Posts tagged nightlife

what a difference a day makes…

🙂 And having a local to guide me through the maze of Barcelona nightlife…

Baxi and I went out Saturday night, first he took me to this great English pub to watch the Barca match in English, which was very thoughtful of him, as he doesn’t speak English and is a huge football fan. So now I know where to go to watch the UNC vs Duke games! Then we wandered around, had dessert at this fancy Mexican restaurant and then eventually it was (barely) late enough to go clubbing. We got to Porto Olympico at around midnight and strangely enough, it was already hoppin’. Britt and I had been searching for hip hop, and people always said "just go to Porto Olympico" but we didn’t because she had heard it was too touristy and I was usually too tired by the time it came to switch clubs. I loved it! Not only was there plenty of hip hop, the layout was perfect. It’s a string of tiny clubs lined up in storefront-style along the harbor, with plate glass windows so you can see if the crowd is one you care to join, and music pouring out onto the promenade so you know if they’re playing your song.

More than one club was playing great music, so it was hard to pick. I made Baxi take me the whole length of the harbor before settling on a club we liked. We danced for hours and then stopped and rested on the sofa outside another club that was playing even better music. I actually got to hear Dr. Dre’s "California Love" without having to request it. The DJ also played a mashup and when I told him how happy I was that he played mashups, he had no idea what I was talking about. Interesting. Anyway, I’m so glad I finally found a fun place to dance early and with an interesting mix of people from all walks of life. Plus the clubs were light enough to actually see people!

Thursday night was bike night at Paddock Motard Bar, so Britt and I went to check it out. It was pretty quiet, as bike nights usually are in January, but we met some cool people, and saw the coolest tap ever. It’s a Yamaha R6 motor, and the bartender said you can sometimes taste the gasoline in the beer. How cool is that?

different cities

I’ve lived in San Francisco, Los Angeles, New York, London, Paris, Chapel Hill, and now Barcelona. Plus I’ve visited a few other countries and cities. So my experience is fairly significant. Part of why I chose Barcelona for my exchange was to give it a second chance. I visited in October 2004, and didn’t really like Barcelona or the Catalans whose hometown it is. Yet so many people love this city, I thought for sure I had missed something. So here I am, in the middle of winter, and well, Barcelona is not a happy place.

People in the street are generally very serious and somewhat conservative. I think back to other major cities I’ve lived in and I know it was similar, but I’ve heard so much about Barcelona as a party town, I expect to see a smile now and then. A splash of color. Anything… Yet it seems Barcelona is in hibernation. Sure, the partying goes on 7 nights a week, and by night, I mean all night for those with the fortitude, but word on the street is that the city will re-awaken as Spring returns and be completely alive come Summer. By which time I hope to be settling into my fabulous new job somewhere I have yet to find. So I might never know the Barcelona most visitors have known. Which doesn’t bother me much, as I’m not really much of a party animal anyway. I would just like to see if people tend to look happier here during the summer. I asked a local about it and he said sure, there’s more tourists, so you’ll see more happy people. But not more happy Catalans?

In any case, it’s an interesting comparison with Chapel Hill. My friend Jamie lives at one of those planned communities, Southern Village, and calls it “The Happiest Place on Earth” because it’s so nice and perfect, just like Disneyland. They did such a good job, I even enjoy going there, and I hate all the other planned communities. When I moved to Chapel Hill, I recall being somewhat disturbed by the proliferation of a brand called “Life is Good.” These stickers and t-shirts were everywhere. Being a New Yorker in spirit, I found this rather disturbing. Yes, life is indeed good in Chapel Hill, it’s easy, people are nice, the weather is awesome, etc. But it just seemed so Pollyanna. I got nostalgic for New York, where everyone has something to gripe about.

