S&M House Party - Los Angeles
“This… up here… this is called a yolk.”
- Dmytrie
Saturday Night
S&M House Party
Hollywood Hills
Los Angeles, California
I’m going to level with you right away, dear readers, I’m full of shit on this one.
Was it a house part in the Hollywood Hills? You bet it was.
Is that in Los Angeles and, henceforthwith, in California? If memory serves, yes.
Did the concept of sadomasochism have something to do with this party? So I was told.
Was it an S&M house party in the Hollywood Hills, which we’ve more than established is in Los Angeles in some state? No. But there was always a looming potential for naughty action to break out.
Was there, in any way, a looming potential for naughty action to break out? No.
This house is high above the city, at someone who knows someone’s someone else’s party. I went there with my dear friend Jackie, who is putting me up in LA for a week and helping me to explore the area. With us is her friend George (part of the someone else’s someone-knowing equation), an actor who is performing in the local production of Point Break: Live (where they stage the movie and cast an unprepared audience member as Keanu Reeves’ Johnny Utah character). George’s stage manager knows the house owner and (if I remember correctly) the house owner had something to do with S&M in some way. There, now you know the truth about that thing I made up earlier. I hope you’re happy.
I’d just gotten done having sushi and overly large Japanese beers with my friend Arik (who was shooting a pilot for his awesomely hilarious show) before riding into the Hollywood Hills. Jackie, George and I spend a good fifteen minutes twisting around the narrow streets at 45 degree angles and every now and then we can catch a gorgeous view of city shining below. And then we’re there, and this house (rightly so) has an entire glass while devoted to that gorgeous view. From this height, at night, it’s truly one of the most amazing things that I’ve ever seen. I regretted not bringing a camera, but it wouldn’t have done it all that much justice anyway. Seeing a picture might be impressive with the multitude of lights fading back forever into a blur, but being there – being present and looking at it, you can feel the life there and the enormity of it all. It’s profoundly overwhelming. I’m sure that the people who live there get used to seeing this view, I just can’t imagine how that happens.
If there was a chance of recognizing someone I knew (which there isn’t), I’d have to have gotten right in their face to do so, or find them in one of the sparse pools of light. The place is dark – awkwardly so. After taking in the house (to which we’re given free reign) Jackie, George and I eventually settle in on one of the couches by the window and chat. Then I offer to get us some drinks and walk to the kitchen nook area thing where there’s a bucket of beers. Waiting in the short line for access to said beers, I find myself standing next to a man so very thin, he could sleep in a book.
To my mind, there aren’t enough derogatory sayings for the very, very thin people of this world, so (as someone who has struggled with weight since forever) I’m going to do a couple more of those:
I find myself standing next to a man so very thin, he’s 80 pounds soaking wet, but then, when dried off, he returns to a pile of dust.
I find myself standing next to a man so very thin, David Bowie was all like “here’s a cheeseburger, bitch.”
I find myself standing next to a man so very thin, he played a spooky xylophone tune on his ribs.
Like me, Skinny Pete (I never learned his name, so I’ll just continue to make up his name throughout) happened to be wearing a flannel shirt. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Dmytrie (I assume that this is how he chose to spell his name, which was probably actually Dave or something) loudly points out that Gaunty McGee and I are both wearing flannel shirts. And so it begins.
The following is the actual conversation that I had with this actual person while actually pretty drunk. I can’t vouche for how accurate this is, and, in places, I’ve certainly filled in the blanks with something wittier than the thing I probably actually said. Without further delay, let’s listen in by reading these words that are probably mostly accurate, but mostly not:
Dmytrie: Look at you two, you’re both wearing flannel. Everyone is wearing flannel, aren’t they?
Andy: Yes they are.
Dmytrie: It just goes to show that you shouldn’t ever throw away clothes because you never, ever know when something is going to come back into fashion. Everything always comes back into fashion so you’re actually saving money by keeping everything.
Andy: Keeping everything? Sure. Within reason, though. You don’t want to start, you know, hording things. I think that’s what they call it. They have this show about people who hoard things.
