Another day gone

We spent last night in the Standard Hotel doing a photo shoot for Justin's friend and neighbor D.  The Standard, with its hipster-ish upside-down logo, actually reminds me a lot of the Drake Hotel in Toronto; both deliberately funky, both with different wacky rooms (although not as different and not as wacky as the Madonna Inn, which Justin and I stopped and peered in all the windows of on our way back to LA from Morro Bay, where the wedding was), free wireless, an skinny-pantsed bar denizens sipping fruity cocktails and painfully going on about David Sedaris.

The photo shoot was fun.  If it sounds like we're taking a lot of pictures, that's because Justin is a professional photographer and he actually enjoys his work; plus he's trying to fix some bad habits, so it's easier to do a whole photo shoot than have him lunge out of the bathroom shouting, "Can you turn your face over here, hold this pomegranate, look into the softbox, and tell me if I'm squinting my eye?"

The MC Chris show was phat.  I mean that in the Biblical sense.  The Hustler store, which was right across the street from the Roxy, was also...well, no.  Mostly it was tacky.  I filled out an employment application more for a lark than anything else, and the pushy brown-haired girl at the counter kept ducking her head to catch my gaze when I rolled my eyes to the side to think about an answer to the questions she asked me in my ersatz interview ("Why do you want to work in the Hustler store?"  Answer I thought: "I don't really, since you guys are kinda trashy; I'd much rather work in Good Vibes."  Answer I gave: "Because it's a sex-positive environment.").  Justin's friend Brea, whom he calls Lupe, and who once, during a game of Taboo, referred to the female genitalia as a "hamwallet," joined us and we spent a happy half an hour pressing on things to make them buzz.

Photoshoot, getting ready for upcoming performances (belly dancing sideshow barker, hells yeah), enjoying the sunshine...that's what you do in LA, neh?