After this club (see photo), I hate Barcelona. Particularly because I don’t understand how a city known for its fantastic nightlife can have such painfully bad clubs. I hate Latin music. I hate pop. Now I know exactly how much I hate Latin Pop. I left this club almost in tears because I tried so hard to enjoy it and simply could not. One song had the one Latin beat I like, but not even for the whole song. And of course not being able to understand the words (except the refrain of one song- something about a black shirt) makes it worse. I need to relate to the lyrics to get into a song. I discovered this when I accompanied my friend Erin to a house club in NYC. I just couldn’t cut loose because there was no story to dance to. Being a teetotaler makes it even harder to tolerate a club that doesn’t do it for me. The place we went to last Friday was so much better. Small, great music, interesting crowd and it was actually light enough to be able to see them.

New Years Eve…

Feeling like Peggy Lee again, and sick as a dog, I went ahead with it. But only because I had bought the tickets in advance, and well, anything’s better than being a 30-something loser at home with one’s parents on NYE. Sick or not, I had to do my part as a single woman and go out on NYE. Even though I have long since abandoned any sense of hope or expectation, I still go out. Mainly because it’s an excuse to dress up. The party was “Sea of Dreams” and the invitation instructed us to dress as our dream. So I wore a dress 2 sizes too small. Not that I dream of losing weight, but I did for many years, and it’s a popular dream. But the real reason it was too small is here: Anyway, I managed not to rip it, and could even sit down. but I couldn’t dance very well, so that was a bummer. Pix forthcoming.

Survived the whole midnight thing, which I always hate because I never have anyone I want to kiss and fer crissakes, it’s just another moment in time. I don’t place that much importance on measures of time, because each moment runs into the next. And maybe time isn’t even linear, anyway. HeatherVescent introduced me to that idea, and at first I was all “no way!” but after reading “A Briefer History of Time,” and becoming a Dr. Who FREAK, I get it. But it makes things like NYE kinda pointless. Although, this year I actually have a resolution. After having spent all day yesterday in bed recuperating, as I finally succumbed to the flu, and crippled from my 100 mile Sunday ride, I have resolved to start exercising regularly. I have to. It’s ridiculous that my quads are so weak they can’t handle a little spirited jaunt through Malibu.

and one I really need to remember, when those Peggy Lee moments hit:

Atlanta, in the springtime…

I really should have more to say these days. Been busy livin’ it. I’ve been in NYC for a few days, and in ATL since Thursday AM. Met a family of 3 kids whose father unequivocally convinced me to get permanent birth control, even if I never have sex again. Saw what JFK might look like if all of NYC suddenly decided to leave at once. Both were excellent reasons to never fly Delta again.

But before all that, I had some fun in NYC, spent a lot of time with the elusive Eunice, and got to visit with some other friends I don’t get enough of, which was awesome. Met the spawn of Jennifer & Peter, who is the cutest 6-month old boy I’ve ever met. I think it’s cuz he gets to hang out with dad all day. Not that mom is bad company, just that I think he digs doing guy things with dad, and being one of the guys, you know. It’s so cool. Met Allyn and Matt’s spawn, who’s only 2 months old, so I tried to keep my distance.

You see, I have this nasty sinus infection I got psychosomatically from listening to Erin tell me about the one that almost rendered her brain dead, and necessitated some Matrix-esque device to scoop out the nastiness, followed by having her deviated septum repaired, then a week spent with maxi tampons up her nose. I have been avoiding this fabulous experience for years now. After all, I have a perfectly good mouth I can breathe through. She said the infection was exascerbated by the deviation. Whatever. But if anyone knows a DAMN GOOD Otolaryngologist in LA, lemme know. I should have Blue Cross pay for it before I move out of state, since they denied me coverage due to this “deviated septum” pre-existing condition. So I continued their coverage via Cal-COBRA, instead of switching to individual. Fuckers.