Dmytrie: Really?
Andy: Yeah, on Discovery, I think. I think I heard that Lindsay Lohan is a horder.
Dmytrie: Well, see there? It’s the thing to do.
Andy: Oh.
Dmytrie: I have this Lord & Taylor suit that I’ve had in the closet for forever and the other day I took it out the other day and I was all like, this totally works now! I’m so glad I held on to it. And it makes me wish that I’d kept some other things, you know?
Andy: I don’t –
Dmytrie: Really? I have these t-shirts that I’ve had –
(Note: This is where it becomes clear to me that this conversation is not going to work, and the fact that I can’t recall all the thrilling information about Dmytrie’s shirts is due to me realizing the shit of this fact. And Skin and Bones Malone ain’t talking (probably because he worries that the air he expels will propel his tiny frame backwards ad infinitum). Dmytrie is talking to me because I’m there, but mostly because he wants to talk. So, I figure the best that I can do is try to enjoy myself.)
Dmytrie: And that’s my story about some t-shirts or whatever.
Andy: So is this, what you’re wearing, is this really old?
Dmytrie: It looks like it doesn’t it?
Andy: 100%.
Dmytrie: No, I’ve only had this for a little while, but it’s a retro style like I like. I should’ve worn my Lord & Taylor suit.
Andy: You should’ve. That’d have been great.
Dmytrie: I know. I need to get that tailored, though – I do not look like I did 15 years ago. (Laughter)
Andy: Me neither. I likes my cheesecakes too, too much, you know?
Dmytrie: Yeah. I mean, I get all of my stuff tailored anyway, but this is going to need some real work.
Andy: You get all of your clothes tailored?
Dmytrie: Oh, yeah. You pretty much have to if you want it to fit right. (He touches my shirt in an inappropriate way) Did you get this tailored?
(Note: Bought it from Sears.)
Andy: Yes. I have to. I mean, I have a pretty unusual frame and all… and I’m very hip-y, you know? I have that pear-type shape, except I’m tall. Tall pear.
Dmytrie: Yeah. I have to get my things taken in at the waist usually. But sometimes it’s too broad in the shoulders and it looks poofy –
Andy: Sure.
Dmytrie: So I have to get it fixed there, like on your shirt (He touches my shirt in an inappropriate way) it would be this. This… up here… this is the yolk.
(Note: Really it goes on like this, and he tells me that he has a tuxedo that was made in 1927. That’s pretty cool, I guess, but mostly he goes on about how much he likes tailoring and how important tailoring is and I keep making witty comments and he keeps being oblivious until this:)
Dmytrie: The way I figure it, if you don’t take the time and money and energy to get your clothes to a tailor to have them tailored, then you’re just going to walk around looking all schlumpy.
(Note: Yes, he actually said all of this. And this is where it gets downright, nearly tragic. Schlumpy is a funny word. Your mother might say that you look schlumpy and tell you to tuck in your shirt, already. But when word comes out of Dmytrie’s mouth, I can’t help but laugh right in his face. Honest laughter mind you. Not at him, but because of him.)
Andy: (Laugh in face)
Dmytrie: Oh.
Andy: Schlumpy, that’s a great word.
Dmytrie: Yeah, okay.
Andy: Schlumpy. Ha! Great. What were you saying about, you know, tailoring?
Dmytrie: That was it.
Andy: Oh. (Pause) Did I offend you?
Dmytrie: No, it’s fine. I need to go.
Andy: Really? Well, okay.
Dmytrie: Okay.
Andy: My name is Andy, by the way.
Dmytrie: Dmytrie.
Andy: Okay. (Pause, awkward silence) So. (Pause. More awkward silence) Shlumpy.
Dmytrie: Right.
And then he silently glided away. And as I stood there, I realized that he was merely trying to relate to me and I pushed him away. Like I push everyone away. And maybe that’s what I’ve done my entire life. And as I looked around, I realized that I was in a strange house, in a strange city, and for the moment, I was, myself, completely alone.
