Last saturday
I've been putting off this post for a little while.
Last weekend my long time friend Justin came by from his station in San Diego to celebrate my 21st with me. We booked a nice room at the Econo-Lodge and set up there. Justin had brought an incredible bottle of wine from Georgia, that right now I am holding on to until the next time we meet up, because we never got around to opening it.
We never did because of what happened on Saturday night.
Our hotel being on Sunset boulevard and equal distances from downtown hollywood and beverly hills, we figured it would be a good idea to go walking along the road in one direction and stopping into every bar that we could find in search of a good night and mad people.
After walking a huge distance down the strip past beverly hills, we had passed innumerable music venues and pot dispensaries and boutique shops but could not find a single bar that was open. We stopped for a beer in a quiet bar&grill to revise our strategy. We decided to take a cab to the other side of sunset, into downtown hollywood, where the streets are always filled with tourists and garbage but where a memorable evening was bound to occur.
The cab driver was openly unwilling to drive to the cross streets we asked for because of the famously bad traffic there. Instead, he pulled in front of a douche bar called the Happy Ending that was near enough that we got out and went inside.
The place was packed with stumpy bro types who were crawling over one another to watch a boxing match that just happened to be that same night. We had a few beers in an uncomfortable corner and discussed our thoughts on all things until we were in a nice state and once again left to find the next bar.
On our way we made jokes and told stories and laughed out loud but still could not find any bars, apparently the cab driver hadn't taken us even close to where we wanted to be. Hoping not to make the same mistake again, I asked a passing guy if he knew any good bars to go to nearby.
He didn't know where any bars were since he was just staying at a hotel there on account of getting evicted, but he explained to us that he had just broken up with his girlfriend and invited us to join him at a show. He said that it was a hipster party in an 'underground' warehouse just a bus ride away. He assured us that there would be girls there and in our curiosity we agreed to go along with him for a while.
On the way to the bus stop we bought two cases of beer and he immediately began opening bottles. We learned that he was a journalist, one hundred percent jewish and of guatemalan background, although he spoke no spanish whatsoever. He talked to people that passed by and seemed to know every one of them, but when we asked he would tell us that they had never met. Except a few, of course, who he did know including the friendly crack dealer that hailed him at the bus stop, and a stripper that he saw stopped at a crosswalk while we were walking through it whose car he approached in order to hit a joint that he noticed her smoking. This was the maddest guy we had ever seen.
The bus came and we got on, Justin and I having no idea where we were going, and Kevin (the guatemalan madman) immediately explained to us that at this party, we were going to masquerade as a band called Go Radio. He would be the vocals, I would be the keyboards and Justin would be the bass player who only plays "the bass riff from Top Gun". We quickly agreed.
On the bus Kevin started singing out of nowhere ambiguous emo pop lyrics that he was clearly coming up with on the spot. A spaced-out looking black guy was glaring at us and gave us some incoherent rant about white people and God and that and all the while this guy Kevin is still singing to himself. Then this strange angry fellow turns directly at me and for five minutes looks me dead in the eyes with an accusing stare and says something about black culture and the spirit and things that frankly made no sense to me at all but I dug him nonetheless.
He got off a bus and a group of young gangsters got on and Kevin offered them an invitation to the party. They couldn't seem to agree on anything because there were four of them and when Kevin explained that it was a hippie/hipster party with girls and beers and music, they all gave different responses. One of them yelled "Fuck no" and exactly as he did another one yelled "Fuck yeah". Another one said that they were going to find a party with black people and the last one yelled at him for being racist.
They were clearly up to something, we thought they must have been rolling on ecstasy, but when we asked they told us that they were on "Triple C's" which is apparently slang for over-the-counter Coricidin Cough & Cold pills. When they got off at the same stop as we did, at first we thought they had decided to come with us but instead they jumped into a Rite-Aid, apparently off to steal some more Triple C's.
It was pretty dark on the edge of south-central LA as we walked along dirty road that followed railroad tracks. Kevin swore to us that the party was this way and kept seeing people down the road that neither Justin or I could see. We were starting to think out loud that there might be no party at all and that Kevin might be completely crazy and at this point he was so far off in his own world that he didn't even notice us saying it. Still, we had already come so far that we decided to see it out and eventually, out of nowhere appeared a dark mass of young people around a small, dirty looking industrial building.
