It Never Rains in Southern California

Where are you going, Where have you been?

I was talking to my friend Melissa last week, and she commented on the blog, saying that it seemed I "partied a lot." I guess it seems I party a great deal because I only blog about exciting things...like partying. No one wants to read a blog about me sitting alone in my queen size bed, eating a plate of s'mores, and watching 3 episodes of Days winedrunk and PMSing. If you do, please let me know. I'm sure we can arrange something.

It has been awhile since my last post. I've been hormonal. I don't quite know how to explain. Ever since I've moved out here, my PMS has been off the charts. Sorry guys, had to go there. I don't know if it's been the change in my diet, exercising, the weather, etc. I'm not taking any medications regularly so it can't be that. My pap was normal, etc. I just get overly emotional each month. I'll feel depressed for no good reason, then I'll look at the calendar and it'll all make sense. I'll sob through an episode of Oprah or I'll cry while watching the morning news. I'll feel disgusted and not want to write, or even open my laptop. It's bizarre and terrible. Ever feel like you just want to hide in a dark room? Oh PMS, you are truly the doppelganger to the my "party" side.

Sexagenarian Love

The Friday after my post was low key. I was still feeling slightly disgusted with myself for the craziness that ensued during Reggae Night, and as a result I decided to do my laundry, clean the house, and watch a girly movie.

I do my laundry once every 3-4 weeks. As such, I usually have 4-5 loads. I prefer to haul my stuff to the laundromat down the street rather than deal with the 1 washer/1 dryer set-up in the garage of our building. My laundromat of choice is next to one of the 3 million 7 Eleven's in L.A., and always very clean. Only once has a crazy/drug-addled nut-job run through screaming, which is a pretty good record for Sunset Boulevard after dark. Said laundromat is owned by a fat old Armenian man with black missing teeth (he smokes--smokers beware!) Said man is bald with a bushy mustache and has a persistent crush on yours truly. Whenever I do my laundry he smiles at me with a big shit-eating grin. This would be fine and cute, but said old man is a closetalker and frequently approaches to ask questions: "do you have a boyfriend", "are you married", "I like you", etc. His English is limited, but I catch his drift. I just laugh uncomfortably and shuffle away, wadding my granny panties into the basket to fold at home in peace.

I have another old admirer in the form of a neighbor. This man is handsome and short with good features and a full set of teeth, however he is still very icky. Said neighbor likes to bring me presents. The first gift was bestowed during Zach's visit. Zach and Aaron went home to shower after we hiked in Griffith Park. I was entering my apartment, and said neighbor ambushed me, asking if I "liked nectarines." I do, so I said yes. He left for his apartment and returned with a bag of fruit. He then told me I was "very beautiful" and tried to pull me into an awkward embrace. I shrugged him off and he disappeared from whence he came.
More recently he proclaimed, "you smoke cigarettes!" and left for his apartment. He returned with a pack of Italian cigarettes for me with oddly long filters. I tried to explain that I didn't smoke, but he wouldn't let me return the gift. He touched my cheek and disappeared. I gave the cigarettes to Claudia.
While these encounters with old men may be disturbing, they are nothing compared to the grand story of Creepy Neighbor™ which I may share one day on the blog.

Craigslist Part Deux

Okay, it's not something that I'm proud of, but I hope that by being brave enough to give a voice to my Craigslist use, I will encourage others to feel good about doing the same. So I had vowed off the CL. However, during a moment of weakness (I was probably PMSing), I browsed the M4W section and came across a post that seemed fake. It was for a man who was tall, smart, hot, a Yale graduate, and supposedly working as a model. HA! I was intrigued but highly skeptical. As such, I responded to the post with a snarky reply calling out the liar. Something akin to: that's an awful lot of typos for a graduate of one of the top schools in the country. Long story short, his story checked out, and Yale Boy and I exchanged some emails--turned out we had a lot in common. He had just moved to L.A. and was trying to "make it" as a model after having a desk job on the east coast. Okay. So we talked on the phone, and that Saturday he was in Hollywood for an audition. He ended up coming over to my apartment (I know, I know, I shouldn't invite strangers over, etc). I guess we went on a date--Claudia said we went on a date--we went to the park, we went to dinner, he hung out at the apartment and met Robert (they knew some mutual people at Yale). It was really nice and went really well, however, I just was (and still am) kinda lukewarm about Yale Boy. I don't know what it is. Everyone who meets him says he seems to "really like me," but I'm just not crazy about him. There's nothing wrong with him. I just can't put my finger on it. Maybe that was why, after he left around 9pm, I went out trolling for men with Claudia at the 4100 Bar. What's wrong with me?

