We're pathologically social. We're professional leisurists. We're burrito lovers, bar flies, art whores and music nerds. We dish the good dirt, and we'll risk a parking ticket for a cheap sample sale. Sometimes, we blog drunk.
I couldn't not
I spent a long day at work/play here at Metromix HQ, and with the best intentions, proclaimed I was headed home, and straight into bed. No. Going. Out.
But all it takes are a few drunk dials on my voicemail and a coercive text, and suddenly I find I'm wiggling through Hollywood side streets peering down alleyways for some elusive party in a parking lot behind Zankou Chicken.
I followed the noise to a dim alley, where a man in a Security windbreaker slid open an iron gate. I wandered past a rented porta potty flanked with impatients, and into the back end of the lot. A stage was roped off, and Eastside trio The Front (the singer of which I find highly canoodle-able) was just wrapping up a sweaty set. Someone was grilling cheeseburgers, and there was free beer everywhere.
Low-tech two-piece Restaurant began to bang on their suitcase drums and licence plate symbols, but the will to stay upright was lost, and I finally had to head off.
The kicker: I left 5 minutes before a fire dancer arrived. A dude, dancing with fire. Fireballs on chains swung around like flaming maces. Why must humans sleep? Why?!
Crazy:
Double Crazy:
Then Yvette spun tunes in the parking lot:
Photo credit:Yvette Dudoit
Miss Alie Ward
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