OK, so ATL is gorgeous as always. I love it here. I seem to usually come in springtime, and even though the pollen count is something like 5,000, I don’t care. It’s gorgeous and I’m only allergic to golf, I mean grass, anyway. Someone on Metroblogging here pointed out that “It’s so gross. It’s like the trees are basically having sex all over us.” But I don’t think it’s gross, I think it’s awesome. More love from the trees, please. And if they’re trying to dump enough pollen-bombs to overpower all that we’ve done to overpower them, I say more power to them! But then, I don’t have vehicles parked outside.

Went to Martin Luther King center, which was difficult because I get all choked up at the slightest reminder of what he and so few other brave souls went through to secure civil rights. It was beautiful though. We went across the street and toured the original Ebenezer Baptist Church he used to preach at, and if I can get up early enough after a Saturday night in ATL with lots of fresh young college basketball players running amok, I’ll join my parents at the 11:AM service tomorrow.

Tonight was a big party for Colleen’s parents’ 50th wedding Anniversary. 50 years. They first met when she was 13, he was 15. Fell in love, got married, living happily ever after. Amazing. My parent’s 50th is next year. They’ll be 74. 50 years from now, I’ll be 87. That’s almost 90. Perhaps gene therapy will enable me to still chase after (and catch) basketball players… Or perhaps I’ll actually do that whole falling in love and living happily ever after thing. People don’t understand me when I say that. They think I mean life will be a bed of roses. I know it won’t, no matter what, life does have its bad times. But the couples I refer to as “living happily ever after” (and I know a few of them) are able to meet these challenges together, and wouldn’t dream of abandoning their partner, nor would they fool around on them. It’s really beautiful to see.

Oh what a night…or two

Knowing that my freaky LA lifestyle is going to be the one thing I’ll miss the most when I’m living in a small, bucolic southern town, I have been livin’ it up. It’s “Fashion Week” here in LA, which means that all the local designers who can’t afford to show in NYC are holding fashion shows here. Even though their Fall ’07 collections have already been in NYC showrooms for the past month, as that’s the place to be if you actually want to sell on a global scale. So it’s hard for me to take LA fashion week seriously, but the parties sure are fun. An acquaintance of mine decided to produce a bunch of shows with parties as well, and it was amazing how well he and his crew pulled it off. You’d never have guessed it was their first time, except for the nonsense of having everyone wait in line out front. Sure, we did that for Galliano, in Paris, but that’s Galliano. Jared Gold was exceptional, though. A beautiful collection which could easily have held its own in NYC, and maybe even Paris. The setup was cool, they held the shows in the basement of the Los Angeles Theater, which is gorgeous. Not a basement in the traditional sense, more like a below-ground ballroom. There was also an art gallery of BOX Eight (the organization producing the show) artists, which was cool.

The crowd was interesting, and I ran into some great friends. Annick and Susie forgot to eat before drinking, and it was my dinnertime, so after the shows we went out for chinese, where Susie and I reminisced about working in the back room at Rozae, and talked about her possibly buying my condo. Then we went to Annick’s place for the perpetual after-party. She lives in one of those slick converted loft buildings, a whopping 300 units taking up almost a whole city block. Each unit used to be someone’s office, with the original doors and frosted glass hall windows! On the roof, there’s a lovely courtyard, as the center building is shorter than the surrounding buildings of this behemoth. On this deck there’s a pool, jaccuzi packed with screeching drunk college girls, cabanas with fireplaces and even a dog run! The only thing missing is a proper delivery service. Were someone to open a 24 hour grocery/deli and deliver all night, they’d make a fortune. I scared some guy who was hitting on me when I walked over to the nearest chair, picked it up (it’s one of those giant mission-style rocking chairs, kinda heavy) and carried it over myself. He said “Whoa! I ain’t gonna mess with you!” and “I was going to offer to do that…” Jeesh, I will not miss these pathetically insecure LA men one bit. It’s a chair. I wanted to sit in it. If I spent my whole life waiting for some man to realize I needed something then offer it to me, I’d have died of starvation long ago.

