Tuesday, March 30, 2004
a funky full circle
I saw Prince for the first time about 15 years ago.
The Lovesexy tour was performed in the round. Parked next to the stage was a huge, white Lincoln Continental.
Before the lights even went down, massive amounts of smoke started pouring out from under the stage, practically filling the entire floor section.
Finally the Lincoln next to the stage "started up," actually mounted on a hydraulic arm which raised the car above the fog. Inside the car were Prince and his entire band.
With the only light inside the sports arena coming from the Lincoln's interior and headlights, the car began to circle the stage. With the smoke and the darkness, it literally looked like the car was flying.
When it finally stopped, all you could hear over the screaming was a loud 'key in the ignition' buzz as the band stepped out of the car and onto the stage.
Naturally, I nearly wet my pants.
Last night, 15 years later, I saw Prince again. Again in the round, again with one of my oldest and closest friends who was with me that epic (albeit very blurry) first time.
Since it was only the second show of the tour, I don't want to give away too much. I know lots of my pals are planning to see it soon. For those that aren't: make plans to do so. Seriously. This is your chance to see/hear Prince in top form, performing all of his hits "for the last time" (he says now), and in the round for an incredible, all-encompassing concert experience. His band is so tight, his moves are amazing, and his music more than stands the test of time. An encore acoustic set was particularly worth the price of admission.
This time, his entrance was topped only by his exit. And the 2-hour funky jam session that led up to it was pretty spectacular too. Literally the entire Staples Center was on its feet for most of the show.
I should admit that last night's show also had an extra-sappy dose of meaning to me. I can't help but read a bit into these Prince-in-the-round concerts as coming full circle… since after 15 years of living in Los Angeles between the two, I'm saying goodbye.
Not a bad set of bookends. But unlike Prince, I plan to revisit my past frequently.
The Lovesexy tour was performed in the round. Parked next to the stage was a huge, white Lincoln Continental.
Before the lights even went down, massive amounts of smoke started pouring out from under the stage, practically filling the entire floor section.
Finally the Lincoln next to the stage "started up," actually mounted on a hydraulic arm which raised the car above the fog. Inside the car were Prince and his entire band.
With the only light inside the sports arena coming from the Lincoln's interior and headlights, the car began to circle the stage. With the smoke and the darkness, it literally looked like the car was flying.
When it finally stopped, all you could hear over the screaming was a loud 'key in the ignition' buzz as the band stepped out of the car and onto the stage.
Naturally, I nearly wet my pants.
Last night, 15 years later, I saw Prince again. Again in the round, again with one of my oldest and closest friends who was with me that epic (albeit very blurry) first time.
Since it was only the second show of the tour, I don't want to give away too much. I know lots of my pals are planning to see it soon. For those that aren't: make plans to do so. Seriously. This is your chance to see/hear Prince in top form, performing all of his hits "for the last time" (he says now), and in the round for an incredible, all-encompassing concert experience. His band is so tight, his moves are amazing, and his music more than stands the test of time. An encore acoustic set was particularly worth the price of admission.
This time, his entrance was topped only by his exit. And the 2-hour funky jam session that led up to it was pretty spectacular too. Literally the entire Staples Center was on its feet for most of the show.
I should admit that last night's show also had an extra-sappy dose of meaning to me. I can't help but read a bit into these Prince-in-the-round concerts as coming full circle… since after 15 years of living in Los Angeles between the two, I'm saying goodbye.
Not a bad set of bookends. But unlike Prince, I plan to revisit my past frequently.
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
Best Bumper Sticker in the World
It's your Hell - YOU burn in it!
-as seen in Eagle Rock last night.
-as seen in Eagle Rock last night.
Thursday, March 18, 2004
American Castoff
While I would never dream of entering any sort of televised abuse-a-thon like "American Idol" or "America's Next Top Model," I did partake in something almost as awkward and humiliating: trying to sell my unwanted clothes at Los Angeles thrift stores.
Started off at Crossroads in West Hollywood. The one advantage to this place is that you can drop off your stuff and come back a day or two later to see how you fared. And since Abe had told me "they take everything," I decided to make it my first stop. I dropped off 5-6 grocery/shopping bags and one huge duffel bag full of clothes. But I knew I was in trouble when I saw how little stock the store had for sale, and much of it was designer label. My wardrobe is decidedly Prada-free.
