Dangerous Bird

I ran into Nick Simmons, the son of Kiss bassist Gene, at Comic-Con. I told him I caught the episode of his reality show on which he sang. I told him he had a good voice, and he thanked me and invited me to a surprise gig a couple of days later at the Hard Rock Hotel downtown.

The night of the party (for Radical Comics), I walked up and heard a guy trying to get in. He mentioned a company name “plus four guests.” The security guy said, “We don’t have company names on here, just the names of people admitted.” The guy trying to get in was mad. The doorman finally looked at me and asked for my name. My guest and I had no problem getting in.

The place was packed, and there were lots of free drinks and appetizers. I grabbed a piece of pizza that had some funky toppings, and we looked around. Lots of gorgeous women with boob jobs and none of the nerdy folks I had seen earlier in the day at the Con. The place was so crowded, we left after 20 minutes, which was a mistake: I found out the next day that Kiss singer Paul Stanley and Gene got onstage and performed.

At least I had gone to a great party earlier that afternoon. And the breasts there were real. The party in Encinitas was called a “BBQ for Boobies.”

Nadia told me I could bring my little dog. I pulled up as the party was starting, and there wasn’t much of a crowd. I decided to walk the dog around.

After about 15 minutes walking down the 101, I ran into a woman named Mary. She had a dog that looked like mine, and she owned a dog-grooming place called Grateful Dog. I decided I’d take my dog there to get washed and groomed while I was partying.

As we walked back to her shop, she told me about how she got her pooch.

“In December, someone saw this little dog being thrown out the window of a car on the 78 [freeway]. They brought him in to be groomed, right when I was about to close. The next day, there was a benefit for the Humane Society. My parents in Chicago were going to adopt him, but the dog got really sick. I took him to the emergency room.... I was going to keep him until he got well. He was only six pounds. Then I decided to keep him. He plays so well with my other dog.”

The party crowd was bigger when I got back.

I talked briefly with Nadia. She has a degree in journalism and writes concert and CD reviews. She’s drifted a bit more into marketing because it pays the bills.

We started talking about our favorite bands. Someone playing a horseshoes type of game overheard us and said, “Bright Eyes — they have the best songs ever.”

A few other people brought up the band the Expendables, saying that a friend plays bass for them. Then, everyone was chiming in with their favorite bands. One guy said, “I love Brandi Carlile. And Feist. It seems all the music I’m listening to these days [is performed by] females.”

Then a few people talked about how local singer-songwriter Tristan Prettyman lived nearby, and they wanted to find her and invite her. I went over to grab a brownie.

They had a jar at the party and were asking for ten-dollar donations. I put a ten in there and wondered if they would’ve had a bigger party if they weren’t asking for donations.

A few surfers walked by and asked if they could crash the party. They were told they needed to donate. One put his hands into his board shorts and said he didn’t have any money. They talked briefly with someone over the fence before moving on.

Just then, a woman pulled up who had heard about the party. She just wanted to drop money off, and as she was putting it in the jar, someone talked her into staying. She grabbed a beer and seemed to enjoy herself.

As more people showed up, the games became popular. A few people were getting ready to play Twister and beer pong was going, but one guy was getting frustrated explaining the rules to his teammate.

One guy was frying a turkey. I asked him how dangerous it was.

“Well…if you go on YouTube, you’ll see some crazy disasters from people doing this, and each Thanksgiving you hear a horror story. But I’ve been doing this for a long time. It tastes so much better, keeping all the juices in. You just have to know what you’re doing. Also, the thing isn’t cooking all day.”

They had some great music at the party. I heard Wolfmother, M.I.A., the Stones, 311, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs during one 30-minute stretch.

I heard that someone had shown up with a boob cake. I glanced over to see someone using a dolly. I said, “Wow…they must be Dolly Parton–sized.” Someone corrected me with “Oh, no…that’s the second keg they’re going to bring in. The cake is smaller.”

There was a cute three-year-old named Sage walking around. I thought she had a balloon in her hand. When she tossed it to someone, I saw it was an inflatable boob.

I went back over to the turkey. I heard the cook say, “You fry it three and a half minutes per pound.”

A few people were talking about Michael Jackson’s death. One of them said, “Halloran, on 94/9, did the coolest thing. He said that he immediately called Rick Rubin to ask if he could play the Beastie Boys song ‘I’m Down,’ since Jackson had the rights to the Beatles’ song sampled in it. The song had been banned. Rubin told him to go for it, and so he played it.”

One guy said, “That makes me gain so much more respect for Halloran.” Another responded with “It sounds to me like he just wanted to name-drop.”

I was confused, since I have heard that song on the radio before but never read about it being banned.

As I was leaving, the turkey guy started yelling, “The bird is done! You’re not gonna leave here without trying any.”

I told him I hate eating fried foods because I’m watching my weight. And fried turkey sounded gross. He kept insisting. At so many parties, people want me to try a drink they mixed or a weird food they cooked. At least this wasn’t a cow eye or chocolate-covered hissing cockroach. I tried a piece of turkey and thought it was okay. But it needed mashed potatoes and gravy.