Art of the Odd

Drove down toward LAX to pick up a rental car, took my father down to a conference in Anaheim (where we had lunch with a recently-discovered, several-times-removed cousin descended (as are we) from Frisian pirates), drove to Riverside for Alli and Astro’s wedding, drove back to Venice, decided I was so enjoying the rented Malibu that I couldn’t be finished driving it yet, and drove to Santa Monica to have a drink at Finn McCool’s (where we’ve often had a drink with dinner, but never before had a drink on its own; sadly, the musicians quit just as we walked in), then walked down the beach in the fog.

I love the fog.

I love the Chevy Malibu.

I love my father.

I love my friends.

And I love NovySan.

It’s been a great day.

Sometimes I think I should just give Duran Duran their own header.

I danced to “Rio” tonight, in honor of the 80s Night theme at the UkuLady‘s Pony Show. (Every Wednesday night, at the Elephant Asylum in Hollywood. It’s not 80s Night every Wednesday, though. Next week, it’s Pioneers and Cowboys. I don’t think there will be any Duran Duran, but I am wondering if I can find an Arabic cover of “Rawhide.”)

Last week, I had an unusually vivid dream about a Duran Duran concert. (I mean that the dream was unusually vivid — not that it was unusually vivid as dreams about Duran Duran concerts go. In fact, I think it’s the first dream I’ve ever had about a Duran Duran concert…) Anyway, as a child of the ’80s, who watched Sing Blue Silver again and again (and liked to replay the bit where John Taylor sticks his tousled head out of his hotel room door at 9 AM and says “No, go way. Too early. Go away,” because he was just too damned cute in his pineapple PJs), I’ve wanted to go to a Duran Duran concert since I was 14. Okay, 12. And I never got to. Then, of course, they broke up and I thought I’d never get a chance, and then they got back together but I’d just started a new job and had no money when they came to LA. But the dream (in which Nick Rhodes made eye contact with me, John Taylor sang to me and Simon Le Bon tried to seduce me) moved me to visit their website. And, where should they be playing next but in New Orleans, at the Voodoo Music Experience? With the Red Hot Chili Peppers, no less? And the Flaming Lips?

I spent two weeks in New Orleans in the early ’90s, and I’ve wanted to go back ever since. After Katrina, it became even more important to me. And to see Duran Duran (and several other favorite bands) in this, one of my favorite cities? “Damn,” I thought. “I wish I could go.”

And then I thought, “Well, why can’t I?”

“NovySan,” I asked. “Would you like to go to New Orleans the weekend before Halloween?”

“Yes!” he said.

I bought the festival tickets the next day. I’ll book the flight and hotel just as soon as we know how long we’re staying.

So, John — from an awkward teenager who may once have sent you a gold chain she’d worn every day for months (I honestly can’t remember if I ever put that chain into an envelope or not) — thanks for the push I needed to get me back to New Orleans. And Simon — you’re still not getting any.