aren't you glad you joined us, ginny?

this is how seamus and i ended up singing abbey road at ten am sunday morning, heads cast out of julian's tenth floor loft window, out in that patently clear los angeles morning light:

on saturday evening our dear friends mila and suzy q celebrated their birthday at the redwood bar and grill downtown. three bands played: franklin ex, wake up incinerate, and go betty go. one deejay spun: dj chrimp. [or at least that is what i believe his name to be. all i remember is someone telling me his millieu was supposed to be a mixture of early punk, art rock, and funk. i can deal with that.] when we arrived with the dazzling leutholds - julian and allegra, near apollo and diana - the bar was crowded and loud. we grabbed drinks and made the rounds, finally settling upon the smoking patio to take our usual catalogue of flickr photos.

when the majority of the partygoers had migrated outside, we caravanned to julian's apartment at the old gas co. building.

wait, i got ahead of myself.

as we were walking to our cars, we passed a group of young bucks loitering in front of the typical "hollywood via regentrified downtown" bar nextdoor. one of them, demure in stature, said hello to julian as if he knew him. julian replied hello and continued to walk past.

then someone - shelley? - said: "do you realize that was david faustino?"

me: "what? bud bundy?"

all: "yes."

me: "david faustino is coming to the afterparty."

[note: dialogue not to scale]

yes, bud bundy did come to juilan's apartment. he brought his posse, too, including corin nemec or, parker lewis who seemingly can't lose. something happened to my childhood that night. it shifted. bud bundy was standing next to me, deep in my shadow, talking about sex and drugs. mr. nemec was flirting with rastafarianism and playing it cool.

they ended up leaving an hour into the party. we simply did not have the types of illicit commestibles for which they were honed. bud gave me a hug, handed out his business card, and walked out of our lives perhaps for ever?

with julian, ginny, and allegra falling asleep like dominoes, seamus and i escorted the night out.

and so, as the sun came up, after drinks were spilled and cigarettes tossed out the window, seamus and i ended up singing abbey road at ten am sunday morning, heads cast out of julian's tenth floor loft window, out in that patently clear los angeles morning light.