The place was known affectionately to the locals as the Cozy Castle, an illegitimately-operated underground club that started as the jam spot for the band Insects Vs Robots. The interior was all torn out and the unpainted walls were covered from floor to ceiling with artwork, and along the walls there were couches and candles and paint and easels and people drawing. There was a makeshift stage in the middle of the room and band people walking all among us. In the corner was a long-haired guy with a couple of cassette players running through guitar pedals, mixing music out of tibetan prayer tapes and into a lone speaker. We sat near him, opened a few cans and started observing.
The people there were the strangest part. There were young unstoppably pretty girls dressed like hippies, cooled-out old musicians, at least one 11-year old girl and mad people of every savage style you can think of. Everyone was extremely friendly and nobody seemed to mind anyone else in the slightest. I've never seen a group like this anywhere.
With the overwhelming hipster vibe coming off of this group, when the music started the last thing in the world I expected was for everyone to start dancing out of their skin, but they did. Over the course of three different amazing bands playing Justin and I had become completely drunk and the party had reached a tremulous fury. Kevin was in there somewhere, only occasionally surfacing to grab a beer from the box he had left with us.
The night was slowing going blurrier from that point onward. During the fourth set, Insects Vs Robots, I decided it was essential that I tell every girl I saw that I was madly in love with them and I did so, but Justin had also decided he needed to venture out into the lamp-lit streets of South Central and find some food. Before I could get anywhere with the girls I would realize he was gone and have to chase out after him, until ultimately I lost him and had to wait outside at the venue for his return.
While I was waiting outside I smoked a cigarette and talked with a crazy young guy named Erik who seemed to be a veteran regular of the group. He explained to me that everybody at the parties knew each other and told me the history of their scene. He told me about his girl and how they had a little boy in Santa Monica. He was great fellow and we laughed and high-fived many times before Justin returned with Popeye's and went back inside.
We left the Cozy Castle around 2 AM and called a cab from a cold residential intersection. My phone was completely out of batteries and Justin's was low. It took so long for the car to get there that we nearly missed it, having to run after giving up and starting back toward the party (I had drunken hopes of finding a ride and maybe some companionship among the people there).
We made it back to the hotel room and got ready to crash. Justin bought a couple of cup noodles from the vending machine and gave one to me. I wandered into check-in and the dude behind the counter told me how he had been working for 24 hours, and let me have some of his donuts. I went back to the room and did some of the Kratom that Justin had brought along; he didn't want any and had sub anyway. We slipped into our respective stupors and slept until the following day.
Last weekend my long time friend Justin came by from his station in San Diego to celebrate my 21st with me. We booked a nice room at the Econo-Lodge and set up there. Justin had brought an incredible bottle of wine from Georgia, that right now I am holding on to until the next time we meet up, because we never got around to opening it.
We never did because of what happened on Saturday night.
Our hotel being on Sunset boulevard and equal distances from downtown hollywood and beverly hills, we figured it would be a good idea to go walking along the road in one direction and stopping into every bar that we could find in search of a good night and mad people.
After walking a huge distance down the strip past beverly hills, we had passed innumerable music venues and pot dispensaries and boutique shops but could not find a single bar that was open. We stopped for a beer in a quiet bar&grill to revise our strategy. We decided to take a cab to the other side of sunset, into downtown hollywood, where the streets are always filled with tourists and garbage but where a memorable evening was bound to occur.
The cab driver was openly unwilling to drive to the cross streets we asked for because of the famously bad traffic there. Instead, he pulled in front of a douche bar called the Happy Ending that was near enough that we got out and went inside.
The place was packed with stumpy bro types who were crawling over one another to watch a boxing match that just happened to be that same night. We had a few beers in an uncomfortable corner and discussed our thoughts on all things until we were in a nice state and once again left to find the next bar.
On our way we made jokes and told stories and laughed out loud but still could not find any bars, apparently the cab driver hadn't taken us even close to where we wanted to be. Hoping not to make the same mistake again, I asked a passing guy if he knew any good bars to go to nearby.
He didn't know where any bars were since he was just staying at a hotel there on account of getting evicted, but he explained to us that he had just broken up with his girlfriend and invited us to join him at a show. He said that it was a hipster party in an 'underground' warehouse just a bus ride away. He assured us that there would be girls there and in our curiosity we agreed to go along with him for a while.
On the way to the bus stop we bought two cases of beer and he immediately began opening bottles. We learned that he was a journalist, one hundred percent jewish and of guatemalan background, although he spoke no spanish whatsoever. He talked to people that passed by and seemed to know every one of them, but when we asked he would tell us that they had never met. Except a few, of course, who he did know including the friendly crack dealer that hailed him at the bus stop, and a stripper that he saw stopped at a crosswalk while we were walking through it whose car he approached in order to hit a joint that he noticed her smoking. This was the maddest guy we had ever seen.
