Kitty Power

KP Hearts LA

Most amusing now that I’m reacquainting myself back to the routine is the tan thing. I think most just can’t acknowledge me as tanned given that I was already, you know, pretty brown. They can’t tell the difference! Their eyes aren’t made to detect slight gradations of brown! Browner is still brown! Ms. Mommy, on the other hand, is just playing contrary. She can’t acknowledge me as darker because she can’t acknowledge me as around 10 lbs lighter because then she’d have to give me a point or something. The woman is obstinate beyond belief, folks. One person who had no problem noticing was PrincessNella who broke into the convo I was having at the maybe place with the broker with “my God, you’re so dark!” I gave her a “WTF?” glance and the man wondered if we doing some sort of private blackspeak, so I translated that she thinks I’m really tanned. Because I am. A lot. Nothing wrong with the brown.
(Administrative note: The above has nothing to do with anything. And there’s gonna be at least 3 posts about the damned trip. The sightings, the crazy/typical KP shit, and an all pics post. Just letting you know. Jay-V made me promise to split it up into morsels to protect everyone’s eyesight.)
Los Angeles has always sorta called me. (And yes with that, I start off the first of who knows how many posts with utter cheesiness. Can we tell I haven’t been writing a damned thing of substance lately? Yeah, thought you could. Moving along…) I felt about LA the way people envision New York City: I wanted to see if the hills were as high, beach was as golden, people were as gorgeous, weather was as beautiful as they made it out to be on TV. I wanted to experience the Walk of Fame, see movie stars, get some sun, and maybe pull a Lana Turner in a soda shop. I’m a person prone to immersion so as the real estate hunt turned me into a Curbed fanatic, thinking of LA got me practically breathing LA.Comfidental, LAist, and naturally Defamer. I was so very ready when I got there.
I started off staying with old friend C and experienced enough of the Metro train system to last me a lifetime. I didn’t come to town with a plan per se. I wanted to see as much as I could, focusing on leisure activities: beach, night travels, shopping, touristy shit. Am I an uncultured clod because I vetoed museums with hardly a pause? No, but I might be if I say “fuck that shit because I can see it at home?” Perhaps. The way I explore a town is to experience it on the ground, hoofing it up. LA was like an extended suburb, almost impossible to do anything without a car. Thursday we rented one and were off and running, but I still had the most fun strolling around Hollywood Blvd (in the reminiscent of Times Square without so many sheep Walk of Fame area), the boutiques on Melrose (I heart Sportie LA, even if I hemmed and hawed and ultimately left the sneaks I had my eye on. Kitty Power always gives it up to good service. Oh, and fine salesguys.), and The Grove. Midway through the trip, I moved over to The Roosevelt to get a new start on my vacation and fed off the energy of being in the center of Hollywood. I played solo explorer and was off to Santa Monica and Venice to stroll the beaches Halloween Day before spending the night aimlessly walking down the Walk of Fame and snapping pics before going to the Tortured Soul show.
Wednesday night, I rested, but Thursday I was determined to do better. Before I got out there, I had discovered the ArcLight online and read about their 12:01 am showing of Ray. I went in person to get my ticket and in the travels of the day, also saw that Raphael Saddiq was doing an in-store performance and signing at Ameoba. The show was great as usual and I got flyer signed. As I got up to him, this guy came from behind the stage and started talking to him. A store employee was heated and revealed that they had kicked that guy out earlier for whatever reason and that he had apparently worn a costume(!) to get back in. My only question was: “Uh, I can still get my thing signed, right?” All about the priorities. I went back to the homestead briefly before heading out. Star Shoes: cool concept/space, blah “early” crowd. The Room: my, what scary entrance alley you have! I braved it and the place was nice. Solo me stuck out like a sore thumb, so I moved onto my movie. Jamie Foxx and his leading ladies were really great. The actress who played the mother was beyond awesome. But, I thought the movie itself was kinda tv movie clunky…and that ending, please. Still good though.
