I should not be writing about the LA music scene. Honestly, anything outside of 80’s pop and rock really should be completely off limits on this blog…period. But in the spirit of keeping everyone entertained, I’m going to give it my best shot. You see, Katie and I are now headed to a label launch party at the invitation of her friend Nick, a local deejay here in LA. Nick and Katie often performed as the musical duo Kama Sutra (google at your own risk) back in their USC days, hosting events at local downtown venues such as the Icon Ultra Lounge and Sharkeez in Manhattan Beach. Katie still dabbles with the occasional spin, but Nick is fully committed to his craft. He’s DJ Mahalo, and he’s playing the second featured set of the evening.
The club we’re heading to is just off Wilshire Blvd near Santa Monica. According to Angelenos, the clubs here in LA are just…well…better than those located elsewhere. I’m going to be the judge of that tonight, but just remember that the last club I set foot in played Bee Gee’s music and had a disco ball. Coincidentally, Katie tells me I’m dressed like I stepped out of an 80’s time warp–kind of like a poor man’s Don Johnson in Miami Vice.
As we enter around 10:30, the place is already hopping. The guy at the front door actually checks my ID and gives me the obligatory hand stamp. Inside, the music is loud but it’s so dark I can barely see. From what I can make out though, not a whole lot has changed about the club scene in the past 30 years. Other than no longer being allowed to smoke, the majority of people are still just standing around with drinks in hand, awkwardly trying not to look awkward. They’re attempting to sway subtly with the music, some more successfully than others, while checking out their competition and simultaneously eyeing their unsuspecting prey. A group of girls up front are letting it all hang loose on the dance floor, a drunken menagerie of beauties and beasts. A party of Persian couples gyrate on the back half of the dance floor as if suddenly liberated from the ominous oppression of the Ayatollah. I’m sure I’m the oldest guy in the room, but my ponytail and the dark lighting give me needed solace.
Katie still isn’t quite sure this a good idea showing up here with her dad. After all, even our adult children harbor some vestiges of fear of being thoroughly embarrassed by their parents. In this particular case, she has good reason to be worried. I’ve been known to break out a few moves on the dance floor, especially when I’m in a strange town where nobody knows me. As Nick ramps up his musical set, I ramp up my game by busting out my best 3 decade old dance moves. I’m not exactly Tony Manero in Saturday Night Fever but I’m a close second. I’m also a huge hit with the Persians as I groove in step with their collective gyrations. Their minds can’t reconcile how a smooth operator like myself could actually be KATIE’S DAD. As they say on the basketball court, I was in the zone, feeling the music, a legend in my own mind–like “UK dancing guy” before he took the big fall down the rails of Rupp Arena.
Mercifully for everyone else, after 90 minutes and 500 additional calories burned, my reign of terror as the king of the dance floor ends. Nick has been the real hit of this party and I give him a congratulatory hug before slipping out, sweaty but satiated. Within a few hours, Bingo and I will be headed for the airport to catch our early morning flight back to reality. It’s hard to believe that tomorrow we’ll be in suburbia again, mowing the lawn, cooking meals, and going for long walks–just like we always did. But when you really think about it, that’s not so bad after all. Being back with friends and family who care enough about you to read your blog. LA was fun while it lasted and Bingo and I certainly treasured our time with Katie, but there’s simply no place like home. Thanks for coming along and letting us share our adventures with you. We sincerely hope you enjoyed it as much as we did.