The bus came and we got on, Justin and I having no idea where we were going, and Kevin (the guatemalan madman) immediately explained to us that at this party, we were going to masquerade as a band called Go Radio. He would be the vocals, I would be the keyboards and Justin would be the bass player who only plays "the bass riff from Top Gun". We quickly agreed.
On the bus Kevin started singing out of nowhere ambiguous emo pop lyrics that he was clearly coming up with on the spot. A spaced-out looking black guy was glaring at us and gave us some incoherent rant about white people and God and that and all the while this guy Kevin is still singing to himself. Then this strange angry fellow turns directly at me and for five minutes looks me dead in the eyes with an accusing stare and says something about black culture and the spirit and things that frankly made no sense to me at all but I dug him nonetheless.
He got off a bus and a group of young gangsters got on and Kevin offered them an invitation to the party. They couldn't seem to agree on anything because there were four of them and when Kevin explained that it was a hippie/hipster party with girls and beers and music, they all gave different responses. One of them yelled "Fuck no" and exactly as he did another one yelled "Fuck yeah". Another one said that they were going to find a party with black people and the last one yelled at him for being racist.
They were clearly up to something, we thought they must have been rolling on ecstasy, but when we asked they told us that they were on "Triple C's" which is apparently slang for over-the-counter Coricidin Cough & Cold pills. When they got off at the same stop as we did, at first we thought they had decided to come with us but instead they jumped into a Rite-Aid, apparently off to steal some more Triple C's.
It was pretty dark on the edge of south-central LA as we walked along dirty road that followed railroad tracks. Kevin swore to us that the party was this way and kept seeing people down the road that neither Justin or I could see. We were starting to think out loud that there might be no party at all and that Kevin might be completely crazy and at this point he was so far off in his own world that he didn't even notice us saying it. Still, we had already come so far that we decided to see it out and eventually, out of nowhere appeared a dark mass of young people around a small, dirty looking industrial building.
The place was known affectionately to the locals as the Cozy Castle, an illegitimately-operated underground club that started as the jam spot for the band Insects Vs Robots. The interior was all torn out and the unpainted walls were covered from floor to ceiling with artwork, and along the walls there were couches and candles and paint and easels and people drawing. There was a makeshift stage in the middle of the room and band people walking all among us. In the corner was a long-haired guy with a couple of cassette players running through guitar pedals, mixing music out of tibetan prayer tapes and into a lone speaker. We sat near him, opened a few cans and started observing.
The people there were the strangest part. There were young unstoppably pretty girls dressed like hippies, cooled-out old musicians, at least one 11-year old girl and mad people of every savage style you can think of. Everyone was extremely friendly and nobody seemed to mind anyone else in the slightest. I've never seen a group like this anywhere.
With the overwhelming hipster vibe coming off of this group, when the music started the last thing in the world I expected was for everyone to start dancing out of their skin, but they did. Over the course of three different amazing bands playing Justin and I had become completely drunk and the party had reached a tremulous fury. Kevin was in there somewhere, only occasionally surfacing to grab a beer from the box he had left with us.
The night was slowing going blurrier from that point onward. During the fourth set, Insects Vs Robots, I decided it was essential that I tell every girl I saw that I was madly in love with them and I did so, but Justin had also decided he needed to venture out into the lamp-lit streets of South Central and find some food. Before I could get anywhere with the girls I would realize he was gone and have to chase out after him, until ultimately I lost him and had to wait outside at the venue for his return.
While I was waiting outside I smoked a cigarette and talked with a crazy young guy named Erik who seemed to be a veteran regular of the group. He explained to me that everybody at the parties knew each other and told me the history of their scene. He told me about his girl and how they had a little boy in Santa Monica. He was great fellow and we laughed and high-fived many times before Justin returned with Popeye's and went back inside.
We left the Cozy Castle around 2 AM and called a cab from a cold residential intersection. My phone was completely out of batteries and Justin's was low. It took so long for the car to get there that we nearly missed it, having to run after giving up and starting back toward the party (I had drunken hopes of finding a ride and maybe some companionship among the people there).
We made it back to the hotel room and got ready to crash. Justin bought a couple of cup noodles from the vending machine and gave one to me. I wandered into check-in and the dude behind the counter told me how he had been working for 24 hours, and let me have some of his donuts. I went back to the room and did some of the Kratom that Justin had brought along; he didn't want any and had sub anyway. We slipped into our respective stupors and slept until the following day.