Between SXSW and St. Patrick’s Day, last week was full of drunkenness- not for me, as I wasn’t fortunate enough to go to Austin or be born Irish, but that didn’t stop me from attempting to celebrate all things shamrock-y on Saturday. I was under the impression that the obvious choice for sending drunken, leprechaun-related tweets was Dillon’s but apparently I was wrong. I mistakenly let one of my friends convince me to go to a place called The Scene ( know, I know) in North Hollywood. On Saticoy. In a strip mall.
You might be reading this thinking that I deserve whatever I got for engaging in this type of low-budget tomfoolery, and well, I’m inclined to agree with you. Despite the fact that this fine establishment sent up a red flag with its’ “please patronize me” name, and despite the fact that it’s in a part of Noho that’s almost Van Nuys, I agreed to break my own rule: “Friends don’t let friends party in the Valley.”
My bourgeois Hollywood spider senses started tingling almost immediately upon arriving when I realized that there was no valet parking. That was strike one. Strike two was not the fact that there was no cover at the door, but that NO ONE WAS EVEN CHECKING IDs! After living here for a while I’ve grown to look forward to the “will I or won’t I get in” gamble that is Hollywood nightlife, and if I can get into a venue without a challenge it immediately loses all allure.
Never have I been in an establishment where I was more afraid to drink the alcohol than I was that night. I guess I’ll have to wait until next year to taste green beer. Luckily for me, one of the folksy (you can still find folksy people in the Valley) bartenders sprayed beer into the crowd at some point during the night so I’ve caught a glimpse of what I have to look forward to. And about that crowd… I felt like I was watching a non-airing episode of MTV’s True Life, like True Life: I live in Arkansas or Some Other Place with Functional Silos. I mean I’m pretty sure I saw someone wearing Uggs! I will never understand why being on opposite ends of Highland means the difference between men who liberally use hair products with pride, and girls who aren’t aware that Uggs shouldn’t be worn after dark to places with a liquor license.
In any event, after 45 minutes of being bumped, slurred at by wasted revelers and watching my friends gamely perform karaoke to Limp Bizkit songs, I was itching to leave. I thought of about ten million less productive things I could be doing that would be infinitely better than being at The Scene for one more second, like plotting ways to seduce the Michael Fassbender-y guy in my acting class, or cutting my wrist so I’ll have a dramatic background story for the day I break down and audition for The Real World. Thankfully my friend suggested we leave before I could, so I was able to avoid angsty, teenage self mutilation. So I guess there are two lessons to be learned from my night of Noho shenanigans :
1)Really, do not attempt to go out in the Valley. Seriously, don’t.
2)I’m not Irish, so I guess don’t kiss me?
Venue: 0 (I’ve seen Gray Hound busses with better décor.)
Alcohol Situation: N/A (I declined to drink as I’ve seen higher quality booze at college parties.)
Actual Beneficial Networking Achieved: 0
Personal Victory/Dignity Retained: 2 (I got sprayed with green beer so what do you think?)