To add some variety into the mix, I prowled LA Craig’s List and found an activity partner to go out with Friday. We met up at this place in Los Feliz and I was really blown away by it. My new pal S was super chill also. I didn’t even mind hearing those dreaded words: “So, I read your blog.” I just laughed and laughed. Things like that aren’t really bothersome to me as much anymore: 1) hello, it’s the internet. 2) when I have my personal domain as my email domain, I’d be surprised if someone wasn’t curious. 3) it’s not like I write anything especially revealing on here anymore. I’ve got another one for that. So, we chilled and drank before I made a Man Man convert out of him (shouldn’t I negotiate a commission for bicoastal shilling?) heading down to Hollywood for a party I’d heard of online. A Bushwick…excuse me, East Williamsburg warehouse art party was airlifted to California for the night! I noted amused that if Fizzie was there, he’d just say “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Actually, it was like a Delancey party in a Knitting Factory Main Space room. The night’s performers were Dance Disaster Movement. S and I conferred that it was cool that two guys were the whole band and stuff, but fuck, get another guy so the spazzy singer/keyboardist/drum machine manner can be as spazzy as he wants to be without worrying about changing the beat. Plus, it’s just visually boring to just have two guys sorta jerking around but really too busy multitasking. From there, pizza and random conversations with drunkards. Definitely the most NY night ever outside of NYC.
Saturday night, I entertained myself by laying my massive fluffy king sized hotel room bed and resting my nerves. Yeah, that’s really it. The daytime was just a lot, but there’s a fire hydrant in Silverlake that won’t be giving anyone nasty looks again. I spent a long time at a gas station waiting for a cab and a Mexican Boss Hog took it upon himself to holler as I spoke with Jay-V on the phone. “My truck is turquoise,” he said. I stared at him quizzically and relayed the words to Jay. “And your earrings are turquoise too. Look, we’ve got something in common!” “Uh…that’s great. Did you hear that shit?”
Sunday, I was up bright and early to go to the Grove and return an impulse buy from two days earlier. I’d gone into Lucky Brand on a whim and been so excited that something fit in the palace of the no ass and hips allowed that I bought it on the spot. $100 for a pair of jeans? Ixnay big time. From there, I took a leisurely bus ride to Santa Monica and then Venice. I had a massive sun headache on my return trip, but I was happy because I haven’t been to a beach in years. I did a little wading in the water and was just happy to walk on the sand. I got plenty pf pictures of Santa Monica Pier, Arlington West, and other beachfront sights.
Back in Hollywood, I napped before the night’s activities. I vetoed a Halloween costume and strolled the streets in the unearthed white blazer, camera in hand. I caught up in the creeping herd on Hollywood Blvd and was amused by the cops’ weary: “there’s no parade over here and nothing to see, people. The parade is in West Hollwood. Just. Keep. Moving.” The point of the night for me was a pilgrimage. I was off to Deep. When I first got back home post-Wes, all I ever wanted to do was dance. That’s something that’s ingrained me. Much of this year has been hard because one day the spark just ran away. I’d been hearing about Tortured Soul for a long time but something always came up when they were playing a show around town. I figured the combo of some hardcore house music and good band would have to light a fire under my ass.
And of course, I was right. I was all over the place. Most awesome party. Fucking kickass band! (So much so that now I kinda find myself disappointed to listen to their studio tracks. The live spark is totally missing from these recordings. They sound sorta sterile in comparison. Which sucks.) The crowd’s energy was crazy. On Sunday night (though everything ending at 2 makes things way easier to go nuts on a pre-work night), the place was packed and going strong. The DJ was great also and I was all in the middle of it, dancing, taking pics, meeting randoms. You know how I do. I even got a t-shirt.
I really got a kick out of LA overall. I spent too much money and I didn’t see half of the place, but it was crazy fun. It was nice to get some sun before coming back here and to today’s 30mph winds (what the fuck, man?). I’ll be going back there sooner or later. Maybe I’ll escape a NYC summer of frying like an egg on the sidewalk for a min. We’ll see.

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