Productination

When I heard that Jonathan Coulton was performing tonight at The Echoplex, I didn’t think much of it. Jonathan Coulton is the Ben Folds of geek rock. It is my opinion that he tries a little too hard to be clever. Certainly, I am in the minority of my friends when I voice this opinion.

When I realized Wil Wheaton would be in the audience, my interest in the event suddenly skyrocketed. Apparently, this was a combination JoCo concert and John Hodgeman book tour type hybrid event?

After much internal debate, I fell back on my guiding principle of living a storyworthy life. If nothing else, I’d get a blog post out of this.

Plus, you know, nerd chicks.

Upon my arrival, I noticed that there was no one sitting at the ticket desk to take my money. I pushed open the door and just walked in. Amazing! I immediately took the $15 I would have spent on my ticket and bought $18 worth of beer.

Dang beer, why you gotta be so expensive in venue?

The first time I was at the Echoplex, an experimental “noise rock” band was playing, and everyone was numbly lumbering around the dance floor. The sight of everyone seated, while a chubby man in a suit and an unusually sharply dressed JoCo bantered on stage, was quite a strange scene to behold.

Beers in hand, I settled by a spot near stage left. I was feeling pretty good, and found myself actually enjoying both Coulton and Hodgeman. It was when Wil Wheaton took the mic that I lost it, though. Of course, he was just another audience member, asking Hodgeman a question during the Q&A, but even so, I got giddy knowing he was sitting a few, scant feet in front of me.

Being an alcoholic lightweight, I was afraid that I’d say something really stupid to him. Perhaps against better judgment, I wrote him a fan letter on a page from my moleskine. In it, I gushed, fanboy like, but I also wrote sincerely about how he played a big part in my desire to pursue a writing career, and how I really appreciated his positive outlook on life.

“We are all the products of our choices,” and “Don’t be afraid to suck,” are two gems that, while I’ve heard them elsewhere, stuck with me when Wil uttered them because of their simple elegance.

After singing along with “Re: Your Brains,” I caught Wil checking his Blackberry. Already, another fan had lined up next to me. I gently put my hand on Wil’s shoulder. Completely solid in himself, he would not be interrupted (presumably tweeting), and he turned around when he was good and ready.

Slightly tipsy, I said, “Wil, I’m a huge fan.” “Thank you!” he said. “I wrote this for you,” I said, handing him the letter and running away.

“Ok? Thanks!” he said, slightly surprised and laughing.

I was so happy and nervous I completely forgot about the nerd chicks.

“Dude, this is awesome, I just got kicked out of the venue,” I wrote to my friend.

“What? LOL, what happened?” he wrote back.

“iono man, some dude just punched me in the face for NO FUCKING REASON! It’s like, damn, can’t I make out with someone without her bf throwing a hissy fit?!” I wrote back.

The truth, unfortunately, was much less exciting.

The evening started when my mom called me to ask if I had seen McCain’s secession speech.

She found it very moving.

For me, the election was all but wrapped up two weeks prior; the only thing tonight added was the official stamp. At 8:00 PM PST, it was starting to look conclusive, so I felt like some sort of celebration was in order.

Kids, I would recommend you celebrate such an occasion with wholesome milk. Me, I celebrated with liquor, which is like milk, except that it issues forth from the devil’s cold teat. In honor of my blue states, I decided to drink the bluest of drinks.

My roommate had invited me to hang out with her and her friends at The Echoplex, where one of my favorite DJs was spinning. We picked them up, pounded a beer on the walk over, and then another one inside. I was just about at my limit when I decided I should have one more blue drink.

“AMF please,” I ordered.

The AMF, short for “Adios, Mother Fucker,” consists of: vodka, rum, gin, whiskey, blue curacao, sweet and sour, and 7-up. It has the magical properties of getting you super drunk while also tasting really sweet.

I didn’t finish it.

“Excuse me sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the bouncer said. He treated me politely and professionally.

I had fallen asleep on one of their soft leather couches.