Saturday night started with a trip to the roller rink with a bunch of friends, and I couldn’t resist channeling Xanadu. Photos forthcoming. I hadn’t skated on quads since 8th grade, so it was interesting. Too slippery, though, so I was pretty careful. Until a couple hours into it, when I somehow managed to body-slam myself to the ground right in front of the cute referee. He helped me up and I had him hold my hand and lead me to the exit. It only took one spill to dash my hopes of becoming a derby doll. That shit hurts! No way I could be as tough as those girls. I’ll stick to motorcycle racing, it’s much safer. The rink was lame, though. We all know that tube tops or short-shorts and rollerskating go together like air and sunshine, right? Well, not at this dive. Two very attractive young ladies were ejected for wearing tube tops! That’s just wrong. After the skating crash, I dropped Ulrich off and continued south to the Brewery for XTC’s going-away party. It was a lovely party, but I was beat from my crash and just lounged on the sofa reading an old Playboy. They had stacks of early 80’s Playboys, which were especially entertaining regarding technology. In 1983 there was some home computer system called “Adam” that had a whopping 80K memory which could hold a massive 250 pages (double spaced!) of text! And it could play video games. wow.

I love technology. Smalls and I had been arguing about it the night before at Annicks’. He’s got some crazy notion that technology is holding the entire human race from living up to its fullest potential. Some nonsense about we have 44 personality chromosomes (what the hell is a personality chromosome anyway)? and are supposed to have 46 (!there’s Rossi’s number again…always popping up, even the gate my plane landed in after my last trip..!) by now based on someone’s BS idea of where we should be and when. He said that by using technology to “think for us” we are holding ourselves back. So if that’s the case, then the 2/3rds of the world’s population who don’t even have flush toilets, much less computers, should be freakin’ avatars by now. But no, they’re too busy trying to figure out how to not starve to death, one day at a time. Jeesh. One thing I will say is that consumerism holds us back, and at one point it seemed Smalls was mixing this up with his argument. People who do not spend their lives in search of fulfillment, but rather recognize the joy and wholeness in their lives are the ones who have truly advanced.

OK, back to the parties. Even though I was dead-tired, I couldn’t resist another fashion party, especially as I was all dressed up. So I showed up and gave Peter the CD of pix I’d taken the night before, found Annick, met some of her friends, met some cool guys, drank some delicious mint water (Metro, as in metrosexual), watched a good band (Dangerous Muse), and talked to a fashion photog who has an MBA from Harvard! It was cool, because he said UNC was right up there with Harvard, and that B-school’s super easy after the first semester. We’ll see about that. It better not be too easy, I won’t have so many fun distractions, except perhaps the extremely young basketball players in the UNC stadium conveniently located right next door to the business school! ;-P

A moment of freedom

Beyond exhausted, after a long day of purging old junk, getting hundreds of magazines (I thought I’d never be able to live without) down from the attic into the vehicles of two very grateful recipients. I love that there’s someone who needs what I’m finally willing to let go of, when I’m ready to let it go. All this was preceded by a long night out on the town, and followed by a couple hours spent trying to fill the void left by abandoning 3 trash bags full of clothes at Goodwill (clothes I will never wear again, and which will make someone else very happy).

So retarded tired I drove a 5 mile loop around San Francisco before getting on the 280. I was conscious enough to know I couldn’t handle 101 traffic in my condition. Exited Black Mountain Road, as usual, and noticed stars out the corner of my eye. Yes! It’s dark enough here! I have been needing to see more stars lately. Decided to pull over just before the stop sign. Got out, turned all the car’s lights out and just stared up at that gorgeous sky. It wasn’t even 8:00 yet, but there were so many more stars than one ever sees in LA, even though there is enough light pollution nearby. I love staring out into the night sky, wondering what the hell everyone else is up to. I sense a universe teeming with life, activity, excitement. It’s like staring at city lights from a distant suburban place, knowing something incredibly cool is going on there, if only I could get there and participate. The frogs croaking nearby were upstaged by the rythmic, guttural growl of a Ducati approaching from 280. As the rider approached I smiled, feeling a sense of cameraderie with this stranger also enjoying my favorite road, in my favorite manner. Meanwhile I’m sure he felt nothing of the sort, at the sight of a disheveled woman standing by a Prius with “Sober Mom” plates. Probably figured I was taking a breather from the kids. Hardly. Had to recharge before heading out to shake my bootie at (finally!) BootieSF!