The Smell

The next weekend, I was stoked to discover that Japanther, a band I'd wanted to see for a long time and never got a chance to, was playing in L.A. at a downtown venue called The Smell. Claudia, Steve, and I got dolled up and went down to check it out.
Things started off poorly when we were greeted by a hand-written sign proclaiming that alcohol was not allowed inside nor outside of The Smell. Fittingly the crowd was all ages, and folks, all ages mean all ages. Claudia and I pointed this out to Steve when he was later eyeing a gorgeous Asian boy who had to have been no older than 12. Once we made our way to the back of the venue it was quickly apparent how The Smell earned it's monicker. The stench of b.o. was enough to give a man whiplash. It was at least 95 degrees in there. We decided to wait outside for the Japanther set to begin. Outside drug addicts/crazies/homeless mingled with the crowd: such is downtown L.A. Occasionally the cops would drive through the alley to push the kids back inside.
Japanther finally came onstage. Claudia and I watched from the back of the room, while Steve sat on the couch in the main room. The acoustics were terrible, and while I'm glad I got to see them for only $5, I'll have to catch them somewhere else someother time. They only played about 8 songs. Props for using microphones that were converted from old rotary phones, but maybe I'm getting too old for hardcore venues even if they have mad street cred.

We left The Smell for Bar 107 which was just one block over. On the way I saw a fat rat, and ran squealing down the sidewalk as I am apt to do.

Go-Go

Saturday night Claudia met up with her friend Noel from Cornell and some other old friends to hit up some bars in West Hollywood. I had originally agreed to join them, but was feeling antisocial and PMSy and as a result stayed in to watch Sex and the City DVDs. Apparently I missed a good time at Micky's, an afterhours club which features hot oiled buff male go-go dancers. Claudia got trashed, stuffed money in the g-string of some Eastern European dude, and let him give her a ride home (I know I know she shouldn't get in cars with strangers, etc.).

Sunday I met up with Claudia, another friend, Noel, and Noel's boyfriend Patrick in Griffith Park. We had a nice little picnic. Claudia is now the proud owner of the little dachsund from an earlier post. The little puppy was from a petstore and ended up at her vet office because he couldn't walk well. The pet store wanted to send the puppy back to the breeder, i.e. euthanise it, so Claudia faked it's death at the vet office and now it's hers. Pato (duck in Spanish) is very cute and growing quickly. He's loveable even if he has already pooped and peed on our carpeting during a visit.

That night I baked two peach pies from scratch--I'm talking rolled out the damn dough, peeled the peaches myself scratch. I like to find a recipe and conquer it. I think everyone should have a few dishes they can make perfectly. I'm expanding my repertoire. One of the pies was for a co-worker who had surgery to correct carpal tunnel in both hands. Said co-worker is one of a handful of people I genuinely like at my workplace. This is because she is a good person with a beautiful personality. She's like a workplace mom to me. The other pie was for the gluttony of our apartment. I baked in my vintage 50's baby blue nightgown, (John Waters would be proud of this flea market find), and my apron with little chickens on it. I ended up gabbing on the phone with Jenna and getting drunk off half a bottle of wine while watching the Emmys. I felt like a true 1950s housewife--the getting drunk alone part that is.

Labor Day Weekend, Comrades!

The low-keyness of the two previous weekends was the doing of PMS, luckily the curse came roarin' in by Labor Day weekend which left me emotionally stable enough to venture out of the house. Thursday I kicked things off by hitting up the Cha Cha Lounge with John Ross, Claudia, and Andrew + possee. Andrew + possee wimped out early in the night, but John, Claudia and I got slap-happy and took some amusing photobooth pictures (I'll scan them later).

