Your leaking thatched hut during the restoration of a pre-Enlightenment state.


Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").


decay & ruin
Biosphere II
dead malls
Irving housing

got that wrong

appropriate tech
Arduino μcontrollers
Backwoods Home
Fractal antenna

fun social media stuff

(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   Party at the Dragonfly
Monday, May 22 2000
Tonight Kim and I went to Anthea's place in West Hollywood again, this time in preparation to attend a birthday party at the Dragonfly in Hollywood (at a virtually unmarked location on the corner of Melrose and Wilcox). When we arrived, Anthea was in the company not only of a much more social Willendorf the cat, but also a male friend named John. John is in his late late 30s and hails from the hippie pot-smoking haven of Topanga canyon. It thus seemed appropriate that he sported long curly hair and a flamboyant tie-dyed Grateful Dead tee shirt. But he was no hippie burnout; not only does he play in a punk rock band, but he is quite possibly the funniest guy I've met since Steven Price in Oberlin circa 1988. After John overcame some initial shyness, he was a nonstop series of impersonations and goofy little asides that kept the laughter rolling like joints in Phish concert parking lot.
The birthday party we'd be attending tonight was for a girl named Juliet. She's in the goddess/love temple scene and is also a former Penthouse model. Anthea handed us the birthday card to sign but since we didn't really know what to write, we drew some pictures instead. This got John and me riffing on the subject of how to sign a birthday card for someone you don't know.

Though you don't know me, and though I don't know you, I feel a certain intangible connection to you on account of the fact that you are a fellow human being. We share many things, including a certain number of chromosomes, unless, of course, you happen to suffer from Down's Syndrome...

The party at the Dragonfly was in fairly low-energy mode when we arrived at around 11pm. Kim ordered us beers at the bar while a young woman pranced about the stage trying to whip people into more of a frenzy. She informed us of all the fun that could be had with a large assortment of children's toys suggestive of the late 70s: cheap mid-70s revival hula hoops, big pieces of chalk, several complete games of Twister, and a full-on medieval-themed inflated carnival Moon Room. There were a few girls sitting in front of the stage, wearing unambitious costumes and watching developments with polite attentiveness. Other than that, not a whole lot was happening. That's when the "talent show" began.
It started with an unassuming, vaguely-dorky looking lip-syncer. Before long, though, he'd shed both his thick glasses and the bulk of his clothing, revealing a muscular hunk dressed only in padded nut huggers.
Meanwhile, Anthea, John and Kim had discovered the Moon Room. They were in there bouncing around like crazy with an odd assortment of strangers, including an enormous guy who rather resembled a Mountain Gorilla. The bouncing and carrying on in the Moon Room eventually became so rambunctious that a leak developed and the whole thing deflated spectacularly, trapping everyone inside. As they emerged, the scene took on some of the qualities of the aftermath of an earthquake.
Exploring the various rooms of the Dragonfly, we ran across a handful of bored partiers hanging out in a fenced outdoor smoking area, talking about how much better the party would be if they were tripping on LSD. A Mexican clown nearby was quickly making balloon sculptures for anyone who happened by, no matter how jaded & bored. The sculpture he made for Kim was a two-piece hat: a blue base that fit around the head topped by a flying green seagull. One thing about balloon sculptures is that they're inherently phallic, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the girls in attendance. Sex-awareness is like an additional sense that sprouts when a person moves to Los Angeles. Earlier, as we'd been driving through the largely-gay neighborhoods of Hollywood, Anthea had said, "the snap of latex is in the air."
We four played a lackluster game of Twister off in a small darkly-lit dining room. When the game started to drag, Anthea dramatically announced that she could no longer stay up, and with that she keeled over and the game was done. In the game of Twister, everyone is a winner!
As we sat around the Twister mat joking and fondling our balloon sculptures, we were joined by Juliet the birthday girl as well as the guy who owns the Dragonfly. Everybody was incredibly cool, either acting self-effacingly silly or laid back and low-key. For example, while the owner of the Dragonfly could have put on airs and tried to come across with a vibe something like, "Well, you know, this is my Hollywood bar," he just hung out and passively watched things, nodding approvingly now and then. And before we left, he told Kim and me that we were welcome any time.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next