Because Twiggy McGoo had accidentally lost another pound and become too thin to actually have ever existed.
Seriously, folks, I’d love to feel bad or have learned something by all of this, but – some dude wanted to speak his mind about tailoring – and I rightly made fun of him for it and he didn’t notice because he was the tiniest bit self-involved. And then he said something actually funny and thought I was making fun of him for laughing at it. Sometimes nature provides you with social misunderstandings to get you right the hell away from the overly vapid. I accept that, especially since I could have gotten stuck talking to Dmytrie until I died if things had gone down differently.
In the end, I spent most of the evening sitting on a couch with Jackie and George, staring out over the city and feeling good about things in general. And I learned what the yolk on my shirt was. And I did get those beers after all.
So, I’d love for all of this to serve some purpose – a warning about them phonies out there in ole’ lala land! They talk but nothin’ ‘cept clothing alterations! Heed mine words! Or maybe I could make this mean something about how the people I met out in LA turned out to be those old college friends of mine (with whom I got reacquainted and discovered that they’re all still really awesome). Or how sometimes even in situations where you don’t get to know the person you’re talking to (then I stare off into space for a second, smile faintly, then resume writing)… sometimes you do get to know… yourself (then fade to black, and the credits role on another delightful episode of Doogie Hauser).
But mostly this is just that funny thing that happened one time. And I’m glad I met someone kooky, and got to hang out, and have a story about an S&M House and the lights and goodness and people and meeting and yes. Maybe it doesn’t need to mean all that much after all.
But I will say this about the whole ordeal (and maybe about life, in general): Sometimes, folks, on clear nights, I still take a moment to look to the west. I scan the sky and study the stars, looking in the moonlight in case I maybe – just maybe – catch a glimpse of the idea of Skeletor McSunkencheeks, drifting by wearing an ethereal glow and also some clothes from Gap Kids.
Wherever you are, S McSC, I remember you.
I remember you.
“This… up here… this is called a yolk.”
- Dmytrie
Saturday Night
S&M House Party
Hollywood Hills
Los Angeles, California
Time: 11:00pm
Cost: Price of a ticket out to LA. Perhaps... your very soul. Free.
Cost: Price of a ticket out to LA. Perhaps... your very soul. Free.
I’m going to level with you right away, dear readers, I’m full of shit on this one.
Was it a house part in the Hollywood Hills? You bet it was.
Is that in Los Angeles and, henceforthwith, in California? If memory serves, yes.
Did the concept of sadomasochism have something to do with this party? So I was told.
Was it an S&M house party in the Hollywood Hills, which we’ve more than established is in Los Angeles in some state? No. But there was always a looming potential for naughty action to break out.
Was there, in any way, a looming potential for naughty action to break out? No.
This house is high above the city, at someone who knows someone’s someone else’s party. I went there with my dear friend Jackie, who is putting me up in LA for a week and helping me to explore the area. With us is her friend George (part of the someone else’s someone-knowing equation), an actor who is performing in the local production of Point Break: Live (where they stage the movie and cast an unprepared audience member as Keanu Reeves’ Johnny Utah character). George’s stage manager knows the house owner and (if I remember correctly) the house owner had something to do with S&M in some way. There, now you know the truth about that thing I made up earlier. I hope you’re happy.
I’d just gotten done having sushi and overly large Japanese beers with my friend Arik (who was shooting a pilot for his awesomely hilarious show) before riding into the Hollywood Hills. Jackie, George and I spend a good fifteen minutes twisting around the narrow streets at 45 degree angles and every now and then we can catch a gorgeous view of city shining below. And then we’re there, and this house (rightly so) has an entire glass while devoted to that gorgeous view. From this height, at night, it’s truly one of the most amazing things that I’ve ever seen. I regretted not bringing a camera, but it wouldn’t have done it all that much justice anyway. Seeing a picture might be impressive with the multitude of lights fading back forever into a blur, but being there – being present and looking at it, you can feel the life there and the enormity of it all. It’s profoundly overwhelming. I’m sure that the people who live there get used to seeing this view, I just can’t imagine how that happens.