Why I love living in a big city…

Yesterday I got an e-mail from Nathaniel, rounding up some troops for a Mutaytor show. I’ve been curious about this group, as they seem to have a cult following. So I called Heather, and she didn’t want to deal with parking yet again. So I scooped her up on my urban assault vehicle with magic parking status and express lane privileges all over town. I was shocked to discover Heather even still owns a helmet. Amazing. Maybe one day she will own a bike again. So off we went to the Knitting Factory, where we saw Nathaniel careening in reverse down Sycamore to put his cage into a spot that had just opened up. Why he was looking in the rear-view mirror for parking I do not know.

Mutaytor….wow. holy f-in shit. Normally, I hate live music, it bores me to tears. All that standing around, staring at a bunch of poseurs. Boring. But this was no ordinary band. This was DANCE music. I can’t even describe it, really. Kind of Jamiroquai but more tribal and jazzy and definitely with that Playa flava. But they were so tight I could totally picture them rocking some big stage in Vegas with real fireworks and costumes. Here’s a nice video I shot…

As if that wasn’t enough, we got a call earlier from George, informing us of the new 1098 launch party. That’s right kids, just in time for tax season, there’s a new 1098 and the IRS threw a party for it at one of the most hoity-toity clubs in Hollywood. We showed up and had JJ, the local 1098 dealer, tell the doorman to let us in. We were escorted past the velvet ropes into that rarified world of the beautiful people. The new 1098:

remember, the sooner you file for your refund, the sooner you can march down to Ducati Beverly Hills and pick up yours. Unless you’re like me, and don’t loan money to people who abuse it. I can handle paying (as little as legally possible) taxes, but the idea of giving W an interest-free loan makes me naseous.

Anyway, the music at Mood was decent, and after such an awesome time at Mutaytor, we were already very warmed up. It was a wonderful evening all around, a great end to a fabulous mental health day. Which was just what I needed to survive another day at the job I can no longer do. I used to be one of the best patternmakers in the biz, and now that I am moving on to greater things and completely burnt out, I simply cannot do it anymore. I try my best, but no matter what, either I fuck up, or someone else does, and damn near everything I’ve done this season has been wrong. It’s been absolute hell. Thus, the mental health day. Seriously, I had to stay home to protect the world and myself from me. But I think it’s over. Tomorrow I go collect my money and do my math homework and look for something completely different to do in order to attract money.

Tonight was cool, because I finished work early and actually got up off my lazy ass and went to yoga!!!!! Big accomplishment for someone who exercises when the alternative is to go on a tri-state killing spree. I really must go more often. First time with this teacher and he complimented me on my style which of course makes me want to go back. Plus my favorite teacher is back at Still, so I may just have to get up early enough to catch her 9 am class next week…

Ducati always throws the best parties…

So Ducati North America had a fashion show at (far as I can tell) each Ducati dealership in the country on Saturday night. I went to the coolest one, owned by my friends Christine and JJ. They hired some swanky PR guy to bring it all together and it was faaaabulous. There were celebrities, there were pro racers, there were bikers, it was all good. One of the gogo dancers is actually the ex-GF of a famous MotoGP racer, John Hopkins, so that only added to the excitement. The fashion show was silly, but I liked when they artfully applied grease to the male models’ bare chests while the rest of their bodies were clad in race leathers. mmmm, dirty boyz… Met the producers of Superbikes and told them how much I love the show. For real people, I like that show. And I won’t apologize for it neither! I won’t tell you what the writer suggested all the haters do…

