Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Someone in the Crowd



The last thing the internet needs is another think piece on La La Land as a movie. While one interpretation is that it is a perfect LA Story, a cynical reading is that it's about two kinda flaky people that dated and then broke up in the face of adversity.

Then again, isn't that the perfect LA story?

Something that is often brought up about New York but less so Los Angeles is the uncertainty of it all. The possibilities on a night out in New York are endless, mainly because it is the city that never sleeps. You could end up watching the sun rise in Montauk. You could go on all night scavenger hunt looking for a secret show that your favorite band is playing. You could steal your father's cab, have sex with a drug addict and get accused of murder.

The same however, goes for Los Angeles. You could end up on a yacht in the marina, a palace in the canyons doing shrooms with Zac Effron. You could end your night sucking Quentin Tarntino's toes.

In fact I'm sure everyone that has ever lived in Los Angeles has THAT story; a night that began so innocent and through some unforeseen twists and turns ended as one that you will never forget. Maybe there were celebrities involved, possibly alcohol, ok definitely a lot of alcohol.

I never had these feelings when I lived in Indiana, Chicago even Europe. About the most exciting place I woke up in Europe was the back of an Italian ambulance and most of my nights in Chicago ended at 5 o clock in the morning as I was finishing my French Dip at Nookies Too and trying to remember the name of the girl I was with.

Not that those aren't exciting in their own right, but I firmly believe there is a magic to New York and Los Angeles, the unexpected nature of every single night which the song 'Someone in the Crowd' perfectly encapsulates. If you are unfamiliar, I'll briefly break it down for you.

Emma Stone's Mia comes home from a bad audition and an all around shitty day. Her three gorgeous actor-y roommates try to cheer her up by telling her they scored a sweet invite to a party in the hills. She declines, but after they dance around her swigging Rose for about 15 seconds she gives into peer pressure and joins them. The house party is kinda cool, someone jumps off the roof into the pool fully clothed (that would be me) she loses her friends and her car gets towed.

Shitty.

But then she walks down Franklin and hears Ryan Gosling playing the piano inside a jazz club and that starts the entire events of the film in motion.

Magic.

Now obviously this is a plot device to push the story forward, but it parallels the decision making process of everyone I know in Los Angeles.

***

Friday night I had agreed (with myself) to take it easy. I got back from an interview and met up with a friend to catch up and have cocktails. I get a call from a buddy telling me they are planning a big night in Hollywood.

I politely declined because I am an adult that doesn't give into peer pressure. The next stop is a small dinner party where I'm having polite conversation about travel, wedding planning and the sort. It is all very mature, I feel good about my life decisions.

But also...there's a little voice in the back of my head saying...

"You got your invitation, you got the right address
you need some medication? The answer's always yes..."

NO! Shut up, stop it Emma Stone's attractive roommates. I am at a dinner party in Santa Monica. I am going to drink a responsible amount and wake up tomorrow feeling great. Then I may even go for a Saturday morning run. It's going to be wonderful. Then I can watch football guilt free and maybe make a chicken salad, that would be cool!
"A little chance encounter could be the one you've waited for"

See that's not even a good argument voice in my head. If I go to Hollywood, I'm going to end up playing blackjack with 3 dudes, wagering shots of whiskey. It's not like I'm going to see any famous people. I'll be blacked out by 10 o clock and probably end up on a couch. Now leave me alone, I'm learning about the difference between a Doula and a Midwife. It's fascinating.

"Tonight we're on a mission, tonight's the casting call, if this is the real audition..."
Oh god, the Doula makes the placenta into a smoothie?

"Someone in the crowd could be the one you need to know, the one to finally lift you off the ground.  Someone in the crowd could take you where you want to go, if you're the someone ready to be found..."
 Ok, maybe just Ubering to Hollywood wouldn't be that bad of an idea. UberX is so cheap now and I just won that benefit review. I can go have a couple drinks at my buddy's place.

This will be fine.

