dropping names, eating tacos

being anonymous in a sea of celebrities reminded me so much of my first few weeks in london all those years ago… boy george’s birthday party, my first visits to the .heaven vip room, that lost night at the dorchester with the xmen.

ooh, i’m not spinning this right. ugh. i think most of you readers hate me, loathe me, anyway, so what’s the use? you all want schadenfreude, don’t you, you sick bastards? well, it’s friday, and y’all want a story, a juicy slice of celebrity-filled l.a. life, and that’s what we’re serving at the cafeteria today, so eat it!

i knew i was under-dressed for the party when the swarm of valets descended on my car outside the swank roosevelt hotel on hollywood blvd, just down from the famous[-ly overhyped] groman’s mann’s chinese theatre.

i’d dealt with red carpets before, and with paparazzi giving me confused looks [who's he? oh—a nobody], but never of this magnitude. there were bright lights, television crews, and fans across the street. excellent. standing up tall, christopher and i strolled into the main ballroom, to hear the wonderful sound of 300 glitterati chatting and namedropping and networking and giggling.

i could not believe how many stunningly gorgeous women were there. i swear i thought i saw paris hilton about 20 different times. that’s not fair, the girls i met were actually hot. i’m an expert, you know.

it felt familiar [eric being in a party that he really shouldn't be] but at the same time quite peculiar [absolutely nobody here knows me, and vice-versa]. normally, i’d be able to spot at least one or two hangers-on in the crowd, but not this time. this time, the only familiar faces i spotted were celebrities.

i don’t want to name-drop. one, it’s tacky. two, it’s tacky. three, it’s tacky. four, it’s boring. five, it’s not my style. six, celebritydom doesn’t really impress me. seven, i know my site is easily googled. eight, i’m practicing writing blind item gossip articles. nine, i don’t want to be ostracized by my celebrity friends before i even have a chance to take advantage of them or appear in the background of their mtv cribs filming. joking.

started the night chatting with the head of large cosmetics company, spewing typical gay banter whilst he did an awe-inspiring job of smoothly introducing me to random passersby. i can barely remember someone’s name until i’ve dated them for a month, whereas he memorized my whole life story after 5 seconds. i have much to learn about efficient shmoozing.

got passed off to a sitcom star, whom i only vaguely recognized, as her show wasn’t carried in britain. intelligent, sassy, and just all-around charming, she was pleasantly surprised when i asked her what she did for a living, and even more surprised when she had to explain to me what the show was about. i took advantage of our bond by convincing her to smuggle some of the posh lobster-avec-mac-and-cheese hors d’oeuvre puffs we’d been snacking on into her purse for later.

spent most of the evening hanging out with a perky 20yo girl and her boyfriend, gossiping about the party, trying to understand the fake faux-scissor sisters band, and making drunken plans to go to vegas and for me to come check out her new house in malibu. she’d been hinting for a while that she wanted me to ask how much her new house had cost. i took the bait, and ask her.

she tells me, one hundred and fifty. it takes some mental fortitude for me to realize she means $150,000,000, not 150 californian pesos. it takes me even more fortitude to hide my shock, confusion and awe. when i finally learn who she is, it makes sense—she’s one of those heiresses that will probably be having her own reality teevee show next year. but, thankfully, the first impression was already formed. i sneak her some more wine even though they stopped serving.

saw a cast member from saved by the bell, i think i saw my favorite showgirl, ogled some members of a punk band, urinated next to someone from punk’d, most of these things didn’t register till this morning, and after jotting them down here will be promptly forgotten.

apparently the world’s most famous supermodel was there, but i didn’t see her. there are photos of her at the party, but i somehow missed the towering beauty with her mole in the sea of, what, 300 people?

one person i didn’t miss, however, was one of rock’s favorite bad grrls. someone whom, after living with .greg for four years, i know entirely too much about. not a week would go by at my little vauxhall flat without .gregiño showing me tabloids filled with post-rehab/court trial/microphone-throwing photos of his favorite diva.

there she was, large and in-charge. a bit chubby, but good chubby. off-the-drugs chubby. stevie nicks chubby, okay? the makeup was caked on a bit heavy, but her lips were bright and red and sumptuous, as usual. at first i thought it was pouty l.a. icon angelina before it clicked that it was, in fact, her.

after our last few escapades, i decided that i would be designated driver, allowing christopher to get a bit tipsy. leaving the hotel as the paparazzi pack up, he drags the party to some lesbian club in silverlake, where i find myself urinating, again, next to a celebrity. well, a celebrity to me, at least, but maybe not to most yanks. orange hair, crazy mullet, towering next to me was senior from junior senior, who i’d last seen at an intimate 20-person set in san francisco.

