Me: It’s a full moon out tonight.
Bar Patron: You know what that means?
Me: What?
Bar Patron: It means the crazies are out.
Me: I’d say that’s a safe bet.
Bar Patron: Would you consider yourself a crazy?
Me: a-yay-us.
Last night I went to the 10 year anniversary company party for the company I left no more than a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t go to crash it; in fact, I was never un-invited, but two days ago I was re-invited just to reaffirm the point that I was welcome to the shindig.
And it was worth it to go. Just to make sure the air was cleared and to make sure everyone knew I wasn’t going to leave them in the lurch. I made some good friends at that company and I don’t intend to completely bail on them.
The night started out as a walk from my house to the nearby Metro station. Now, keep in mind I live in LA, so driving is the transportation of choice. But because I planned to get sincerely drunk it was my responsibility to find some other way to get there.
It turns out the Metro is fine as long as you’ve got the wherewithal to read goddam map. I am really considering using this for my daily commute since I live close to a Metro stop and most of the places I need to get to are also close to Metro stops. Easily a sign that I should give this a go.
They say nobody walks in LA. Well, I am to become a nobody. (Ring a bell?)
Okay, maybe that last reference was way too lit-nerdy but I’m going to run with it. I know Eric would get it.
What I didn’t expect in waiting to board the first train is that I would be approached by two separate pairs of punk rockers who invited me to a show in Boyle Heights for tonight. Both pairs were very young. The pair of guys were cool and gave me hope for the future of LA bands, and the pair of girls provided some cutesy conversation. I’m not going to go because I already planned to attend another show, but my interactions with them reminded me of how I used to be that young and energetic about getting the word out about shows my friends were playing. Old school word of mouth, uber-friendly, and in person. And the icebreaker was always: “Hey man, can I bum a smoke off you?”
The actual Metro trip itself was fine other than the Purple line breaking down temporarily on 7th. But nobody made a comment openly about it. Everyone was strangely politely quiet. That would never happen in New York.
The party itself was nice. It was bittersweet because I knew I was going to miss cracking jokes every day with those people.
Fortunately for me, I’m still in contact with a lot of that company and it’s way friendly. No burned bridges. And though I can’t crack the same kinds of jokes in this new office, shit tons of funny things happen in this new office, so I’m not at a loss, just at a different angle.
The cab ride home was very nice. Cabbie was a musician in the 70′s and early 80′s, and we had a long talk about how scenes change in LA, and how real musicianship is not a means to an end (like money, fame, sponsorships, and reality TV gigs). Musicianship is an end in and of itself. It just feels right to strum a guitar.
At the end of this story I still can’t help but feel that whole experience of taking public transportation and seeing a bunch of familiar faces I haven’t seen in a handful of weeks was just straight up weird. Good, but weird.
That could be the hangover talking.