Friday morning at work, I thought I was hungover, but it all turned out to be the work of the worst cramps ever. These were the second-worst cramps in my life. The first worst were back in Mundelein. I was either in high school or home from college over the summer. I had excruciating pain in my lower back--radiating pain. Turns out they were cramps. These cramps were bad. I thought about asking to go home, but didn't think it would fly considering my projectile-vomit induced half-day a few weeks prior. These cramps made me nauseous, which was the first time I'd had that symptom (I'm not pregnant), and apparently nausea can be a PMS symptom. The cramps finally subsided. I worked on an Evite for a last-minute beach party I decided to organize with Aaron for Sunday afternoon/night. I wanted to have a good old cookout on the beach, and together we invited everyone we knew in Los Angeles. Even if no one came, at least our close friends would be there, and that's really all I needed to make it wonderful.

Saturday Claudia and I wanted to go out, but Andrew was driving and showed up 1 hour past schedule. As a result there was a raging line at the Short Stop. We decided to check out the Little Joy, a dive bar down the street. However the Little Joy was too divey for me: it was way tiny, cash only, and featured warm PBR for the true hipster. I decided to try my luck at the Short Stop. As I reported earlier, the bouncers there love me lots, and have nicknamed me "Laila Ali" after "the Champ's daughter." Once they saw me, they let me and my friends cut all 25 people in line and go right into the bar! Some angry girls at the front of the line started talking shit, "what, Laila gets to go in?" "Laila must be giving someone head" "how long do we have to stand here" etc. I was a little frightened, but had it come to fisticuffs I could have held my own. For those who know me well, after I've had a few shots of Vodka I get a little belligerent, well fine, a lotta belligerent. Luckily Angry Girls didn't start anything, and we had a good, albeit short (no liquor is served in L.A. past 2 AM) night.

Beach Party Tonight

Sunday was the day of the Beach Party. Aaron came to pick me up around 2pm and we went to Food 4 Less to bag some savings. That afternoon Yale Boy called, as he was in Hollywood and wanted to know what I was up to. I invited him to the beach, and he drove to my place to meet up. The 3 of us then picked up Claudia + Pato at her workplace and headed out to Dockweiler Beach in Playa Del Rey. The beach is about 35 minutes away and right by my work; in fact it's the same beach I go to on my lunch break.
The beach was crowded, and we couldn't find a vacant fire pit. In the end Claudia and Jason talked to another group of kids and they were kind enough to share their firepit with us. We set up camp, and were pleased to have a great turn out. We had about 25 people come and go from the beach. I braved the waves and was violated by them: I had sand in every crevice and saltwater up my nose. The waves were strong!
Alcohol isn't allowed on the beach, so we poored our hooch into plastic cups. Occassionally the beach police would drive by slowly, glare suspiciously, and drive away.
By dusk the scene was right out of a teen movie: the waves rolling in rhythmically, the weather just perfect, the sky a ridicuously scenic shade of pinks, the sun setting on the water, the fireworks up the coast in Santa Monica reflecting on the ocean, groups of kids at firepits getting drunk, kids pulling out their instruments to have improvised acoustic jams with guitar, maracas, bongos, the fire crackling, shadows in the dark, plenty of grilled hotdogs and hamburgers, kids playing their boomboxes and radios, people of every race everywhere, s'mores, people huddled by the fire talking--all of us saying to each other, damn, California is the place to be. No where else do you get city + nature in such a combination. I was happy because I got to run around with no pants on--beaches are pants free! We stayed until close at 10:30. I drove home listening to Prince, then showered, and passed out in a deep, peaceful sleep.