Returned yesterday to see that they had picked out just enough clothing to barely fill one plastic drugstore bag. But besides having to haul all my stuff back to the car, I also walked away with$17 and two free shirts (in trade). Just what I need when I'm trying to get rid of everything: more stuff.
Next, I went to Buffalo Exchange on La Brea. It was actually worse at first because the manager buyer lady was training a new girl, so they were openly discussing my fashion faux pas as part of a hideous training process. "It's realllllllly hard for us to take khaki," said the new girl with a pained expression. "Well this is different," she exclaimed, holding up a bowling shirt that their own racks were undoubtedly crammed with. Then she and her boss got into actual 'hushed whisper' discussion about the shirt. At least on "American Idol" they stab you in the chest, not in the back.
Then they got to my duffel bags full of shirts and suddenly I was the superstar. "We realllllllly need men's stuff, especially button-ups," said Manager Girl. I started pointing out brands, arguing for a better price on certain pieces. "I know you're buying for spring, but that's a one-of-a-kind Fred Perry sweater-- I really shouldn't even be selling it to you." I am such a non-haggler but it felt good to stick up for my threads.
Buffalo Exchange just opened a store in Long Beach, so I might take some of the leftovers down there on my way to San Diego this weekend. Apparently my denim wasn't "awesome" enough for Buffalo Exchange L.A. And some t-shirts were "great, but starting to fade." Isn't that the whole point of a thrift store t-shirt?
Last but not least, there's always Goodwill.
Started off at Crossroads in West Hollywood. The one advantage to this place is that you can drop off your stuff and come back a day or two later to see how you fared. And since Abe had told me "they take everything," I decided to make it my first stop. I dropped off 5-6 grocery/shopping bags and one huge duffel bag full of clothes. But I knew I was in trouble when I saw how little stock the store had for sale, and much of it was designer label. My wardrobe is decidedly Prada-free.
Returned yesterday to see that they had picked out just enough clothing to barely fill one plastic drugstore bag. But besides having to haul all my stuff back to the car, I also walked away with$17 and two free shirts (in trade). Just what I need when I'm trying to get rid of everything: more stuff.
Next, I went to Buffalo Exchange on La Brea. It was actually worse at first because the manager buyer lady was training a new girl, so they were openly discussing my fashion faux pas as part of a hideous training process. "It's realllllllly hard for us to take khaki," said the new girl with a pained expression. "Well this is different," she exclaimed, holding up a bowling shirt that their own racks were undoubtedly crammed with. Then she and her boss got into actual 'hushed whisper' discussion about the shirt. At least on "American Idol" they stab you in the chest, not in the back.
Then they got to my duffel bags full of shirts and suddenly I was the superstar. "We realllllllly need men's stuff, especially button-ups," said Manager Girl. I started pointing out brands, arguing for a better price on certain pieces. "I know you're buying for spring, but that's a one-of-a-kind Fred Perry sweater-- I really shouldn't even be selling it to you." I am such a non-haggler but it felt good to stick up for my threads.
Buffalo Exchange just opened a store in Long Beach, so I might take some of the leftovers down there on my way to San Diego this weekend. Apparently my denim wasn't "awesome" enough for Buffalo Exchange L.A. And some t-shirts were "great, but starting to fade." Isn't that the whole point of a thrift store t-shirt?
Last but not least, there's always Goodwill.
Saturday, March 06, 2004
hello weho
After catching a Grandaddy gig at the House of Blues last night with Abraham (who might finally understand my admiration for everything related to that band) we decided to see what else was going on in West Hollywood. I don’t think either of us had been out on a Friday night in WeHo for years.
First stop was Revolver, as it almost always was back when we hung out in WeHo regularly. This guy named Sham (yes, Sham) has started a new club there called Gossip. Sham is apparently Angelyne’s personal assistant, and she was reportedly there last week along with Andy Dick and the dancing midget from “Twin Peaks.” That’s my kind of VIP list. Last night’s overhyped guest star was James St. James of Party Monster fame.
