A wise old owl once told me: Go with the flow. Seeing as when you do, random, dumb fun things can happen. Friday night, prime example. Last minute, off the cuff, unexpected, unplanned. All of the above. Smattered with hype. Not the greatest night or anything. Just random and quite dumb at times. Galavants are making a comeback. Flowing, going, all the way. Amok on. If nothing else, it’ll give me a few ape soundbites…
“As I looked out the window, I thought to myself: This view is not that great to be true. A car park. I no longer believe this is the presidential suite.”
“As the convertible whizzed through the streets of L.A, I knew I had two options: Either I need to get a haircut, or the roof needs to go back up.”
“As Lindsey handed me the bottle of Crown, I wondered, what are the chances this is laced with ketamine?”
“As I woke up being pierced by the sun, I pondered… Where the funk is my everything?”
Apey mac. Go flow go…
Comb On. Dwell Off.
Friday night. Half twelve. Quarter to one. Textaruu, how are you. Buddy asking if I wanted to go to the W. Bob Hope. Furthest thing from my mind. Tired. Fruitless traipsing all day. Knocked shut doors. Just out of the shower. Getting ready for a bit of Matt Dillon. Cave dwelling. Cheers anyways. Reply. Forgot to mention that his buddy wants to talk to me. Your buddy? The girl in charge of booking DJiggers at the W. Perhaps a set during the pool parties over the summer on offer. So. Well. Now. Repeated. Up for coming along? Gigs. Nuts. Need them. Badly. Balls. In. Sober Joe. Brief meet, greet, giddy up home. One hour max. And that is exactly what happened. Now where’s my comb…
In fairness to the W is a slick old place. Hot whure. New celeb filled place. Brimming with ugly folk. Lots of fun folk. Perhaps actually the complete opposite. Ridiculously opposite in some cases. Zoo inside. Chilled by the pool outside. Get in. Slow start. Sober Joe. Surrounded by drunk people. Always fun. Scuttle outside. Meet the girl. Sound lady. Chat. Yes. Hook this up. Jig on. Me shall see. Three minute productive spell over, she brings my buddy and I back inside to her table. Party on. Meet her friends. Introduced around the table. Tip top. How’s she cutting. Few boozing party heads I recognise floating aboot. Lindsey, conas a ta? Ricky Bob, long time no see. Funk it, I’m here, might as well embrace. Ciao ciao Joe, hello flow!
George W Suite
Although at first I did decline the “Want a swig of Crown?” offer. Went with the freshly opened bottle of V instead. All aboot the freshly opened. Untampered. Small talk. Jiving. Driving on. Club finishes up. Party on in a suite upstairs. Come on up. Fair enough. In for a penny. Up to the top of the hotel. Someone said the Presidential. Personally, I couldn’t see it. No Obama. George W at best. Anyways, room starts to fill up. Brimming with hipsters. All standing out. All blending in. Hot women. Looking bored. Make my own fun. Giddy up, party on. Initially I thought debauchery was going to be full on. Signs were there. I’ve heard the stories of the hotel parties. I was looking at which window the TV would be going out. However, not what one might think. Let’s just say, that if a security guard comes knocking on the door telling people to be quiet, people do be quiet. Rock and roll… Not even close.
Then there was a bit of this, slight bit of that, left foot in, right arm out and a good few hours later I somehow ended up on a couch in some part of east LA. Not too sure how. Or why we left a savage hotel to go to a horrendous party. Go flow go. Party back in the house started with a bang. Walk in. People already there. Head to the kitchen. Find myself a glass. Sink side. Hear a bit of ruckus. Turn around. See my buddy rugby tackle a randomer to the ground. Yanking him off a guy we had just met at the hotel party. Pointless dispute. Scuffle. Melee. Handbags. Rugby tackle. Over and done. Guess now what everyone talked aboot for the rest of the party! Wuu. Fun.
Couple of hours later, my buddy disappeared somewhere. Side salad galavanting. Told him I would kip on the couch. Wake me when he was leaving. Dozed off. Woke up. Where, what, why… Phone, check. Hair, check. Shoes, not too sure. Wallet, not a clue. Buddy, gone. The job, buddy. Good man. And he has my wallet. Better man. Thankfully, in the end, I managed to get a lift home. Happy days. Would’ve been quite the chunky cab fare. Roof down, cruise on. Which is when I decided I needed to get a haircut. Riveting stuff. Got home. Wallet was waiting for me. Good man. Checked it. Happy days. Not sure how I managed that. A lot of galavanting. Zipping all over. Randumb night. Good laugh at times. Sounds better than it actually was at other times. Few stories I do suppose. Best part of all: Cheap as cherries. Somehow. All my nuts were intact. Giddy up!
C’Mon – Diplo Vs Tiesto