okay, so here’s the rub… when you juxtapose london and los angeles, you trade the british class system [mostly one's background, coupled with one's fame determines one's worth] for the celebrity class system [your wealth, coupled with beauty, multiplied by your outfit, determines your status for the day]. for me, in both scenes, i’m an outsider. i’m the joker, the charmer, the gay best friend, the journalist, the observer, the one who doesn’t know anyone, yet chats to everyone.

i felt similarly during my first year in london, when i started to creep onto guestlists and would end up rubbing shoulders with celebrities for the first time in my life. working through the magazine allowed me to flex my muscles, and deal with celebrities as equals, as humans, which took a great deal of courage.

after swimming with celebrities all night, christopher and i juxtaposed the red carpet for red salsa, getting some late-night chimichangas at this divey mexican restaurant at 3am. the place was packed, and after we placed our order in broken español, we stood off to the side, to let the 50 tattooed gangbangers behind us place their orders.

i kept [annoyingly] encouraging chris to drink the frigging water that i’d bought for him, which resulted in him throwing it [rather hilariously, actually] all over my head, leaving me soaked. as i grabbed the bottle from him, the water flew over the gangbangers, and the two 50yo cashier/order takers ran into the kitchen, taking cover from the gang fight that was about to break out.

a simple apology from me averted any crisis, and we juxtaposed our asses over the sticky picnic bench, to eat our chimichangas and tacos los-rel-lanos-i-can’t-pronounce-os under the buzzing fluorescent light. perfection.

we weren’t the only ones dancing in the aisles, that was for sure. to the right, a gaggle of gown-or-blazer-wearing yuppies, dancing with their glasses of champers, bouncing like they’re at a wedding reception or company christmas party. to the left, a silver-haired couple getting jiggy with it, sorta samba dancing. behind us, the filled-to-17,000-person-capacity hollywood bowl. in front of us, only 60 feet away, were the basement jaxx, replete with their diva singers, and a couple of bingo bango apes running around on stage. above us, a pink los angeles the-smog-makes-it-beautiful post-sunset sky.

hands-down one of the best concerts i’d ever been to, and a brilliant evening overall. started the afternoon with some sunny flirting at silverlake‘s sleaziest beer bust, at the faultline. christopher introduced me to his myriad of bear and non-bear friends. christopher seduced a gent from australia, eric a lovely columbian lad. after devouring too much lite beer, gross porn and scorching sunshine, we escaped, unscathed.

picnicked outside the hollywood bowl, enjoying some sushi and sandwiches and framboise and champagne and chatting with fellow concert-goers. as the sun set, and we started to get a bit boozy, we put our shoes back on and went inside, neither of us expecting to have such amazing seats—pretty much 3 rows of tables back from the stage.

settling into our seats, i almost wanted to slouch down to make sure the 17,000 people behind me could see—our seats were that good. röyksopp had already started their set, and i could not believe the intensity, the sheer funkiness to which they were rocking out. i had only known them from their ethereal songs eple, poor leno and remind me, and was expecting some sort of chilled-out air-like performance to—you know—make out with christopher to. the röyksopp boys impressed, with danced-up versions of the aforementioned early hits, but a slalom of harder, edgier tracks off their new album. check out circuit breaker, 49 percent, follow my ruin and beautiful day without you to see what i’m talking about.

we were in the expensive seats section, and as such we had champagne at the table, and all around us were older couples, many in their 50s and 60s. only in l.a. could you get your freak on with some senior citizens to some funky röyksopp and harder basement jaxx, outdoors on a perfect summer evening.

by the time the jaxx came out, i was euphorically giddy, gingerly touching knees with my dear friend and long-lost ex christopher. the sound system at the hollywood bowl was so loud, my vision was blurring with the basslines for good luck, which made it even better. the whole amphitheater was bouncing to oh my gosh, sambaing to do your thing… the hits just kept bombarding us. we retreated back to our table after slamdancing to renedez vu, lucky star, bingo bango, where’s your head at, plug it in, romeo and god knows what else.

it’s silly, of course, that i waited to see brixton’s finest in hollywood, when i could’ve seen them perform monthly, just a short stroll down the road from where i lived in vauxhall. but, maybe i’m just getting old, it seemed more enjoyable with a bunch of yuppies than a bunch of lager louts at the academy.