We showed up around 11:15 and it was pretty dead. Held out until about 11:30, just long enough to see JstJ and Sham make their awkward entrance into a semi-empty room. It actually reminded me of Angelyne's art opening that I went to years ago, where she burst into the packed gallery, threw her arms up in the air and exclaimed, "I'm Here!!" Myself and about two other people who happened to be near the door were the only ones who noticed. I really liked that show, but I heard from several different people that none of the paintings were actually done by her. Does it even matter?
We ended up taking a little trip down memory lane and hitting some other bars along the boulevard. Have you seen the 'shower cube' they have at Micky's for go-go guys to dance in? Unreal. We were wondering what temperature the water was at, and what the guy inside did to keep his tips from getting soaked. Even better was this really hot, beefy dude dancing not in briefs or a g-string but instead wearing black long underwear, with the back of the waistband pulled down under his butt.
More on the ugly and unpleasant side was Mother Lode, where we were initially taken aback to see that the same guy is still tending the back bar, and still pouring out those cheap juicy shots of whatever after umpteen-many years. I wish I could remember the exact comment Abe made about what kind of crowd the Mother Lode attracts, because it was still so true. Different now are all these cheap, hand-painted dayglo cardboard signs hanging everywhere-- it looked like a high school dance for the short bus set. It was a weird enough environment to try and be comfortable in, and then this whole group of gay deaf people showed up and shortly afterwards things got really messy.
I was in the toilet waiting to use the loo when this girl burst in with a guy who promptly began projectile vomiting in the piss trough. That was bad, really bad, and several guys waiting to pee fled the scene with their hands over their mouths and faces.
As the drama unfolded in technicolor glory, two deaf guys on line in front of me starting wildly 'speaking' to each other in sign language. I don't know much about sign language, but one of them made it clear that they should get the fuck outta there immediately. The other one protested, indicating through sign language and that sort of verbal half-speak peculiar to deaf people that he "had to poo poo."
Clearly, that was my cue to leave. A memorable night, but I think my last in West Hollywood for another long while.
First stop was Revolver, as it almost always was back when we hung out in WeHo regularly. This guy named Sham (yes, Sham) has started a new club there called Gossip. Sham is apparently Angelyne’s personal assistant, and she was reportedly there last week along with Andy Dick and the dancing midget from “Twin Peaks.” That’s my kind of VIP list. Last night’s overhyped guest star was James St. James of Party Monster fame.
We showed up around 11:15 and it was pretty dead. Held out until about 11:30, just long enough to see JstJ and Sham make their awkward entrance into a semi-empty room. It actually reminded me of Angelyne's art opening that I went to years ago, where she burst into the packed gallery, threw her arms up in the air and exclaimed, "I'm Here!!" Myself and about two other people who happened to be near the door were the only ones who noticed. I really liked that show, but I heard from several different people that none of the paintings were actually done by her. Does it even matter?
We ended up taking a little trip down memory lane and hitting some other bars along the boulevard. Have you seen the 'shower cube' they have at Micky's for go-go guys to dance in? Unreal. We were wondering what temperature the water was at, and what the guy inside did to keep his tips from getting soaked. Even better was this really hot, beefy dude dancing not in briefs or a g-string but instead wearing black long underwear, with the back of the waistband pulled down under his butt.
More on the ugly and unpleasant side was Mother Lode, where we were initially taken aback to see that the same guy is still tending the back bar, and still pouring out those cheap juicy shots of whatever after umpteen-many years. I wish I could remember the exact comment Abe made about what kind of crowd the Mother Lode attracts, because it was still so true. Different now are all these cheap, hand-painted dayglo cardboard signs hanging everywhere-- it looked like a high school dance for the short bus set. It was a weird enough environment to try and be comfortable in, and then this whole group of gay deaf people showed up and shortly afterwards things got really messy.
I was in the toilet waiting to use the loo when this girl burst in with a guy who promptly began projectile vomiting in the piss trough. That was bad, really bad, and several guys waiting to pee fled the scene with their hands over their mouths and faces.
As the drama unfolded in technicolor glory, two deaf guys on line in front of me starting wildly 'speaking' to each other in sign language. I don't know much about sign language, but one of them made it clear that they should get the fuck outta there immediately. The other one protested, indicating through sign language and that sort of verbal half-speak peculiar to deaf people that he "had to poo poo."
Clearly, that was my cue to leave. A memorable night, but I think my last in West Hollywood for another long while.