“Keep Thursday clear, M is going to Washington DC, and we’re sending her off in style!” the message from S said.

But after last week’s disappointments, I was hesitant. I already had plans to hang out with my other friend J that night, and I desperately wanted to catch up. After a moment’s thought, I decided to play it cool and reschedule with J.

Girls love it when you play hard to get. Right?

“Sorry babe, ’something’ ‘came up’, and I can’t make Thursday, we’ll have to catch up next week ;),” I wrote.

“Aww, I’ll try not to kill myself :(“ she replied.

J, such a sweetheart.

When today rolled around and I had no details of the evening’s festivities, I started to get antsy. S, told me she was flaking, but the group would be going dancing. She didn’t know where they were meeting. Awesome.

My other closest friends from that group weren’t returning my calls. After much nail biting on my end, they replied that they too weren’t going. Excellent.

Finally, I found two who confirmed that they’d be in attendance. Even then, no one seemed to know, or was willing to tell me, where or when we’d be meeting. Incredible!

I was running out of entries in my phone book, when finally, at 8:30, I reached someone who had a semblance of a plan, allowing my paranoia to shift focus from not knowing where we’d be meeting, to worrying that they’d leave without me.

Yeah, I’m a little crazy.

“Dude, what’s with all these reunions you keep not inviting me to?” I wrote on my friend S’s wall.

“OMG, we thought you left LA! It was a miscommunication! :( We’re hanging out tonight.” she replied.

Uh-huh. A likely story.

My Hawai’i friends were, unbeknownst to me, having clandestine rendezvou…zes? Clearly, this was part of some global conspiracy to steal my Lucky Charms. But hey, I hadn’t drank with them since we left the island, and my liver was starting to feel lonely.

Moments before she extended this invite, I had received a missive from my man K.

“Hey man, put on yo dancin shoes, we’re at Element tonight, free before 10:30. BE THERE,” read the text.

Being faced with two awesome options is a good problem to have.

I called S around 7:30, she told me they had just finished dinner and were hanging out at D’s house until they hit the bars. She called me at 9:30 and said they were heading out in 20 minutes. But, to get to Hollywood by 10:30, I’d have to leave right away. Crap.

“Hey babe, sorry to say, but I think you guys missed your chance. I’m already on my way to Hollywood. :(” I wrote.

“Heartbreaker status,” she replied.

The line at the cloughb was…pretendous. As usual, groups containing only hot girls were getting waved in. There was no way we would enter by 10:30.

At least popcorn shrimp and books are reliable.

I noticed her sitting a few rows behind me. She was a cute, petite, half Asian girl, with excellent fashion sense. In fact, I’d venture to say she was the best dressed girl in the venue.

Of course, the venue was a rec center, and the show was a dodgeball championship.

I wondered if she was interesting.

I moved up to her row and sat a few feet away. I was exhausted from work and had not yet fully regained my usual, lively demeanor. A bunch of my friends entered, and I greeted them warmly. Chatting with them quickly restored my talkative mood.

She conversed with some dude. I listened and took advantage of a natural break to insert myself. Our conversation was fun, but it was challenging to maintain, what with all the balls flying around. In the end, I didn’t feel like we had connected enough to warrant hanging out again.

I swore loudly in the parking lot, thinking I had once again cockblocked myself. Dejected, I went home to prep for the after party. I was still determined to have an awesome time tonight.

And so, Newcastle in hand, flip-cup position secured, I was feeling great when she walked in.

“OMG, S! It’s been so long!” I said, putting my arm around her.

“It’s been like, ten minutes,” she replied.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” I asked, smirking.

And I was totally back in.

HAY GUISE. Thanks for checking out my newest and greatest blog. It’s going to be awesome.

I spent a lot of time thinking about what my first post is going to be about. I was attached to the idea that it had to be epic/legendary.

In the end, I decided that I was overthinking it and thus, just started writing.

You are reading the results.

It’s been a while since last I kept a blog, and I’m about ready to kick this bitch back in. And so, without further ado, I give you:
K Deezy Is All Up Ins (part I)