If there was a chance of recognizing someone I knew (which there isn’t), I’d have to have gotten right in their face to do so, or find them in one of the sparse pools of light. The place is dark – awkwardly so. After taking in the house (to which we’re given free reign) Jackie, George and I eventually settle in on one of the couches by the window and chat. Then I offer to get us some drinks and walk to the kitchen nook area thing where there’s a bucket of beers. Waiting in the short line for access to said beers, I find myself standing next to a man so very thin, he could sleep in a book.
To my mind, there aren’t enough derogatory sayings for the very, very thin people of this world, so (as someone who has struggled with weight since forever) I’m going to do a couple more of those:
I find myself standing next to a man so very thin, he’s 80 pounds soaking wet, but then, when dried off, he returns to a pile of dust.
I find myself standing next to a man so very thin, David Bowie was all like “here’s a cheeseburger, bitch.”
I find myself standing next to a man so very thin, he played a spooky xylophone tune on his ribs.
Like me, Skinny Pete (I never learned his name, so I’ll just continue to make up his name throughout) happened to be wearing a flannel shirt. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Dmytrie (I assume that this is how he chose to spell his name, which was probably actually Dave or something) loudly points out that Gaunty McGee and I are both wearing flannel shirts. And so it begins.
The following is the actual conversation that I had with this actual person while actually pretty drunk. I can’t vouche for how accurate this is, and, in places, I’ve certainly filled in the blanks with something wittier than the thing I probably actually said. Without further delay, let’s listen in by reading these words that are probably mostly accurate, but mostly not:
Dmytrie: Look at you two, you’re both wearing flannel. Everyone is wearing flannel, aren’t they?
Andy: Yes they are.
Dmytrie: It just goes to show that you shouldn’t ever throw away clothes because you never, ever know when something is going to come back into fashion. Everything always comes back into fashion so you’re actually saving money by keeping everything.
Andy: Keeping everything? Sure. Within reason, though. You don’t want to start, you know, hording things. I think that’s what they call it. They have this show about people who hoard things.
Dmytrie: Really?
Andy: Yeah, on Discovery, I think. I think I heard that Lindsay Lohan is a horder.
Dmytrie: Well, see there? It’s the thing to do.
Andy: Oh.
Dmytrie: I have this Lord & Taylor suit that I’ve had in the closet for forever and the other day I took it out the other day and I was all like, this totally works now! I’m so glad I held on to it. And it makes me wish that I’d kept some other things, you know?
Andy: I don’t –
Dmytrie: Really? I have these t-shirts that I’ve had –
(Note: This is where it becomes clear to me that this conversation is not going to work, and the fact that I can’t recall all the thrilling information about Dmytrie’s shirts is due to me realizing the shit of this fact. And Skin and Bones Malone ain’t talking (probably because he worries that the air he expels will propel his tiny frame backwards ad infinitum). Dmytrie is talking to me because I’m there, but mostly because he wants to talk. So, I figure the best that I can do is try to enjoy myself.)
Dmytrie: And that’s my story about some t-shirts or whatever.
Andy: So is this, what you’re wearing, is this really old?
Dmytrie: It looks like it doesn’t it?
Andy: 100%.
Dmytrie: No, I’ve only had this for a little while, but it’s a retro style like I like. I should’ve worn my Lord & Taylor suit.
Andy: You should’ve. That’d have been great.
Dmytrie: I know. I need to get that tailored, though – I do not look like I did 15 years ago. (Laughter)
Andy: Me neither. I likes my cheesecakes too, too much, you know?
Dmytrie: Yeah. I mean, I get all of my stuff tailored anyway, but this is going to need some real work.
Andy: You get all of your clothes tailored?
Dmytrie: Oh, yeah. You pretty much have to if you want it to fit right. (He touches my shirt in an inappropriate way) Did you get this tailored?
(Note: Bought it from Sears.)
