Monday weekend roundup

Where to even begin!

On Friday I fully intended to post the customary well-wishes of the day, but Halloween swept me up and swallowed me whole!

I opted out of the HARD Halloween for my friend's warehouse party downtown. I attended as the photographer, but since I was riding with the host, I had to be there by 8:00pm. Imagine my exhaustion as I rounded my fifteenth hour, thinking of the secret Sparks weapon I had hidden in the fridge.



While the boys prepped, I DJed at the computer, and got the usual, "You listen to this stuff?"

I hear that DJ Pubes showed up, to deposit about twenty cases of PBR, reserved for him alone for the unofficial Natural History Museum after party (That would never actually happen - more on that later). I was feeling a little too lovely to socialize, and remained locked up in the office, coiled in a giant leather chair, and bobbing to my private set.



Eventually I emerged into the alley to watch a white van roll up and release the "droogs" into the wet-concrete night. I swayed in the corner, awkwardly pretending to occupy myself with my camera, until I decided I ought to chat Charlie Chaplin up. I discovered that he and I are separated by mere degrees.

As the space filled in, I loosened up, and hit my Sparks. The friends came easier. The night was filled with unexpected reunions. It is a small world after all.

New London hit the stage with a dark retro yet danceable sound. I was quite impressed, especially with their slick coherent showmanship. I spent a lot of time both prior to and after their set speaking with their singer, and was surprised to learn that this was only their fifth show. I hope I get to work with them again cause I think they have potential.



I suggested a lighting scheme for them.

I drifted around the party, photographing, talking, connecting and reconnecting.

Can you guess my costume?



I'm a grunge angel! Inspired by Baz Luhrman's Romeo+Juliet, Courtney Love, and Kurt Cobain.

Get it?

Don't tell anyone I told you this, but part of the reason I love party photography is because it allows me to safely be an outsider looking in. I have never quite fit in and I have always struggled with my social anxiety, but behind the lens of a camera, I am shielded, a panther of an observer, stalking the moments that can only happen once, before they disappear into time forever.



Forgive me, but I cannot recall the name of the second band who played!

At about two in the morning, the cops showed up, on a route of party-stomping. It was courteous of them to wait until two, and we were polite and respectful, caused them no trouble, waited patiently through their inspection, and then waved them off on their way.

Which is how every good party should end.



We cleaned up and I sat in the front seat of the car, wondering how I had manged to witness the very beginning and the very end of a party. And I thought about the party creature the party monster - its evolution, and its death. And I thought about how it's a remarkable thing.

Since college, I've traditionally experienced crummy Halloweens - goodness knows why. I found myself surrounded in an excited anticipation I could not understand. I've kept my emotions fiercely in check, strangling the life out of them, a fault I've only recently begun to undo. But this year I went with the flow, instead of resisting it, and relinquished myself to those damn angel wings. The experience was delicious, and I am glad to finally know what the "big deal" is.







On Saturday I drove to my parents' house, after a homemade breakfast in Highland Park. A warm meal is a luxury I don't frequently enjoy! At home I retrieved by record player, learned how to change a flat on my bike, tuned up the Hedgehog, and received the most splendid gift:

A programmable coffee maker.

Of course I have to remember to prepare the machine before bed, but waking up to a hot cup of coffee, brewing before I even rise, makes my mornings that much more pleasant. And with the Hog running much more smoothly and efficiently, equipped with a proper headlight, newly outfitted with slick seat, my coffee nestled in the water bottle holder, I am sort of eager for the grind.

On Sunday I drove out to Irvine for a No On Props 4,6, and 8 ride, missing the opportunity to Metro out there on account of my own ignorance. You see, I didn't realize until too late that you have to hop on the Metrolink at Union Station.

It was raining that morning, but I felt dutifully obligated to attend the ride, despite the weather and despite the drive. I hoped the rain would clear up, but it only worsened on the drive, and I began to wonder if I should turn around. But something compelled me. So I drove.

In the end there were only seven of us. And our ride was abbreviated to a mere twenty miles. But we rode, chanting as we did, and I didn't really know anyone, but our positions united us. Our effort was small, but positive, and it felt good to find each other. The sun came out and the day ended up quite beautiful.

It felt good to ride.



We stopped at a No On 8 rally at an intersection on the way home, and waved and yelled, and the energy was good, even when we received gestures of disapproval from passing cars.

I rode back to my car alone. And I drove home knowing I had at least tried.

I stopped off the 101 to grab a bite at a friend's restaurant in Chinatown. I was treated to a pint of beer with a hint of banana to it. I was regaled with Halloween tales that would make Hunter S Thompson proud, and made a connection for a possible future exchange (Of an equally Hunter S Thompson nature).

At home I eased myself into Monday with Abbey Road on vinyl.

Which is a totally different experience from the way I remember it on a sunshine-drenched patio smoking green cigarettes, a very long time ago.