of people.

the most eccelctic come out at night. coming face-to-face with the wild underbelly of the city involved attending a george clinton concert in hollywood's deco-theatre-turned-nightclub, the music box. mingling with the likes of college kids, middle-age hipsters, and a sprinkle of older-aged couples, dotting the venue here and there, groups of friends, couples, clinton fans, passerbys, lesbians, and out-of-towners all came by and by... dressed in jeans, t-shirts, white collared button-downs, suits, hats, leather jackets, furs, and felt full-length-coats. it was a strange, funkadelic crowd and i felt oddly out of place, unfamiliar with clinton's music and lost in the ecclectic mix. after a rousing round of give up the funk, the theater exploded. on stage, the band reflected the ecclectic mish-mash, with a mix of musical talents, random audience members who ended up on stage, a back-lit canvas upon which an artist continually created and erased paintings created to the music, and of course, a random shi-tzu dog running around the stage, chasing a squeak toy. simply stunning. we need the funk, gotta have that funk.

concert over, sitting in ruen pair, having some post-midnight thai food, at the table next to us, sat a group of getto-talking asians, one of whom accidentally spilled water on his pants, so decided to vocally make it known to his friends (and of course the restaurant), that now it looked as of he peed his pants. of course one of his friends leaned over to see how bad it was, to the shocked questioning of said pants pee-er, why you tryin' to look at my thing? and of course, underlying accusation that the incident was a homo-moment in some unfathomable way. although kim had to unfortunatelly admit she too, was once upon a time, a ghetto-azn, i never ventured into that territory. granted that my high school was seemingly 90% asian, i never spoke ebonics, never parted my hair down the middle, never drove an acura or a honda civic, never put strange chinese words on the back of my car, never put racing stripes on my car, and never excelled at mathematics. how odd. the more i listened to them speak, the more i had a growing sensation to simply go over and ask how old were they and if they still throught they were in their hah schoo's kewl crowd.

arriving for a birthday celebration at the highlands club in hollywood, i was the only guy surrounded by five girls (one having the birthday). the evening from then on, naturally, consisted of me fending off nasty men who never failed to make my friends uncomfortable. one guy in particular, who looked as if he arrived to the club alone, moved from one of my friends to the next, putting his hands all over them and trying to make out with them. it was time for me to step in and actually say take a hint, get out of here.

is this how it works nowadays? and if so, does it? i always wonder what happened to the days of chivalry, where men were gentlemen. the times certainly have changed, and while i may be a bit old-fashioned, sipping my cocktails and watching the horrors of contemporary social interactions, i'd rather be old-fashioned than an absolute pig. exiting the club, i stood outside for a smoke. one guy approached me, obviously slightly intoxicated, and asking for a light. this is my friend here, this is my friend, he kept repeating, as another friend of his came by and asked does my friend have an extra cigarette? of course, i replied, and gave her one, lighting it before she left. i bid them a good night and a safe drive. i just wanna say, the first guy decided to proclaim before walking away, that this guy, right here, is a gentleman, such a gentleman. flattered. i left the intoxicatees to fend for themselves and walked my friends to their respective cars, making sure they were all right to drive. thank you for being such a gentleman tonight, said the last girl before leaving. anytime.

why was i born with such contemporaries?
: wilde.