It was good. Really good.
There was more meat to come--at a reading for the launch of Issue 2 for The Rattling Wall held at the trés chic Hollywood Standard. Lots of opportunity for people watching as we waited for the show to begin. And support for C's theory that the hipness of a hotel bar is inversely proportionate to the light in the bathroom. All those pretty people are so dang fine that they don't need to check their eyeliner or their lipstick, I guess.
There was interesting signage--which made us wonder if pictograms ought to employ
punctuation.
There was a sort of real-life pictogram, too. Behind the check-in desk in the lobby, there was a large glass case with a gorgeous woman lying on a bed. As if to say, "Hey! This is a hotel! And we have beds! And maybe you could have a someone as attractive as this in your bed if you hang out in this neighborhood long enough!" It seemed too awkward to photograph her, so I didn't. You'll have to take my word for it that a hotel on the Sunset Strip would display a woman on a bed in a glass case.
But the real substance of this Hollywood night (held poolside with a view of The City of Angels spread out before us, of course!) was the reading. I was fascinated by the way the featured writers presented their work--prefacing it or not. Interjecting comments or barreling straight through their material in full-out performance mode. Reading from the magazine or choosing something else entirely.
This morning the man who loves me and I were still talking about Jon Sands's poems, how there really are those moments in life that change everything, how an artist's commitment to his material can be so profoundly moving.
