Saturday, July 08, 2006

The Beermuda Triangle

The evening of the Fourth was spent at a party up in Whitley Heights, an area that looks like a valley in Mediterranean Europe. At dusk it is quite beautiful, a quality less commonly seen in Los Angeles as we keep her these days. Up in a large 20s Spanish style estate, the festivities were hosted by a 50-something music producer, who looked like someone who might have run around with the cast of My Best Fiend. He was like a gene-spliced hybridized love/hate child of Werner Herzog and Klaus Kinski. To be fair, he was maybe something less dark and more akin to Christopher Lloyd, as the professor-inventor type with crazy hair and totally outer limits.

RPP was kind of freaking out over the massive table load of pyrotechnic charges on display in the dining room. She's worked in the ER, and has seen the consequences of explosions on the human form; the effects are decimal. Having expressed her concern to the white-maned host, he replied, "YEAH! I've got to get really DRUNK, so we can set those off!"

Meantime, we four nestled into the couch-lined terrace. The air was balmy, and we had a view in the direction of the Hollywood Bowl, where the big show takes place. There really weren't very many people there, so the traffic was light, which can be a relief when you are tired at a party.

Still, for whatever reason, and maybe it's just that they were all drunker than I thought, every two to three minutes someone knocked over or dropped a beer bottle or glass in that 15 x 15 space. It was uncanny. I've been to plenty of parties with plenty of mishap, but I have never seen so much toppling with the tippling. It was like the necks were greased and the bottoms rounded. Laws of gravity were more strictly enforced in this zone. The constant clamor of thick glass on terra cotta tile gave me an idea for a drinking game, but one I was not rambunctious enough to instigate that particualr night, and at a stranger's house.

What if you took all the sandbagged beers (in college, that's what we always called it when people left the half-drunk and remnant bottles sitting around, 'sandbagging'), arranged them in pyramids, and did a little beer bowling? What's not fun about THAT? Somehow I think our host would have been up for it, but I'd already had a Stella Artois douse my white halter dress, and I wasn't in the mood for sticky feet, any more than I was up for tripping over that ottoman or having my flip-flop break as we were headed back down the hill.

One last thing. Think of this as a caveat to fumbling boys - do not use, "Don't I know you from somewhere?" as a pick up line. Furthermore, when it becomes clear that no amount of "where could I know you from," "did you work on this project," and "what school did you attend," is going to resolve the matter, LET IT GO. Because, face it Buddy, you HAVEN'T MET THE GIRL BEFORE. And no amount of wanting to know her is going to rewind history. Best to look forward and find something to actually talk about, so that some sort of bond can be formed. Devices don't work on all women, particularly when the conceit is so cleanly laid bare as deceit. So it doesn't really matter that you are a very good-looking twenty-something Director, if you haven't a speck of charm. At least, not to this one.

8 comments:

srchngformystry said...

where is this place you speak of, kissyface?

whosyourhuckleberry said...

The funny thing is, once upon a time, I did run into a girl who, though I couldn't remember her name, I was certain I knew her from somewhere. I knew very well any such inquiries would be received as lame pickup attempts.
So I just walked up and started listing all the possible places I could know her from. Turns out I used to live next door to her sister.
My best pick up line?
"Hi, my name is Huckleberry"
The conversation usually goes just fine from there...

kissyface said...

Creative Soul - Whitley Heights is a neighborhood just west of Cahuenga and east of Highland in the Hollywood Hills. is that what you meant?

I'm sending you the good vibes these days, Lady.

Huck - of course any sincere inquiries are not only tolerable, they are welcome. Any guy who is trying to play it cool and aloof whey he does know you is equally odious. And we already know you wouldn't allow yourself to fall in amongst such mundane rabble.

hmm... going to have to compile a list of best and worst pu lines. wanna help? i feel more of your dating advice is in order, as well.

Citizen H said...

No list of cornball pickup lines would be complete without the dumbest dump/break up platitudes either.

rachelp said...

You forgot to mention the extrmely large knife he was holding in one hand less than a foot from my face and a shot of tequila in the other when declaring his need to get drunker before lighting them off. You also forgot to mention the $5,ooo in the file cabinet. shhhhhh....

kissyface said...

oh my god, how did I forget the five grand in the file cabinet!!!??? Thelma..!

whosyourhuckleberry said...

Yes, a compilation is in order here.
My personal favorite?

"Ya, I work for UPS.
I got a package with your name on it right here..."

The Frito Pundito said...

Pickup lines are very personal. I had a friend who was tremendously successful asking women things like "What is your definition of freedom?" Of course, the fact that he was a very good looking Arab-descent documentary filmmaker probably helped. That's what I told myself when the same line only drew blank stares from the women I tried it on.