Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash: Pick Two (aghrivaine) wrote,
Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash: Pick Two
aghrivaine

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KCRW's Angel Ball

My upstairs neighbor works at KCRW. Her companion for their big donor's ball last night bailed, so she asked me to fill in. Free food, hob-nobby society, booze, and art? I'm in.

The whole thing went down at the Hammer Museum. There was fancy food from various Bevery Hills and Hollywood concerns, copious open bars, and music spun by the DJ's on KCRW, live. Everyone was dressed up extra snazzy and looking ready to impress. I checked out the "Eden's Edge" gallery of 15 local artists - it was a mixed bag, some fascinating, some of that particular kind of post-modern art that leaves me feeling that some sort of joke has been played. Jen (upstairs neighbor) and I made comments both snarky and ... okay, mostly snarky. We watched a movie written by Kerouac, and starring Alan Ginsberg and Gregory Corso, and other luminaries of the Beat Generation. I was resistant to appreciating it but did. It was remarkable how strange and elliptical the dialogue was; how thin and intense the poets were - especially interesting to see what an awkward duck Ginsberg was, but intense and interesting. No one told them they weren't actors, and so they weren't burdened by acting - they just did their thing. First thing in the morning, Corso and Ginsberg show up at their friend's house before he even gets home from work - when his wife is still packing his son off to school - and they crack open beer, wine, marijuana. Ah, the Beats...

The music was loud, and there was a dance floor. It was actually so loud I couldn't hear what anyone was saying to me, and not for the first time I realized I'm just not a fan of the club/bar scene. Mostly because my hearing in my right ear is so bad (funny how automatic weapons hucked up to your right shoulder will still be ringing in your ears a decade later.) that I just can't make out what anyone is saying. A lot of very beautiful and hip people there, and I was out of place. I think I should give up on trying to make that kind of scene work for me. My feet were killing me too, which is getting really old.

Anyway, it was a keen adventure for a weeknight, and back home at a respectable enough hour that it wasn't onerous. Some stuff I won't easily forget - Ginsberg and Corso asking impertinent questions of a Biship, the leering three-penised Buddha with Carrot Top's head, the dank basement that KCRW is headquartered in. Glad I got to go - the Hammer Museum is beautiful and it was one of those scenes of life that seems like it belongs more in a movie than in my scrapbook. But there it is.

Today I'm mulling over that getting my feet fixed might mean three weeks in wheelchair, or it might just not be remediable at all - I'll find out next week. Don't know how I'd work a wheelchair, my apartment is not accessible. I think i'll go home and grill some chicken on a cedar plank with a bit of rosemary and some curry. Then maybe I'll have a glass of wine and look at the ocean and give it a good hard think. Isn't it odd how life can be so busy and full of interesting things to do - and the good companionship of good friends both near and far (and some REALLY far!). And yet the prospect of something like this can make one feel crushingly alone. But maybe it won't come to pass at all, and even it does, I'll muddle through somehow.
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