Andy: Yes. I have to. I mean, I have a pretty unusual frame and all… and I’m very hip-y, you know? I have that pear-type shape, except I’m tall. Tall pear.
Dmytrie: Yeah. I have to get my things taken in at the waist usually. But sometimes it’s too broad in the shoulders and it looks poofy –
Andy: Sure.
Dmytrie: So I have to get it fixed there, like on your shirt (He touches my shirt in an inappropriate way) it would be this. This… up here… this is the yolk.
(Note: Really it goes on like this, and he tells me that he has a tuxedo that was made in 1927. That’s pretty cool, I guess, but mostly he goes on about how much he likes tailoring and how important tailoring is and I keep making witty comments and he keeps being oblivious until this:)
Dmytrie: The way I figure it, if you don’t take the time and money and energy to get your clothes to a tailor to have them tailored, then you’re just going to walk around looking all schlumpy.
(Note: Yes, he actually said all of this. And this is where it gets downright, nearly tragic. Schlumpy is a funny word. Your mother might say that you look schlumpy and tell you to tuck in your shirt, already. But when word comes out of Dmytrie’s mouth, I can’t help but laugh right in his face. Honest laughter mind you. Not at him, but because of him.)
Andy: (Laugh in face)
Dmytrie: Oh.
Andy: Schlumpy, that’s a great word.
Dmytrie: Yeah, okay.
Andy: Schlumpy. Ha! Great. What were you saying about, you know, tailoring?
Dmytrie: That was it.
Andy: Oh. (Pause) Did I offend you?
Dmytrie: No, it’s fine. I need to go.
Andy: Really? Well, okay.
Dmytrie: Okay.
Andy: My name is Andy, by the way.
Dmytrie: Dmytrie.
Andy: Okay. (Pause, awkward silence) So. (Pause. More awkward silence) Shlumpy.
Dmytrie: Right.
And then he silently glided away. And as I stood there, I realized that he was merely trying to relate to me and I pushed him away. Like I push everyone away. And maybe that’s what I’ve done my entire life. And as I looked around, I realized that I was in a strange house, in a strange city, and for the moment, I was, myself, completely alone.
Because Twiggy McGoo had accidentally lost another pound and become too thin to actually have ever existed.
Seriously, folks, I’d love to feel bad or have learned something by all of this, but – some dude wanted to speak his mind about tailoring – and I rightly made fun of him for it and he didn’t notice because he was the tiniest bit self-involved. And then he said something actually funny and thought I was making fun of him for laughing at it. Sometimes nature provides you with social misunderstandings to get you right the hell away from the overly vapid. I accept that, especially since I could have gotten stuck talking to Dmytrie until I died if things had gone down differently.
In the end, I spent most of the evening sitting on a couch with Jackie and George, staring out over the city and feeling good about things in general. And I learned what the yolk on my shirt was. And I did get those beers after all.
So, I’d love for all of this to serve some purpose – a warning about them phonies out there in ole’ lala land! They talk but nothin’ ‘cept clothing alterations! Heed mine words! Or maybe I could make this mean something about how the people I met out in LA turned out to be those old college friends of mine (with whom I got reacquainted and discovered that they’re all still really awesome). Or how sometimes even in situations where you don’t get to know the person you’re talking to (then I stare off into space for a second, smile faintly, then resume writing)… sometimes you do get to know… yourself (then fade to black, and the credits role on another delightful episode of Doogie Hauser).
But mostly this is just that funny thing that happened one time. And I’m glad I met someone kooky, and got to hang out, and have a story about an S&M House and the lights and goodness and people and meeting and yes. Maybe it doesn’t need to mean all that much after all.
But I will say this about the whole ordeal (and maybe about life, in general): Sometimes, folks, on clear nights, I still take a moment to look to the west. I scan the sky and study the stars, looking in the moonlight in case I maybe – just maybe – catch a glimpse of the idea of Skeletor McSunkencheeks, drifting by wearing an ethereal glow and also some clothes from Gap Kids.
Wherever you are, S McSC, I remember you.
I remember you.
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