Like, the Galleria

So for whatever reason, maybe it's the Midwesterner in me, I really wanted to go to a mall on Labor Day. Maybe it's programmed somewhere in my subconscious from my youth. I remember going to the outlet mall, Gurnee Mills in Gurnee, Illinois, with my Dad and sisters on Labor Day. Gurnee Mills was miles of outlet bargin bin shopping. I had a hankering for a crowded mall (I don't know why), it just seemed American or something. Anyhoo, I got to go to the mall: Claudia and I went to the valley to the Glendale Galleria. We took Pato in an old purse (yes we were those girls--well, not really--okay I guess so). I was so happy to be sale shopping at the mall. I ended up with a priceless find (acutally it was $15) I got the best bra ever at Frederick's of Hollywood. Given, the color is a tacky salmon pink, but this bra is part of their extreme clevage/whore tits collection. As a result my B's look like C's and the thing is actually comfortable. I like my boobs the way they are, but hot damn! I can't stop looking at my boobs in this bra!

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

Fridays I get out of work at 1:30PM. It is a nice perk, but keep in mind that I start work M-F at 7:30AM. Evil! Claudia works near me, so on Friday we went to the beach after work. It's gradually starting to get cooler here. Notice I did not say "colder"--I feel for you people in NY and Chicago.
That night we wanted to hit up a bar I had read about on Yelp.com, which was supposed to have fine brown mens, good dancing, and reasonably priced drinks. We had tried to hit up the bar on Thursday night, but found out there was a $10 cover after 10:30PM. While we were content to waste money on drinks, there was no way we could waste that much. Thursday had ended at the Cha Cha Lounge, but Friday held new promise for checking out Little Temple.
Andrew and his friends Glen and Patrick (oddly enough older NU alums) came with Claudia and I to Little Temple. Unfortunately the bar really wasn't what we were looking for: bad mainstream hip-hop, not much of a crowd. Morgan, our next door neighbor/fellow NU alum, had told me earlier that a mutual friend from NU had recently moved to L.A. and was having a party that night. It was Felipe, Nate Eddy's old roommate. I ended up calling Felipe from Little Temple, and he invited us to join up with the party which was relocating to the Short Stop. At the Short Stop, there was a massive line, but once again Laila Ali was able to work her charm. We danced until close and then the boys wanted to go home. Claudia dropped them off and we decided to have a sleepover. However, we weren't quite ready to call it a night and decided to drive to West Hollywood to see if we could hit up afterhours at Micky's.
Unfortunately there was a $7 cover, which we refused to pay. We both really had to pee though, and started down the sidewalk in search of relief. On the way, we were ambused by a group of drunk men who introduced themselves. Two of the guys linked arms with Claudia and I and suddenly we were all walking down Santa Monica Boulevard together to God knows where. However, these were friendly men, and when I let them know that I really had to pee, the man who had me, swifted me away, off to a late-night pizza parlor, to the back of the restaurant, to a public restroom. Here he deposited me with a kiss on the cheek, and Claudia was soon behind me in line. Now that's the right way to pick up a woman! After the most refreshing of pees, we bid adieu to our acquaintances and headed home.
Unfortunately we now had a craving for pizza, and it was 3AM. We decided to stop at Ralphs, buy a frozen pizza, and cook it a home. We ended up eating 1/2 a pizza each, and went to bed around 4AM feeling gross. All the walking in heels had left our feet in the most painful of states.

