The Weekend of Ward: Busted
You guys, I swear I am sick. Listen to this wet cough.
Observe the fact that I am wearing stretch denim. Does this hair look flat
ironed? It is not.
After a week of being sequestered with myself, some books, and millions of
lung-swimming viral bodies, I finally made a trek outdoors on Saturday. Sure, I
skipped a straight week of work, but I wanted flapjacks.
Poking a cautious toe back into normal life, I go for brunch with a few
girlfriends in Silverlake. Seconds into a piece of toast, my editor Deb Vankin
walks in. I stammer an explanation: "Oh hai. You know that week I took
off? I swear I was sick."
Then I run into Sean, our video editor, on Sunset Blvd. I am starting to look like
a fraud.
Later that night, after a stop at the new gallery space Sea and Space
Explorations in Highland Park, I take a Subaru full of hooligans to Shatto
Lanes in Koreatown for some bowling and stale popcorn. Walking through the
door, I encounter Metromix Bars & Clubs editor, the lovely Alexandra Le
Tellier. At a dirty bowling alley in Koreatown?, I ask my subconscious.
"Seriously," it responds.
(Holligans love bowling)
I wrapped the evening up with a jaunt to a hilltop house party, said to be in
Charlie Chaplin's old digs. There were bikini-clad art chicks, the wailing
ridiculous synthpop of Hard Place,
Dame Darcy walking around in a tattered prom gown and artist Carlos Ramos
drunkenly/charmingly calling me the wrong name— four times. The strangest part? There was no one
from work. It was odd.
(Hard Place, bring art-rock back to living rooms city-wide)
Until next time, my esteemed comrades.
Miss Alie Ward