After George and I grabbed a quick bite at PF Changs, he went directly to the after party at Xenii, and I made a pit stop at my favorite monthly club, Bootie LA. There I caught one of the few live bands I’ve ever seen that actually impressed me. I hate watching bands, it’s so boring. But “Blasphemous Guitars” did an amazing mash-up called “Whole Lotta Lovecats” It took awhile to get going, but once it reached the crescendo it was awesome! I’d highly recommend checking them out. Did a little bootie-shakin’ then started getting curious about Xenii. This after-hours club (speakeasy, really) is membership-only and you can see how ridiculously expensive it is here: It’s a bargain for the practicing alcoholic who doesn’t like to drink alone, as that price includes all the booze you can drink for 5 hours each night. But for a teetotaler like me, it’s a waste.

It was fun going to such a chi-chi place and saying “I’m on the guest list” and actually being treated as such. The club was decorated with Ducatis, and all the projections were motorcycle related, so that was cool. They hosted a stunt show by Jason Britton and some of his crew, which was made all the more exciting by the thick layer of dust on the lot (making it more slippery) and the puddle right in the middle of the braking zone. I was glad to finally see the club, without having to pay for anything, so now I know I’m not missing much. Yeah, I met some tall guy who said he was a b-ball player, and Tyrese was there pimping his new album, but really I prefer clubs that get going earlier. Haven’t left a club at 4 am in a lonnnnnnng time! But it was neat (and kinda sad) seeing all the people outside clamoring to get in as I left. Amazing what a little hype can do for a place.

Later there may be some pix up here:

In other news, I just closed a credit card account!!! I had a hard time letting it go, the limit was so high it seemed like a fortune at my fingertips, but when I heard about how Bank of America treated one of their customers like a criminal for merely asking them to verify if the check he’d been given was fraudulent, I am glad to be rid of them. I still have one more, and I’m not ready to let it go. At least not until the interest rate goes above zero….

The things I do for attention…

So my friend Heathervescent had this great idea-to dress up like zombie cheerleaders and dance to Hollaback Thriller Girl at Bootie LA. It was sooooo fun!!! I can’t wait to do it again!

Laguna….Oh, where do I begin???

Well, it’s a long story, so I’ll start at the beginning. The ride up was hot and uneventful until George got bit by the schoolbus corner on 58. He wasn’t the first and surely won’t be the last to refuse to beleive that “15MPH” sign really means it… Luckily only his ego was bruised, but the new 999 didn’t fare as well. The pickup truck with an empty bike trailer that we had just passed was nice enough to pull over when we asked them to, and gave George a ride to the hotel. Good thing this happened on a weekend when thousands of other bikers and their support vehicles were making the same trip. The next day we suffered the injustice of having to ride to damn near san Jose and back to get into the track, someone’s cockamaney idea of “race traffic control”. More like “revenue control” considering the majority of the trip was through the deserted Army base where the speed limit is 30 MPH, and thoroughly patrolled. But just in case that wasn’t enough to keep your speed down, the occasional shuttle bus would come through in the oncoming “lane” at well over 30 mph. Yet another example of people being scared when I get mad…the ticket guy who got to hear my wrath invited me to stop and continue the discussion. I told him I was already late and didn’t want to waste any time talking to him. Later, George told me that he was scared the guy was gonna beat us up or not let us in or something. I ain’t skeered of no SCRAMP volunteer thug. Leaving that night, I saw every CHP officer in Monterey county lined up on Hwy. 1 handing out tickets like there was no tomorrow. I was glad I had taken the shortcut I’d seen on the map, so they didn’t catch me with their stealth overpass radar positioning. Ha!