Deep Fried Twinkies and Other Foods

Earlier in the week I had seen an ad for the L.A. County Fair. Heart was playing, and I wanted to go. I listened to Heart when I was young because my dad was a fan, and so did Claudia. We looked up the fair information online, and it said that admission to the Heart concert was free with admission to the fair. That said, we called up Noel and Patrick and the 4 of us drove out to Pomona to hit up the county fair.
I told my dad that I was going to see Heart and he and my Uncle Brian were both very impressed--not even they had seen Heart live. Who doesn't love Heart? The Wilson sisters are just so good, and we must support rocker women. I decided to wear my cowboy hat for the event (I so rarely get to wear it!), All of us were pumped; we sang along to Madonna the whole way to the fair.
The parking at the fairgrounds was intense, and it took us about 10 minutes to walk from the car to the fair. To add to the situation, all of us had to pee. I hate porta potties, and as usual these were totally gross. Luckily I had my hand sanitizer. We then stood in line for 30 minutes just to buy tickets to get into the fair. In line there was a man who was a dead ringer for one of the members of Nelson (when they had long hair), it was clear that the hardcore Heart fans were in tow. By the time we got into the fair, it was a quarter to 8PM and Heart was going to go onstage! We divided into groups: Noel and Claudia would buy beer, and Patrick and I would look for roasted corn. Soon we each had our own $7 cup of domestic beer and the fatty treat of our choice: huge hotdogs, roasted corn with mayonaise, nachos, fried french fry cubes. We made our way to the Heart concert, and were told that the show was "sold out." Apparently, what the website failed to mention is that you require an additional special ticket for the Heart concert, you had to get this ticket with your fair entry ticket, and said tickets sold out at 3pm. Bullshit! We were all upset, and ended up watching the concert on a tiny moniter. To drown our sorrows (or perhaps add to them) we hand another $7 beer and listened the Heart do some superb Zeppellin covers. Ann Wilson has such a powerful, beautiful voice.
We walked around the fairgrounds, and there was so much to see. Really, there was something for everyone. Some of the sights we saw: a flatbed truck converted into a rolling Disco party wagon pumping out terrible 70's covers (cheap afros and bellbottom pants included), a man doing beautiful acoustic Santana covers, a bar with a live jazz band, the Budweiser Clydesdales, vendors with boat and jacuzzi exhibits, a petting zoo, games, rides, and every fatty-fried deliciouree you could want.
After walking around the fair we stumbled upon the ultimate in fried carts. This cart featured fried avocados, artichokes, tomatoes, and zucchini as well as deep fried Oreos, Twinkies, and candybars. The guys split a deep fried Oreo and Claudia and I split a Twinkie, avocados, and tomoatoes. I felt gross even ordering it: "give me a deep-fried Twinkie with chocolate sauce." Actually it wasn't half bad, it tasted like a funnel cake with creme in the middle. The avocados were okay, but avocados taste better unfried with a little salt, same with the tomatoes. The prize of the booth was a creation dubbed the "Krispy Kreme Sandwich" which is (prepare yourselves) a Krispie Kreme doughnut, cut in half and sandwiched with a piece of chicken. You then dip this sandwich in honey. Yum! Not one of us was brave enough to try the "sandwich." Maybe next year. Our fat asses went home around 10PM and I passed out, utterly fat and exhausted.

End of Summer BBQ

Sunday there was a low key BBQ at the home of a couple NU alums. I went with Aaron, Jason, and their friend Marley, and stuffed my face with tasty BBQ foods. At said BBQ I met a cute, nice guy who makes independent films. We ended up getting into an intense disucussion about social policy, the current administration, and our newfound post college awareness of the workings of the world. The Grateful Dead was playing in the background and we were spouting about liberal politics, and finding peace within ourselves. It was quite a hippie trip. Unfortunately philosophical boy had to leave the BBQ to go to work, and our conversation was cut short. He invited me to visit him at work--he works at a tea/tonic/natual medicne place--however, I did not. He had a nice deep voice and gave me the sense that I knew him from somewhere. Hopefully I'll see him around again, because nothing turns me on more than intellectual conversation.

That night Nate Eddy flew into town for a 3-day business trip. Aaron and I picked him up from LAX and then enjoyed a drink with him at the 107--his hotel was only a few blocks away. Eddy, always a connoisseur of fine architecture, got to see first hand what a disgraceful shithold downtown L.A. is. While we only got to see him for one night, it was nice to catch up.

