they don't take your pithy tokens on any shops in Venice
I'm currently doing things at my new job, which is weird and hard to describe. In simplest terms, I'm an assistant to two different men named Alex (they are not related, living together, or dating). Between the two of them, they have a PR firm, a cheese shop, a dog wash (like a car wash but for dogs), real estate in other cities, and a list of about a thousand shits for me to do for them.
Some days I'm a PR assistant drafting copy for client exec bios, sometimes I'm a data grunt alt-tabbing between Excel and Google, some days I do that shit from home so I can take periodic naps and Netflix breaks. Some days -- the best days, IMO -- I'm a road-warrior personal assistant triangulating west Los Angeles picking up random shit like site plans and trash bags, company card in tow, "hella traffic" being a completely acceptable excuse. And on Sundays, I still sell cheese like a pro.
So let's just put that into perspective here -- I'm a part-time artisan hipster food seller, part-time dog sitter, part-time personal assistant, part-time road warrior, part-time catering server, part-time public relations assistant, part-time bookkeeper, part-time DJ. I'm the hottest and messiest. Can't decide if this is a great job or the greatest job, though I admit sometimes I just want to put a bullet between my migraine-sore eyes. I do crave more stability and consistency, mostly because all my friends have boring 40 hr/wk jobs, and the ones who aren't full-time drones are at least having a great time being artists. *shrug* CATCH ME IF YOU CAN, THEN.
One of my favorite things about this job, truly, has been having the opportunity to listen to music again. Not just what I have on CD in my car, not just what's on the radio, not just what ♥Cam puts on sometimes. A couple years ago my computer went kaput and with it went about six years of mp3 hoarding, so I've been accruing from scratch basically the last couple years, largely dance music for DJ things. Now that I think of it, I've been collecting almost strictly DJ music, with the Hubby fielding the more substantially artistic musical acquisitions. That's not to say we haven't been going to shows, but we've also been going daaaancing. I've been using Spotify, finally, and started scrobbling again in case you're curious what I've been listening to while drowning in client coverage grids.
OH! And speaking of music, this past Friday ♥Cam and I finally made it to one of the #Rhondavous in LA. This one was at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. I could feel the ghosts of parties past, hidden in the gilded-age tile work and art-deco mouldings. Lots of luxe and glam, and Lance Bass was there, which was pretty cool. But really, it was about the music that night -- the music was goddamn immaculate, pitch-perfect egg-smooth post-Disco-2000 DJ sets courtesy of Hercules + Love Affair, Holy Ghost! and BASEMENT JAXX! Where yo' head at?! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU--
In late December, we also caught a Chromeo DJ set at this nü-luxe EDM nightclub in LA, the kind with the sickest sound system and a disco ball shaped like a shark . . . and perhaps too heavy of a pour on the "heterosexual hookup predators" vibe, but that's what I get for mainly going to dive bars and gay clubs for my kicks. Anyway WHATEVER, there was a shark-shaped disco ball and Dave 1 and P-Thugg were at the wunzentooze and it was funktastic.
This week 10 years ago, I was just starting spring semester of 2005 at El Camino. I remember taking French that semester as a bet against Erich that I could pass French if he could pass Japanese. I got an A first semester, Erich dropped the class. Booya. Not-booya, however, was dropping the Intro Astronomy later that semester -- say what you will about community college, but ECC had a fucking beautiful planetarium, and Dr. Vakil was a pretty groovy prof. It was the first time I dropped a class because I couldn't stand the stupidity of the students. And that's not just me being judgy -- when we have to spend 90 minutes explaining to a room of adults that crumpling paper doesn't add mass and they're ARGUING BACK AT THE PROF about it, we're not gonna go far fast enough. Plus, 2 p.m. was not a good time of day to put me in a dim room glimmering with stars. DAILY. NAPS.
I still drove The Weatherlight, my gas-guzzling white Buick Skylark, and I was probably still licking my wounds over having lost Darksteel less than six months prior (a good guess since I technically still am doing that). I remember this was before I renamed that car to The Weatherlight -- my first French assignments read that ma voiture est appelée 'Boat'.
Ten years ago today, I didn't have a job, either. I was fired from the video shop allegedly for telling a customer to go to Hollywood Video, and I was in no rush to look for work at the time. Looking back on it, getting fired from that job seems more like the Universe performing an act of mercy. I was picking up gas money helping JW with his stamp-collector eBay hustle. It wasn't much money but let's be real, I didn't require much money in my 20-year-old life with the 'rents, and in 2005 gas was still just a touch over $2/gal.
My weekend/after-hours life was still that of the scumbag crew, that small and rotating cast of post-HS delinquents and jackasses with whom ♥Cam and I gallivanted on occasion. Adventures with them were more often about casually breaking rules and laws: drinking (underage and in public), trespassing, noise curfew violation, property damage, attempted arson, indecent exposure, and other dumb shit like tying people to the tops of cars and doing donuts in empty parking lots, or dumpster-diving for appliances and other shit to smash up with bats or throw off of the cliffs at Sunken City. Oh, and loitering. Loitering, loitering, loitering. We spent many a late night at Norms, where the apathetic after-hours waitstaff fed us (often for free/extra-cheap), put up with our bullshit (Tomas), shared dirty jokes (Roy) and dating advice (Sam), and one even shared some off-duty antics with us (oh, Miriam).
I sincerely wonder what Precious Roy is doing these days. Like, seriously. How do I even begin to find that out? I kind of just imagine he's gone on to do a ton of strange jobs across the country, meeting tons of drab-dead people and charming them back to life.