There's a thing about LA bars not having signs, like a speak-easy. It's an anti-tourist kinda' thing, but here, what's a tourist?
I hate when a movie perfectly explains something and then I have to talk about that same thing, all the while thinking I'm quoting a movie. "Swingers" talks about it, and like he says in the movie, you gotta' know where you're going. I'm sure, thanks to that movie, going to the Dresden will be like deja vu.
So I ended up at this little bar on Hyperion Avenue the other night, no sign. It's in Silver Lake, kinda' hip, kinda' gay area, not far from Hollywood. This place was simple black, no windows, wood siding and with residencies around it. Traffic came by this spot pretty fast and street lights were not so bright here. In a minute I gotta' tell ya' about this wacky little lady we encountered there.
A friend had invited us. Mike Mollett is an artist I showed with in pLAyLAnd. He does bundles of found stuff like pipes and tubes and wires, long stuff that he makes stand up or hang on a wall, bound together. It's simple and being recycled, it's honorable art. He met us there.
I've never been in a bar with exposed slats on the walls, as if it was an unfinished barn. To counter that, it had chandeliers and a big wall of law books. the stage was one person deep and wide enough for just three. They only served beer: Negra Modelo for me and for the lady. The bar was square in the middle of the room and we sat on stools along the dark side. About 6 people were on that side most of the night.
Welcome to LA hipsterville; I preferred it to Reno hipsterville as these people were more interesting to look at and more diverse too with various weirdnesses but open eyes, checking the rest of us out as we checked them out. The band we came to see is Dick & Jane, a 3 piece consisting of big bosomed Jane and two guys, older one named Dick. Jane sang/talked lyrics, mostly about LA and beat like, as in beat poet and she wore dark glasses the whole time up on stage. They were enjoyable and most of her lyrics were delivered like punchlines. Jane sang a Velvet Underground song and the one about no one calling Picasso an asshole.
It turns out, as told by Mike and also by Jane, that this place used to be a hardcore gay bar with glory holes and all. She kinda' went on a minute about the possibility of the DNA of previous ghosts still being there, in fact on the walls and surfaces of the place. It was appropriately gross and perfectly fit the vibe of the place. You wanted to be somewhere down & out to see good music on a Thursday night. Bathrooms were pretty disgusting.
Quirky lady. I have to tell you about this lady because it struck me how LA she was and how accepted her weirdness is here. She was bubbly, lively, cute voice, old time glasses and she had sharp eyes. Probably in her later '50's, this lady was obviously happy to be alive. She took the stool in front of us against the bar and she was fidgety, writing a note. I guess she was Jewish-like, the kind of lady that would occasionally put her hand on my chest once she saw that I was OK with her weird babble.
It was her childishness that struck me. She was not trying to be anything she was not. This lady realizes not everyone will like her goofiness and she scanned the crowd for a couple of us that would tolerate her. Introduction went like this as she turned abruptly around "Is this a chair, a stool, or a seat?" The word 'autism' flashed through my mind upon hearing this as I had no idea why anyone would ask anyone that question. Quickly I saw she was not retarded or even shit faced drunk, bi-polar, very probably and we were lucky to be getting her manic display this night.
The answer, we agreed, was 'stool' and she then explained that she was writing a note to her friend across the bar explaining that she didn't want to get up and lose her 'stool' to go over there with her. She then asked if I, or anyone else, could do a paper airplane for her. I suggested she crumple it in a tight ball to guarantee the note's delivery across the bar, also diverting the chance poking-out of someone's eye. It was much more fun for her to solicit airplane construction help and the whole project seemed to fizzle as her friend walked over a bit later and she announced that they needed to go out and smoke a joint.
I can't forget to mention her fascination with the clicking ball point pen as an attention getter when she wants to connect with someone as she talked. Right on my chest and stomach, up my girlfriend's leg she clicked. Yeah, she just wanted to click on me and was obviously no threat so she went on for a minute and that was fine. After that she explained that a guy said 'sorry' for no good reason and she had a rant about the word sorry and how people throw the word around too much. "You're sorry just for saying it" she explained and mentioned that "sorry ass board game" too.
Welcome to LA, I thought to myself. A creature like this silly SNL skit-come-to-life might greet me in a Reno bar, or anywhere else for that matter, but it's here in LA that she's just part of the show. This is where people like her land. This is where I've landed.
