The past week was a social whirlwind. I was grooving and twirling from Hollywood to Santa Monica like a nocturnal banshee. After watching Irving bob their indie rocker heads at King King on Wednesday, I asked each of the five members to sign my copy of their new CD. They obliged, partly because I was introduced to them by a mutual friend who works with the keyboard player and mainly because my request helped boost their egos. I even played a practical joke and called the drummer (or was it guitarist?) some secret nickname that one of the other members divulged to me. On the following night, I saw a couple make out in a corner of Ace Gallery. Unfazed by the triple capacity of people who swarmed to the gallery to catch a glimpse of Dennis Hopper's white noggin and see his new exhibit of photographs and paintings, the lovers helped fog up the windows, on which visitors doodled non sequiturs and cheeky alien faces. Why should Hopper get all the creative license? Props to June-chan for capturing the two in flagrante delicto, as well as Irving on stage, on her cell phone camera.
Then, on Friday, J-Artist and I shook our booties to Ursula 1000's grooves at Zanzibar. Ursula 1000 is a New York friend whom I last saw in Tokyo two years ago when he and his wife were touring Japan to support his then-released album, "Kinda Kinky." His wife is the model with the sexy eyes on his new album, "Here Comes Tomorrow." I once played the title song from the older album for a musically gifted but pop-culturally obtuse friend, who asked what the hell it was. My response: "Bossa boogie!"
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