Let's see.
Friday night I attended this really alternative party at a co-op at USC which called itself The Technicolor Tree Tribe, and found myself living that scene in Garden State where Zach Braff is sitting on the couch, watching the party unfold.
And you know what? I didn't mind.
I don't know if it was my extreme exhaustion or...something else...but I found myself pleasantly sunk in a couch in a room filled with blue light. Besides the guy I had accompanied, I didn't know anyone at the party, but I guess everyone knew me, because all guests were required to share one object at an earlier point. Having nothing with me, I shared my little Hello Kitty backpack.
Now that I think of it, that little bag is pretty significant.
When I got to the second part of my Friday night, the Technicolor Tree Tribe seemed far away, a beautiful dream. To put it cynically, it was a bunch of kids still wrapped up in the cozy safety blanket of college, taking drugs, clasping hands, and sharing all their meals. Even as I was immersed it, I found myself thinking, "Oh how quaint."
But there was another part of me that yielded to their utopian optimism, found myself blissfully swept away by the two girls who kept flittering through the room en pointe, as if the air was made of water and they were mermaids. For a second I thought about how some of my friends would have laughed at me, but then I just did not care. I was happy there, in that atmosphere of total inclusion, as declared on their walls. I could have said or done anything, and it would have been okay.
I waded over to Highland Park, lumbering from a hazy dream, and there I switched identities once again. Hung out, passed out, hung out again.
On Saturday night a friend hooked me up with tickets to Of Montreal at the Palladium.
It was one of the best shows I have ever seen. The sinisterly quaint, psychedelic, and deceptively upbeat mind of Kevin Barnes unfolded on stage, conveyed through imagery I never thought physically possible. Standing up in the balcony, I had room to dance, and it felt good to kick up my dancing shoes. While they only played one of my all-time favorite Of Montreal songs ("Wraith Pinned to The Mists and Other Games"...the other, which I sadly did not hear, is "Spike the Senses"), the "Smells Like Teen Spirit" cover climax easily compensated. My neck still hurts from thrashing around.
I know - thrashing at an Of Montreal concert?!
The show renewed my love for the band, and of course, Kevin Barnes, strutting around in the tiniest gold shorts, totally endeared himself to me.
And here I am back at Monday.
I woke up surprisingly refreshed this morning.
On Sunday night I shot another roll for Sam. Today after work I took it to the post office.
It is beginning to be winter around here. A lot of people scoff at the LA winter - those people are just too obtuse to detect it. The seasons here in Los Angeles are a much more subtle much more refined thing. The "changing leaves" of other winters have dulled the outsider's tongue.
I love this city.
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