Thursday Nights

Recently Claudia and I have made a habit out of going out on Thursday nights. This is all fine and good when I'm not feeling the effects of a night of serious drinking the next morning at work. Last Thursday we decided to try a new bar, but when it was closed we ended up at the Short Stop. On this particular night we were the recipients of the worst pick-up line ever used. This douchey guy introduced himself by asking for our advice. Apparently he wanted to know what to tell women he was trying to pick up. He explained that he has a long-distance college girlfriend in Texas that will be moving to L.A. in 3 months. Until she shows up he can do whatever he wants. He wanted to know how he should explain this to women he meets. Asshole. I said, why don't you just tell them that you can fuck them for 3 months, and then be done with them forever? He didn't like my suggestion. So this douche went to the University of Texas, and wouldn't shut up. He also had a friend who was trying to make small talk with me while he chatted up Claudia. (You're from Chicago, cool, I've never been, etc.) Well, I knew right away that there was no chance in hell that either Claudia or I would sleep with or want to date either one of these bozos. As such they were wasting our time, precious man-trolling time. We got a drink at the bar and ran away from the fools. This dude was SO pukeriffic. As some of you are aware, when I'm not having a situation my face tells tale. He commented that I needed to "smile." Fuck you fucker, I smile when I have someone to smile at. I hate that in his mind I'm the mean game-killer friend, when really I'm the one being honest. Sure Claudia is smiling at your Hollister t-shirt, but she's laughing on the inside you fool. Oh men. We got another dose at the end of the night. A man at the bar was staring me down, so I decided to introduce myself to him as he walked by. What's the point of staring if you're not going to make a move? This guy was good-looking too. Well, once he opened his mouth he was dead in the water. I hope he was really really drunk, because otherwise he was very very stupid. I don't even remember what he was saying, but I remember looking at Claudia and we exchanged a glance that said "these boys are kee-razy." Luckily, it was last call, and we ran out of the bar and home. It was a night of many hits with an equal amount of misses.

The Return of Yale Boy

Friday I got a text message from Yale Boy, inviting me to a runway show/live band thing he was modeling at. I called up my friend Steve who came with me. The event was at the Hear Gallery, an up-and-coming artspace in Echo Park/Filipino Town. One of Steve's friends from work tagged along, and things got off to a crazy start when said friend decided to follow us to the show in his car. I didn't exactly know where I was going, and ended up pulling quite a few crazy illegal U-turns on the way. By the time we arrived and I properly introduced myself to Steve's friend, all I could do was apologize profusely.
Yale Boy had said that we got free admission and drinks if he put us on the guest list. However, this ended up not to be entirely true. We ended up paying for both admission and drinks. It was an all ages standing room event with plenty of eccentric types: crazy artwork on the walls (artwork with babies in it/vaginas), crazy young punky L.A. high school kids, older art scenester types. I talked to Yale Boy whose outfit consisted of a brocade vest sans shirt, pants, boots, and white paint smeared on his face. The runway show consisted of the 7 models walking into the gallery from the other room and posing on the stage. There were hoots and hollers when Yale Boy removed the vest and struck a pose. Still, as I pointed out to Steve, I just wasn't that crazy about him. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. He is good-looking, laid back, intelligent, but I don't know. Maybe it's me sabotaging myself. The unsettling factor was that he never made a move at the beach, and the timing at the beach was so perfect it was nearly cliche! Steve suggested maybe Yale Boy is a "nice boy." Well, I ain't used to nice boys. Maybe I should try to be.
After the runway show, the band played. At first it seemed that there was a lot of potential: they had a keyboardist, and a big scary bass player. The boys seemed to be able to play their instruments, then the vocalist opened his mouth and out came the most disturbing noise I've heard. I'm not sure how you describe it. You know those screaming vocals that aren't really screams, but more like men talking in a low deep growly voice like "roar ror rooooor rarrrarrraarar rarrararra ror ror rroooooooooooar!" ? That's what it was. It was kee-razy. At first I was disturbed, but then my drink kicked in and I was at least able to smirk. Steve and friend went outside for a cigarette, and I stayed for the 5 song set. Then I went outside when I couldn't find Yale Boy and I couldn't find Steve. Then I called Michael, kind of irritated about the situation, kind of confused. Some teenage boy started talking to me outside, and asked if I liked the music. I said not really, and he said that he guessed I didn't like "that type of music." Nope, not really. I felt old and out of place and I wanted to go home. I found Steve, and sent Yale Boy a text message: I left, I'll call you tomorrow.
Steve and I went to the Short Stop and continued our drinking. He spotted a cute guy, and in his drunken state was staring the dude down and following him around the bar. However, all the staring/stalking from Steve led the dude to believe that I was the interested party. This guy introduced himself to me, and he was nice, but I wasn't interested. Oh the irony.

