(Just Over) A Week of Debauchery

It was Wednesday night, had a friend from San Diego up. Poured “The Passion of The Kyle’s,” (TPOTKs) walked down to the set. Talked with the PA’s, refill, took some pictures, refill, hang with the SWAT guys, refill, “You’re in our shot,” refill. Ran into a real member of the police (the force, not the band) at 5am who informed us it was time to leave. The next morning we woke to pictures of people we don’t remember. Ignore them. Lunch at Trimana, met a friend at his bank, went to a record store, picked up a copy of “Macho Man” on vinyl for 99 cents. Went to Gallagher’s (Just Irish…no relation to the ’seventies comedian [unfortunately]), drank Newcastle, gauged a girl’s height, ate burgers and sang karaoke. There’s no future here so we headed to Silver Lake to meet friends at Cha Cha. Lines are for the desperate, so we cross the street and go to Red Lion instead. Inside, it’s a Bavarian tavern where you can’t read any of the names on the taps, the bartender is a 70 year old version of St Pauli Girl, and a middle-aged-middle-eastern guy wearing a FUBU shirt plays lounge songs on a Casio. Tony Romo was creeping us out so we hopped over to the Dresden Room… it was dead but charming as ever. Back to Long Beach and down to the set. Saw Cube, saw Tracy, listened to damaging stories about countless film industry (don’t say) celebrities and a guy “rolling around inside his car like a bowling ball on the deck of a ship during a storm.” Some people really can make a car wreck funny. San Diego the next night. Pacific Beach is full of meatheads and PB tires, but worth braving to see old friends. Inside Thrusters, it’s not the surprise I wanted. My (should be legally ex but isn’t yet) Brother-in-law is standing at the bar. “Thanks for not being a dick to me…” he says, but it’s easy when your guilt pays the bill. Walked to someone’s house that I don’t remember which was all too close to another that I didn’t want to. I’m lost in it, having flashbacks and it’s time to leave. Don’t remember closing my eyes but I must have because they opened the next morning. Went to the mall, met with family, dinner at an Italian restaurant that I can’t remember the name of. Ended up at a friend’s house, drank more TPOTK, sat around listening to bad jokes, Ali G “What is this?” “That’s cheese,” attempted GH but it just wasn’t happening. Sat around listening to people yelling ’til 7am for no good reason. Woke up 3 hours later in a different house, full of different people but the same yelling. Spent most of the day disoriented, dreaming I was in an infomercial while drifting in and out of sleep. Exhausted, I went to some person’s birthday party at BJ’s, whose name I can’t recall, watched a flick, went to sleep. Drove back to Long beach the next morning, lost the afternoon. Worked an event at The Grove, rode a surf simulator, spent most of the night talking to Robin Williams’ impersonator, who by the end of the night, convinced me he was real. Ditto Lucille Ball, Travolta and Cher. Got flashed by a self-professed grandmother of seven, even if she didn’t look a day over 45. After ensuring a bunch of plastered middle aged couples got back to their hotels, I headed home. More TPOTK, The other Bateman on the TV, started Made and (once again) failed to finish it. Too much alcohol, too short of attention spans, too late at night, too early in the morning. Awoke to the pounding sounds of hip hop music and dancing echoing from the street. More people, more filming and for once, I wasn’t amused. Suited up, went to Yard House and drank beer so good I thought I was still dreaming. Back to Hollywood, Carina Round’s CD release at Cinespace, Slow Motion Addicts, slow motion vision. Hung out with Dave Stewart, who made it clear he proud to on a lot of vicodin, who wouldn’t be? It was still early, so we headed back to the Dresden. Too drunk to remember the words to a lounge song and I’m not sure I could’ve sung it regardless. Talked to a 70 year old man at the piano bar like we stepped back into in Swingers, “Did Nikki give you those olives?” Took some Deniro shots and requested that Marty and Elayne play Stayin’ Alive. We’re tired and last call was looming so we checked out early and headed back. A fit of delirium ensued and it seemed evident that my self-induced insomnia was running it’s course. Headed back to Hollywood the next night. Chase Pagan at Hotel Cafe, “This is my ex-girlfriend, before that she dated…and…” and it’s nice to know the sexual history of a person when you first meet them. An hour later we’re at In-N-Out. Despite the blinding fluorescent light and rowdy patrons, I’m trapped in a dark, quiet room. We drive back to Long Beach for what seems like hours, avoiding freeway ramp closures and endless construction. The next day, still hoping to recover, my phone rings…”We’re in Long Beach.” Stumble down to Red Room, talk baseball and drink Fat Tire, for no reason other than waiting for their song selections to play on the jukebox. Fall Out Boy gets shot down by everyone, myself included. Skip to the next track and “Alive With The Glory Of Love” is trying to gain favour… unsuccessfully. As the track gets killed, I yell “Indie snobs!” to everyone in the bar, but I’m quickly stunned when “Hypnotize” receives a cheer and is allowed to play through. Diagram that. I stepped outside and suddenly, it was next Friday morning and I couldn’t stand the thought of being anywhere but home…wherever that is.

~ by Kyle Davidson on June 14, 2007.