Parade of Horribles
I settled down at the bar with a Dark 'n' Stormy. I particularly enjoy the garnish of candied ginger. I take my first sip and the runway opens up. By tasting my drink, I seem to have opened a portal to some warped universe (ahem, LA).
First, we have John Mayer-lookalike walking hand-in-hand with Stiffler's mom-lookalike. Words like "cougar" and "statutory" were flying left and right. I never thought this would be the beginning of anything, but I got a good snicker out of the sight and turned away. We finally got our table and then the parade began in earnest.
Someone neglected to mention to the table behind us that the toga party had been canceled. Terrible. Is this fashion? Ask and ye shall receive. Seek and ye shall find.
What better way to introduce a constructed woman with a tiny dress and "FAITH" tattooed on the back fringe of the dress? Would she arrive alone? Impossible. In she parades with a man and a woman. And so we "lost our faith" when she went to the ladies' room, we "gotta have faith faith faith" when she's around and who wouldn't want to "have a little faith"? So many short-lived amusing moments until the man she arrived with began making out with her. Shakespearean onstage ravaging was my best description of this terrible technique. So violent and grotesque but vaguely restrained as if they wanted to be symbolic as they were watched. Did I neglect to mention that the John Mayer-lookalike and the Stiffler's mom-lookalike were going at it one table over?
At this point, I'm amused beyond my wildest Thursday night (it's Saturday though). That is, until Sven (from the Verizon commercial, cable-knit white turtleneck compris) waltzes by and says "Your stocks are up, yours are down."
To top it all off, I was hanging out with Kenneth from 30 Rock. Not really, but a real, live, just-retired, NBC page was at our table.
I woke up in the AM and asked myself if it was all real. The honest truth is that all had been, but all of the players had been, well, just that: players, hyperbolic actors pushing the limits of reality and hoping to find purpose in that. Or through emulation of others who were doing that. Or maybe just as they perceived them. Gotta go big. Gotta go over the top.
LA is not my favorite place, and when it finds me in New York, I always shake my head.
I settled down at the bar with a Dark 'n' Stormy. I particularly enjoy the garnish of candied ginger. I take my first sip and the runway opens up. By tasting my drink, I seem to have opened a portal to some warped universe (ahem, LA).
First, we have John Mayer-lookalike walking hand-in-hand with Stiffler's mom-lookalike. Words like "cougar" and "statutory" were flying left and right. I never thought this would be the beginning of anything, but I got a good snicker out of the sight and turned away. We finally got our table and then the parade began in earnest.
Someone neglected to mention to the table behind us that the toga party had been canceled. Terrible. Is this fashion? Ask and ye shall receive. Seek and ye shall find.
What better way to introduce a constructed woman with a tiny dress and "FAITH" tattooed on the back fringe of the dress? Would she arrive alone? Impossible. In she parades with a man and a woman. And so we "lost our faith" when she went to the ladies' room, we "gotta have faith faith faith" when she's around and who wouldn't want to "have a little faith"? So many short-lived amusing moments until the man she arrived with began making out with her. Shakespearean onstage ravaging was my best description of this terrible technique. So violent and grotesque but vaguely restrained as if they wanted to be symbolic as they were watched. Did I neglect to mention that the John Mayer-lookalike and the Stiffler's mom-lookalike were going at it one table over?
At this point, I'm amused beyond my wildest Thursday night (it's Saturday though). That is, until Sven (from the Verizon commercial, cable-knit white turtleneck compris) waltzes by and says "Your stocks are up, yours are down."
To top it all off, I was hanging out with Kenneth from 30 Rock. Not really, but a real, live, just-retired, NBC page was at our table.
I woke up in the AM and asked myself if it was all real. The honest truth is that all had been, but all of the players had been, well, just that: players, hyperbolic actors pushing the limits of reality and hoping to find purpose in that. Or through emulation of others who were doing that. Or maybe just as they perceived them. Gotta go big. Gotta go over the top.
LA is not my favorite place, and when it finds me in New York, I always shake my head.
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