“Uh…yeah.” I had stopped just short of overcompensating. “Yeah!“
We had tried 3 different names and none of them were on the list. So, C and I turned away from what we had previously thought was a “regular RSVP list check-in table” and reconvened about 10 feet away on the steps of The Los Angeles County Museum of Natural History, where Interpol (wiki), an American indie rock band was being thrown a party in celebration of their new album, Our Love To Admire.
I peeped past the table and into the entrance. I could see T-Rex and Triceratops skeletons, each bone held in suspension but positioned with the T-Rex’s jaws at the Triceratops’ neck.
Of course that was the VIP list. We had walked straight up to the entrance after by-passing people in line who were still waiting to get in–about 750 people in all. The guys in our party were holding our place; I would call them with any developments.
We turned our backs and I opened up Nielsen (yes, I also named my new clamshell phone) and pretended to talk. We talked in our low voices.
“Whaddawedo, whaddawedo? Think think…”
C went back up to the table and asked a girl what they were telling people whose names didn’t appear on the list like ours. She responded with one of two names we had dropped earlier. “Well you can talk to Miller, he’s right there.”
(What we had touted earlier was that we were “friends of the Two Alans.” That would be specifically, that we were friends of a good friend of the two Alans. Of course, who else would the Two Alans be other than the owners of Filter Magazine–the good people who were putting on the event?)
Alan Miller was heading down the steps and heard his name. He turned around, “Yes?”
C looked at me. I found some depth in my voice.
Miller barely considered. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
He joked, “I’m afraid that’s not good enough. What’s he doing now, sending people in his place? He’s gonna get it later.”
C and I got our wristbands and I explained we had a couple friends who were in line and if we could please get them wristbands, too. I called the guys, and told them to come up. The line was so long that it took them about 3 minutes to get up to where we were. They got their own wrists wrapped with holographic silver plastic bands–necessary for entrance to the VIP area. We found out the turntables and its own bar were on the other side of that velvet rope, extending behind the DJs. Very, very dope.
We were one of the first ones in so it wasn’t too crowded; we took a stroll around the exhibits that were open for the night on that floor. It was a nice variety of fossils and taxidermy. Red Bull and Bass sponsored and it was open bar the entire night. The VIP bar served drinks in front of a diarama with elephants as the centerpiece (the rate the line moved towards it, though, was not very VIP-like).
Paul Banks and eventually Sam Fogarino came up to spin. Kind of. It sounded a little bit like they were simply slamming random synth, house and rock tracks together, but let me remind you Paul is the singer of Interpol and Sam is the drummer. Nobody is comparing them to DJ Shadow. It’s a new rock album release–they can do whatever they want.
The Filter hipster crowd was cool and the setting made the party even cooler. Also, with free entry, open bar and no wait thanks to the shenanigans we were lucky to pull off made it the coolest. When else were we ever going to have open bar in a natural history museum? (Thanks to LACMA and MOCA which are both art museums and who have events regularly, it’s a good thing those scenes are firmly in place in L.A.)
Afterwards, we ate at a college favorite: Chanos. Yes, when I mean college, I mean we would make the drive from Westwood into the depths of $C territory in the name of cheap, delicious tacos and Orange Bang. We grubbed on the picnic benches in the back, where C found this tomato vine:
Special thanks to CP.