caffeineguy (caffeineguy) wrote,
caffeineguy
caffeineguy

Friday Night With Kirk.




Since I've been back from Tokyo, I hardly go out anymore. At first I thought it was jetlag. Perhaps a (futile) attempt to be more productive. Or a subconscious attempt to save my esophagus. But in the end, it's traditionally a mellow time of year for me. Parties and other mass social settings tend to feel especially boring, and I find more pleasure planting my ass on the couch and watching whatever coming of age teen comedy Netflix popped in my mail.



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But Kirk was in town, so I dusted off the liver and joined the guys for some Friday fun. That night it was a birthday party in the Oviatt Building penthouse. Lord knows how the fuck I know this, but the Art Deco building was owned by a haberdasher. His hat shop is now a beautiful restaurant called Cicada. Hard to believe there was a time when every guy wore a hat. Decades from now, somebody will be writing about how there was a time when everybody had to wear pants. I envy the future.



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Accidental drunken death plummets aside, what I like about partying on downtown rooftops is you feel like you're in a real city with an actual skyline. LA is all about girth, not length.



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I heard Mark was coming to the party. I hadn't seen the guy since he'd gotten back from his long stint in Singapore for The Contender. We've all learned the hard way that it's not wise to get intoxicated in close proximity to Mark and his camera. Then again, it's not like my camera's much safer when it comes to one's reputation.



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Performing the ballet "Le Sacre du Printemps" for the downtown homeless.



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We'd been meaning to check out Provecho since it opened recently. I'd read about it somewhere, and the words "ceviche" and "tequila bar" jumped out and made love to my eyeballs. The ceviche was pretty good, not spectacular. But the Provecho Margarita made Mexico proud.



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Toward the end of the evening, I realized that Paul and I had never played the national pastime that is Kirk Jenga. So once we got to the noraebang, we proceeded to fill him with beer. After a while, we sadly realized that it wasn't going to happen, so we decided to call it a night. Of course once we got in the car, Kirk promptly passed out. Where the hell is a plate of french fries when you need one!







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