Garageland

I love a good party. Last night I went on an adventure in Garageland with my post punk loving friends, Teezal and Steph. I wasn't aware of what "post punk" entailed, but I was incredibly bored and hadn't been to a truly amazingly spun party since I attended DJ Saratonin & DJ Samantha Ronson's invasion of Mr. Black over a month ago. I was starved for a good time and feeling kind of funky (in a bad way) so in an effort to abandon said toxic mindset I rallied the troops and set off for the Room in Hollywood where DJ Kim Anh, of Boobytrap/Saint Le Roq fame, was spinning. We arrived in Hollywood close to midnight and were somewhat disheartened to find a fairly empty venue with excellent music (albeit not Kim at the decks) and a scruffy looking band setting up. We almost immediately made for the doorway in search of another plan for the evening.

We wandered the Cahuenga strip, stopped in at the Velvet Margarita, shunned the Burgundy room, and eventually wandered into the Piano Bar, which appeared to be hopping with chill looking people, decent tunes, and a thrilling amount of lesbians (three?). All was fine until the band started BLASTING music so awful that it immediately reminded me of the French Quarter in New Orleans, which I believe is what it was in fact it's intention. We chugged our drinks and headed back to see if Garageland had picked up a little. On our second arrival, we were disheartened to find that the scruffy looking band setting up at Garageland were in fact a slightly better version of the guys at the Piano Bar. We would have left then, but we spotted Kim Anh waiting at the decks. I had another drink and Teezal went on an exploratory mission to learn when Kim would begin her set.

It would only be fair to say that by the time that Kim began her set, I was on my third Jack & Coke for the evening and well hammered. However, in spite of the rose tinted cloud that said level of inebriation tends to cast over any experience, I soberly reflect on the rest of the evening without a shadow of a doubt and dub her a total master. The moment that the band hit their final note and Kim cued in her intro the night took an overwhelming turn for the better. A flood of good spirited party goers flooded the establishment and a killer dance party ensued with a bona-fide hipster dance circle. We screamed the chorus of Psycho Killer at each other, gleefully hopping up and down, and had a cracking good time until the band from earlier took it upon themselves to cut off Kim Anh's set. At this point I was standing next to her and directly asked her if they just did what I thought they did. Somewhat dejected, she acknowledged that they in fact did and she was well confused. However, with total grace, she went out for a cigarette as my friends and I began to leave the establishment. When we reached the doorway, the band stopped and the Smiths called us back in. I have no idea who this final DJ was, but he was good times, and the night was saved. Kim joined us in yet another killer dance party which affirmed my enthusiasm for life and we parted ways, psyched to reunite again at Booby Trap this Wednesday.

I could not have lived last night better if I tried.