Everybody I Shot Is Dead: Ringing It In

I don't get out much. Dunno why. I just don't. Especially on New Year's Eve. Sadly, I really can't remember the last time I was outside of my house on the biggest party night of the year. I have a vague memory of some party hopping I did in the early nineties. One of the parties was at some condo on Doheny where Phyllis Diller was in attendance amongst other Hollywood luminaries. But since then it's been a night at home consuming a mouthful of black-eyed peas at the stroke of midnight.

Imagine my surprise when I got an invite to a NYE party at The Palace....hmmm...black-eyed peas at home alone or a swanky party at The Palace? Tough decision. Not. Those black-eyed haven't been doing what they're supposed to do for me anyway. Time to step out and see if I can function in a social petri dish where I maybe know 3 people.

First hurdle - What do I wear?

Maybe I should go for something elegant - it is The Palace after all. Scan the closet. I got nothing.

Second hurdle - How do I behave?

I'm a creative type. We're supposed to be esoteric, deep, mysterious and aloof. Let me work on that.

I take a shower - that's where I get my best ideas. The water falls on my head and within 30 seconds I'm creating a dialogue (writer-speak for conversation) with an imaginary cool person I'm positive I'm going to engage at the party. The shit is pouring out of me. My fellow writers would be green. Definitely esoteric, deep, mysterious and aloof. I'm soooo ready.

Back to the closet. Still nothing. Where's my fairy godmother when I need her? Fuck it. I'll go for comfort. Against the grain of the L.A. cool crowd. What do I care? I pull out jeans, a black shirt, black cowboy boots inlaid with snakeskin (which no one will know except me) and my old black leather motorcycle jacket.

Oh, and at the last minute, I decide to take my camera. It's big enough to hide behind. Just in case. And one more thing...my insurance policy...a very hot, very young guy:

So what if he's my spawn. And so what if he bailed on me an hour in. At least I didn't show up a-l-o-n-e. Time to hide behind the camera.

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Cucumber Rob and Counting Crows founder/bassist Matt Malley.

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Four Clarks and the guy on the end.

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Dancing Queen (and King).

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And again.

Then I met this freak...

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...and the banter began. The esoteric, deep, mysterious and aloof dialogue I had worked out in the shower was nowhere to be found. Instead it was an instant uncontrolled match of wits in order to take the piss out of each other. Yup. I digressed into my regular schtick. With a fellow-freak.

Then "the guy on the end" joined the freak fray. He accused me of stealing his camera. I apologized for taking over his job as 'official party photographer' and it went on and on from there. Cutting remarks. Fun, fun, fun. Until Matt (the freak above) let the Chesher Cat out of the bag and mentioned my book to "the guy on the end" and he suddenly flipped out. "You're THAT photographer?" I don't think he knew that I knew who he was but even better than that was the fact that I'd completely forgotten that the Clark's had me sign a book personalized to him which they gifted to him.

He gushed about the book (wow, you really like it?) and, much to the dismay of both of us (because we were really enjoying the pissing contest), our conversation turned semi-serious...you know, to the creative shit we both indulge in on a daily basis. Yup, we had a creative connection of mutual admiration. Even though he's WAY more accomplished than me. Thankfully, it wasn't the esoteric, deep, mysterious and aloof dialogue I had written in the shower. Thankfully.

At some point he picked up my camera insisted on taking my picture...

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No way I was going to give him a good picture. Take that Mr. Durst.

Of course, I then made it my mission to take a bunch of good pictures of him (yes, I'm that competitive)...

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Anybody got a light?

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Jonathan Clarke and "the way too accomplished guy."

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"No, don't do it, Fred! We'll have security remove the paparazzi stalker chick."

My thanks to the Clark's for the invite and for not confiscating my camera (although Daniel did make a play for my memory card at the end of the evening - I'm assuming he meant the one in my camera).

And thanks to evrybody else who played with me. It was a boatload of fun.

Here's the best of the rest (at least the ones that are suitable for posting)...

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