June 16, 2006

TOKENS ARE FOR THE BUS

My story about the Latino punk fest is in this week's Chicago "funpaper" Reader.

I am in NYC, where things are total yet casual, the air is hot as breath and the women are well accessorized. Last night's night out was epic and plump with the sort of experiences that are particular to New York visits; it only exists here. A string of bars and people I forgot I knew, towed by Jane's friends who I should have known, these kids that used to be in hardcore bands b.i.t.d. who ditched the scene in a scheme to party in Beirut and wound up doing clandestine humanitarian work in the deep third world and had just returned from Pakistan and Liberia where they were "chillin'"--funded by a book deal about such. They took us places "so awful you will love it." Wrong on the first two stops, though right about the the third: a Playboy party south of greased-tit gemorrah with bottle service, a T.I. afterworld of grind and half celebrity. I saw John Legend get a lapdance from a beautiful model while another beautiful model lit the joint in the dancing girls mouth while her ass orbited his torso. It is the world I fantasimagine exists when I watch hotel cable, believing it only exists in the TV. Chris Gotti sat next to us and we discussed the diamondy von shiny mammoth diamond blindingness of his watch. "Mmm, Very shiny" I said. "It's real" he said, laughing. "Whatchoo know about that?!" yelled the entire dancefloor.

Posted by Jessica at June 16, 2006 05:10 PM | TrackBack