Maybe you plan your week to run like a Piaget, but nature has a way of reminding you inflexibility is for dead wood and plastic people.
Let's begin with the self-startling utterance that came from an "eccentric" in the local music scene. Colleagues have called the singer--who is still in his 20s--everything from an idiot and sellout to a genius and mentor. (His band recently received $100,000 for a music clip featured in a constantly airing television commercial.) On this particular night he witnessed what he knew to be a psychologically defeating experience for me. I'd been in a booth, reading. I left my purse, jacket, cigarettes, drink, cell phone, and magazine as proof that I was just off to the restroom. I got back and found the booth newly occupied, and not one of the group acknowledged my return, let alone asked if they could share the space. Five minutes passed before I said I was having a hard time reading at a table that was, by the way, mine, so could they please keep it down. "We'll be here three seconds, tops," came the dismissive answer. They went back to acting as if I didn't exist, and I went back to my magazine, but 10 minutes later three shots were delivered to the table and I could take it no more. I said they had to go, explaining that the smell of the shots and the sheer boorishness of their behavior was more than I could take. OF COURSE they responded with incredulity at my rudeness, hurled several insults, and began one of the longest vacations of a table I have ever witnessed, after announcing that they didn't want to sit with such a bitch anyway. Enter the aforementioned young singer, who sat with me after the commotion died down, sighed, and said, "I can't believe I'm about to ask this, but when did kids lose all sense of social graces?"
The next night at the same club some folks from VH1 popped in at 7 pm to inform the staff that Fuel (woo-hoo) would be arriving with a film crew between 9 and 10 pm, and that several tables should be reserved for their party. The tables were prime real estate on a Friday night, but it was kind of fun to keep telling people who sat down despite the signs that they couldn't, but not why (like I give a shit about Fuel, but papers had been signed:). Bored of that by midnight, one of the staff tracked down the VH1 producer and learned the band had decided not to come after all. (They'd been at Linda's for hours.) I gathered a bunch of friends who were shoehorned in the bar and said that on the count of three, we should all bum-rush the reserved seats. A near riot ensued, and not five minutes later in walk goddamn Fuel like they're rock-star royalty who can pull off shit like that. The room swelled with ego and not 30 minutes passed before they announced they wanted to hit the Lusty. OF COURSE.
Last Saturday night at Graceland, Voyager One announced to shocked fans that it was their last show. Later, miles from the club, I learned that members of the late, great Kill Sadie are about to release a new record. This info came on the heels of a weekend spent hanging out with folks I don't usually--more insight on that (and gossip) will come next week.