The Things Men Will Drive For

Saturday I wallowed in bed, so much so, that when Morgan stopped by around 2PM I was sans pants and in a stupor. I kind of wanted to go to the mall (don't know why these days), and Morgan asked if I wanted to accompany him to Redondo Beach. He had a craving for Chick-fil-A and apparently there is one in Redondo Beach conveniently located inside a mall. I got dressed, and off we went. I had my first taste of Chick-fil-A, which was good. The creepy man who worked there gave me a free slice of pie because it took them so long to make my grilled chicken sandwich. While we were eating I got a call from Bubby in Germany. It was 2AM there, and she and her Daddies had just returned from a club. She loves Germany thus far, but says that things there are "funny." She commented that the club was playing lame music, "YMCA" and other old songs that America has cast away. She said people danced funny. I can just see her laughing inappropriately at the natives. Oh Bubby. She was watching MTV Europe when she called. Apparently they have "Pimp My Ride" and "Next" on MTV Europe too. Enrico, one of her host dads, had commented that they would "pimp" her room for her. It's comforting to know that MTV is causing harm the world over.

That night the NU house that had the BBQ the previous weekend had a big backyard party. This is the same house that had the other backyard party I went to a few posts back. The housemates have a new roommate who is also a DJ, and huge speakers were set up with good music. Morgan and Robert decided to stay home and play video games, so I met up with other people at the party. There were lots of NU kids, but also many kids from various places, friends of friends, roommates friends, random people. Sarah Peters came with her sister, and I was convinced that she was on a mission to get us killed by crazy boys. Some crazy redheaded boy was trying to pick her up, and he was quite guilible. She was fucking with him and laughing her ass off. She gave him a fake name and told him various lies, but he just wouldn't let up. He wanted to dance, and thrust his bony pelvis in our direction. We ended up running away, giggling wildly. We later saw that he had captured, and was avidly grinding on, a petite Asian girl. As the night progressed we got much drunker and crazier. John Ross showed up, and we had a good laugh. Sarah ended up blowing her nose in her shirt for some reason and I didn't want to touch her thereafter, I found a pear in my purse that I had forgotten about a few days earlier, and next thing I knew we were having aconversation with a big crazy southern dude. He had a thick accent and was wasted and belligerent. Sarah decided to fuck with him, and I grabbed her sister and slowly backed away from the conversation that was building towards disaster. Maybe Sarah called him a misogynist? I didn't stick around to find out. When we returned later to "make sure Sarah was okay" the guy then started accusing me of "being a hater" or something.
On the way home I decided it would be a good idea to stop at Food 4 Less at 3AM and buy ingrediants for a burrito/nachos. I bought a tube of ground beef and a block of cheese and arrived home to find Robert and Morgan still playing video games. I taunted them for being antisocial and then processed to make a disgusting drunken feast of ground beef, black beans, rice, cilantro, and cheddar cheese in a tortilla.

Banksy

I was listening to NPR and a few weeks ago, and they did a short package on Banksy. It was the first time I heard about him, and the package talked about the secret identity of the artist; he had recently tagged a store on Beverly Blvd. Originally the shop owner had thought to cover the work over, but decided to keep the art up once he was told it was by a famous graffiti artist. Banksy is a British graffiti artist whose identity is unknown. His pieces are known for their scathing political and social critique. I suggest you visit his website and look at his works. Read up on his "stunts."


After hearing the NPR package I decided to read up on Banksy. I liked his work a great deal. A week later, the NYTimes had an article on him and said he was doing a show in L.A. The location would be announced on Friday. I knew I had to see the exhibit, and I went downtown with Steve to catch the show. Downtown L.A. was a fitting location as the shameful dichotomy between the haves and the have-nots was on full display--by this I mean that downtown L.A. is a far cry from Beverly Hills and a lesson in socio-economics. The show went up in a warehouse, and was open to the public Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. For the event, Banksy painted an elephant, which hung out in the room. Get it, no one knows who he is, and that in effect is the "elephant in the room." It really was a spectacle: there was a long long line, which stretched around the block, it was 90 degreses in the sun, and a neighbor was selling water out of his apartment window.

