I’ve worked at the Marvimon House, this was the best crowd. Hell, Vinnie Chase’s cameo lasted the duration…and he only barely stood out.

With the Scallops and Sage Margaritas, the “talent” (2 top shelf LA model/actresses, 2 mid shelf, 2 feisty lesbian porn stars) dueled in oversized boots and swung from ceiling harnesses to electricified guitar.

With the Squab and Whisky Sours, the “talent” were 40% skin as they dangled and tussled from hanging outdoor vines to a glorified harmonica.

With the Steak and Syrah, the…they fed each other and engaged in what could only be described as, well…I quickly found out that “sensual surprise” meant orgy…at the front of the room…as the crowd sipped their red, tried not to choke on steak sandwiches and collectively duped conscience into believing they were watching art.

The brilliant thing about performance art, I’ve recently found, is that no two pairs of talented couplets express themselves in the same manner. Of course, certain pairings were more representational than others, meaning…not everyone took liberty in the provided glass stage ornaments.

But two of them...they certainly did.

July 20, 2006

City of Delusion...

I was driving home to change when my car broke down at the corner of Holloway and La Cienega. Time was tight, had an hour to get across town for a show. The tow came, took my girl away. I ran home, changed, hopped a friend’s car and rode Fountain to Vermont to the Greek. On this night, thank the Angel of Hustle I was flying solo.

I parked at the bottom of the hill and began a half-mile jog uphill. Soaked and short on breath, I found my seat 30 seconds into “Take a Bow.” Muse had taken stage.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a show of any kind stone sober. To this one, I had no choice. There was no time to sip contradiction as I trekked the hill. Green Tea Vitamin Water and Ciroc was still sitting in my fridge.

The show was tragic. I would have stayed all night. And if I had the time and wasn’t saving raisins for Europe, I’d drive to San Diego or Phoenix for a second taste. Walking down that hill after the show was over, I worried about never seeing a set as good…or a band as remarkable.

That was the story of the night…



Transition is an amazing thing. And with it, the fear of change. I think I’m going to give up my apartment when I leave Los Angeles. After all, how can you ever learn to fly with one foot tied to the ground? It means clearing house in the middle of August and trying to rustle scratch for stuff I’ll likely end up leaving on the curb.

My entire life, I’ve had a difficult time giving roots much of a chance to grow. For two years, this has been a temporary apartment. Couches, crates, cabinets…a six foot Love Sac that will certainly fetch a bill due to its appearance as a sexual Godsend when actually, it’s impossible. Everything inside this place floats.

How appropriate that the apartment’s tenant follows suit.



It’s a calm night here. Sigur Ros plays the soundtrack to a setting Los Angeles sun out the window, to a rattling fan over my shoulder. It’s purple outside and most nights, these are the moments I wish could last forever. And in the future, no matter what happens to this soul, whether it’s so full I’ll fear rupture…or whether it’s empty and content, that’s something that will never change. A dream to hold the world in a moment where everything is right or wrong.



Summer is slowly ticking, and with it, my first stint in Los Angeles is coming to an end. But too often lately, I find myself playing with variables. Call Summer X and Los Angeles Y.

Now, add urgency and the weight of self-imposed expectations that words would fail capture. Then, re-value your variables. X= My allotted time. Y= life. Last, say it four times out loud.

No. Say it like you mean it. Half of half as much as I do…

Maybe, just maybe you’ll partially understand. It’s scary…when all you want to do with a life is speak.

July 05, 2006

My Darling Compass...

There was something about it that stuck to me as I stood in a Pavilions’ parking lot in the Valley…as I watched hack fireworks blow through cracks in the trees. Something about it hurt. I knew better…

Navy Pier in Chicago…
Finch Field in Thomasville…
Concert on the Green in Lake Forest…
Lower Manhattan from the Jersey Shore…
Washington Harbor from the Georgetown side of D.C.

Like remembering Jerry Springer when societal pillars brawled without a cut away. Back when it was the best show on TV.

Fuck, things change.



Hurt clings. It grows and sharpens nails to stab and hold hearts from breaking free. Try to shake, ignore, deny or burn it off and you’ll be the first. In this life, we were built to have no such luck.

Never.

Ever.



But it’s not just the fireworks. It’s something else, something bigger…obviously always. In that parking lot, looking up at disappointment in the sky, I realized I had no choice but to leave a part of myself behind.

In my mind and memories, that part of me was comforting and pure. It was innocent and happy. It was youth and grass and mosquitoes. Unforgettable air and a sweat on my body. It was trading glares with a summer crush as our faces lit green, red, white. The finale and a mess of old friends. The easy summer and black, silent nights that cities are forever helpless to understand.