Saturday, I rode alone to the track, and it was all good until about a mile before the entrance. Stop and go bike traffic made my bike heat up as much as 253 degrees, and stay over 240 (the absolute maximum, turn the engine off NOW! temperature) for a few minutes. It was either that or push it up a hill in 5″ heels and leather pants in 100 degree heat. God, I hate global warming. Luckily, the SCRAMP fools did one thing right. They positioned the ticket-checkers at the bottom of a ~1/4 mile hill. So the last bit I got to coast. But the bike was still very unhappy. The road toward the Paddock parking entrance was blocked, because of course these halfwits were too stupid to allow motorcycles with paddock parking to use the main gate that all the cars with paddock parking got to use. So I was directed down another road which is blocked, and then was supposed to turn around and go back the other way to the paddock. Because there were oncoming vehicles, I knew the road ahead went somewhere. So I took it. The last guy who tried to stop me may still be in that ditch, for all I know. Just kidding. These guys have nothing but their annoying voices, so are incapable of actually keeping anyone from getting by.

The road was EMPTY (because the fools have no way of communicating with each other, to re-direct traffic) so I made it to the paddock in easy time, and my poor, overheated baby was finally able to rest. I ran to the air-conditioned pit suite which would have paid for itself at twice the price this weekend and tore off the leather pants in exchange for short-shorts. Kept the heels on, of course. Not all the competition takes place on the track, you know. I knew I brought the right clothes when Ben Bostrom told me he liked my getup. He’s so gorgeous, but I never know quite what to do with him. Traditionally, women simply throw themselves at him, but I don’t really do that much, all I could do was tell him I’m glad he’s back racing in the USA. But when I saw him at the party on Sunday night, I had nothing left to say to him. I couldn’t remember his race result from the day before, and well, what am I gonna say? “Hey, Ben, you’re cute, wanna date?”

The party….OK, so I was bummed about not being a Red Bull vip this year, but not too much, since I did have a nice air-conditioned room and the company of two of my favorite people in the world (George and Greg) to make up for it. But on the way out of the track, I found a Red Bull pass on the trash can, and snatched it up, knowing it would be useful later that night. After heinously poor service at El Torito (never again!!!) and the extreme lack of taxis leading the fabulous parking attendant at the Monterey Plaza Hotel to give us a ride to our (nearby) hotel HIMSELF, I finally headed over to the Red Bull party. Different organizer, different venue. This year, instead of the glamour of an evening at the aquarium, it was the charm of an evening in a “barn” at the fairgrounds. Sawdust on the floor and everything! Here’s Melandri on his tippy-toes, I kid you not. the man grew a few inches the minute the camera came out!

This is where I met Melandri, came in with him and his people, as a matter of fact. The guy working the door heard him talking and said “Are you Italian or something?” I said “Of course he’s Italian, that’s Melandri, you fool!” They had just waved me in. I probably didn’t even need the pass after all, judging by the ratio of men to women. My kinda party. Met Fabio, which was kinda funny, since all these guys wanted pictures of him “for their moms” and I never even did the whole Harlequin thing. I went straight from Judy Blume to Jackie Collins. I just told him “I’ve heard you have a lot of bikes” Mini me was also there, and perhaps some other actors who are known by their own names and not the name of one character they played once. But you know, the freaky ones stand out. Someone said they saw Pam Anderson at the races on TV, and I don’t know about that. All I know is that I’m bummed that Adrien Brody didn’t make it this year. I saw Rossi’s manager and some other familiar faces, but my main man did not put in an appearance, even though I waited up waaaaay past my bedtime, knowing that he’s a real night owl. I guess that DNF really hit him hard. Man, if I had been Rossi, and my tires had f-ed up that badly, the tire technicians would be feeling about as damaged as the tires themselves. Grrrr. George had a close look at Colin’s tires when he came in and they looked like swiss cheese. Literally. Which means Rossi’s must’ve been even worse after all the work he’d done to get from 10th to 4th.