The crowd was a motley mix of high school kids, hipsters, art afficionados, celebrities (I saw Sacha Baron Cohen aka "Borat" "Ali G"), older couples, and rich people in designer wear. Outside of the exhibit Banksy had installed an angel/blow up doll that floated in the breeze with the help of a giant helium balloon. Inside it was hot and crowded. However the work was amazing, and I took lots of pictures, which will be posted once they are developed. While the work carried the same, passionate social critique, I felt lost in the spectacle of the gathering. All the rich/designer wear people made me wonder. I wonder how long Banksy will last. I say this because anything that challenges the status-quo is eventually absorbed by it, diffused, and spit out for consumption by the masses. At his website Banksy explains why he won't sell t-shirts because for him, it would be akin to selling out. However, as we stood in line for the show and I watched the Channel 4 newsvan pull up, part of me knew it was the beginning of the end.

TV on the Radio

Friday (yesterday) Adam Sobel, another NU friend, moved in with Morgan next door. It's just like college when you have college friends living next door.

Amoeba Music is a big independent record store in California. On Friday TV on the Radio did a free in-store set. I thought it would be crowded and crazy, but I dragged Aaron with me to check it out. We got there an hour early, and it wasn't too crowded. We bumped into Will Beckley from NU and watched the 4 song set with him. We were so close to the stage, and it was great because I have wanted to see TV on the Radio live for 2 years. I have such a crush on Tunde, the vocalist. I have a little girl crush on the band. It was so funny because when we were walking back to Aaron's apartment after the show, I felt like I was in Velvet Goldmine: the young fan leaving the record store, holding the poster and the cd of his favorite artist with a shit-eating grin on his face. Aaron, Claudia, Andrew, Robert and his girlfriend Sarah and I all have tickets to see TV on the Radio and Massive Attack at the Hollywood Bowl on Sunday. It's gonna rule!

Scary Stuff

Friday night Aaron, Claudia, and I went to two bars: the Roost and the Bigfoot Lodge. The latter is modeled to look like a rustic log cabin, and has an animatronic beevchuck in a log. After Claudia dropped off Aaron and I she went home, and called me at 2:30AM. She had been mugged while walking to her apartment after parking her car. This was particularly bad, because her mother had feared that this could happen to her because her apartment didn't have a parking garage. Mother knows best. Luckily, Claudia was not hurt, and the gunman (yes, gun) only got her credit cards, which were cancelled before they could get any money. It was a scary wake-up call for me. I felt terrible, and once again had the "has the shit hit the fan?" feeling. Maybe I go do go out to much. Maybe I am reckless. Thank God Claudia is okay, a little shaken up, but okay.

The Cat Rescuers

As I write this it is Saturday night and I have opted to stay in and update the blog. I even went to mass today. Claudia's mugging shook me to the core, and I decided to seek out a little quiet personal time. My great adventure tonight was saving a cat. As I sat here writing, Robert heard this horrible crying sound. I recognized it as a cat crying, and we ran outside. There we saw that our upstairs neighbor's cat had somehow gotten outside and was hanging from the upstairs window. It's claw was stuck in the screen, and it was trying to free itself, but could not. The screen was breaking away under the weight of the cat. The cat was bellowing in pain, and people were coming outside and peering out their windows. We were all running around. Robert pounded on the neighbor's door but no one was home. I got a blanket out of the house and made the boys hold it open underneath the cat. Adam contemplated calling the police, Morgan got a chair, then the broom. We couldn't reach the upstairs balcony which was next to the window. I was shaking and yelling directions to people. The cat was crying in pain and fear, and it was so horrible to hear. Another woman brought a big pole, and I tried to break the screen. Robert was able to break it, and the rest of us caught the cat, which fell into our blanket, and ran into our apartment and under my bed, terrified. 10 minutes later the neighbor returned, and we told her what happened. She thanked us for saving her cat's life. All in a day's work in L.A.