So I'm literally sitting there on an apartment off Sunset Blvd playing blackjack for shots of whiskey (called it!) It's midnight, still a pretty tame night. I suppose it's MLK weekend. Everyone I know is celebrating a great black man by doing the whitest thing possible by skiing in Mammoth. Not like much will be going on in LA.

"Let's go to Soho House."

Ok this could be fun, we'll have some cocktails, play a board game, go fuck around in the photo booth. Soho House LA isn't like the one in Chicago where you can be a fraud on the first floor, you have to be a member to enter at all. I shouldn't turn down an opportunity to go on a Friday night. Maybe we'll see someone famous.

We exit the Uber and walk into an elevator that opens into an opulent reception with vaulted ceilings at the top of a tower in West Hollywood. No one there necessarily knows who you are but there is a lowered guard like a pregame. You either are a big deal or you know someone who is. That said, you can pretend to be anyone you want to be.

We ascend the stairs into a lively bar full of Hollywood elites stumbling around with glasses of champagne, women in short dresses, wannabe writers drunkenly pitching scripts and of course a bunch of guys like me who are just happy to be there.

As I float from one room to the next, I subconsciously juxtapose this life with the times I sneak a flask into Canal Club. I do not belong here.

But no one knows.

I could play for the LA Kings. I could be a senior creative at 72 and Sunny. Fuck it I could probably convince half the girls in here that I'm Damien Chazelle.

"Want a shot man?"

I snap out of my own personal dream sequence and remember that I'm with my friends. A couple of them have already split off in conversations with strangers. I come back to Earth and I take one. I take another. So much for taking it easy tonight.

"Come on man. There is another bar where the kids hang out.

"Kids?"

"Well you know what I mean...LA kids"

(LA kids refers to people 21-35 I guess)

I descend a spiral staircase, go through a dark hallway, take a twist, another turn, WHY ARE THERE TREES IN HERE, up a staircase, down a staircase, did I get back in an elevator, maybe past a screening room until I come across a dark curtain.

"Come on, push through."

At this point the shots and the several whisky drinks have caught up with me.

For a moment before I move the curtain aside, it's quiet. I've never been in this portion of the building before. I didn't know it existed.

But then I pull the heavy black cloth and see a bunch of people that look like me, dancing, screaming girls spilling drinks all over each other on a slightly raised stage. And wouldn't you fucking know it...they were all jumping and singing every single word to...

"Someone in the crowd could be the one you need to know, the someone who could lift you off the ground. Someone in the crowd could take you where you wanna go, if you're the someone ready to be found."

I rolled my eyes. Only in Los Angeles would a bunch of rich white kids dance to a musical number about how awesome it is that on a random Friday night you could go out and meet the person that could make you famous. But then someone handed me a drink and I took it and disappeared into the crowd.

Oh fuck is that Lea Michele over there? I guess I gotta find out, you know, for the story. Wait, is someone playing with my hair? Oh God, I've done it. I've given in to the inner musical monologue in my head and gotten shitfaced. DAMN YOU EMMA STONE!

Next thing you know my mind fades to black and I wake up on the floor of my apartment. My wallet is gone and my roommates are staring at me. The sadness kicks in.

"Is someone in the crowd the only thing you really see, watching while the world keeps spinning round..."
I should have stayed in. I would still have a wallet, my head wouldn't be throbbing...and

BUZZ BUZZ

What now, not my phone. It's probably going to be someone I wronged. Puked on their shoes, left them at the bar...fuck maybe I drunk texted an ex...

310 number: 'Hey, it was fun meeting you last night. We should hang out some time. Smiley face'

I met someone...and she (presumably) sent me a smiley face...that means...that it was a positive encounter?

And now there is sheet music playing in my head.

Ab Ab Ab Bb C Bb Bb Bb C D Eb Eb Eb

quite slow at first....but now its speeding up.

and it's starting to crescendo 

Duh Duh Duh Duhhhhh Du Duh Duh Duhhhhh Duh

"Someone in the crowd could take you, someone in the crowd could make you, flying off the ground, if you're someone ready to be foooooooooooounnnnnnnd!"
God Los Angeles is weird. Someone get me a water while I debate whether or not to text back that number.

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