Palaver and Prattle: Saturday Night at Akbar

Saturday night, in lieu of Halloween parties, my friends and I (featured in the next two pictures), decided to go to barhopping in Sunset Junction, stopping off finally at Akbar, a gay hipster hangout.

I'm in the bottom photo dressed as P.T. Barnum. I was fooling all of the people all the time. Under the big top. Where there's a sucker born every day (and for that matter, quite a bit of sucking going on in the men's room that night...disgusting when you consider that the Akbar's bathroom is a tiny urine-spattered room with a perennial line in front of it).
Halloween is probably my favorite time of year. Part of this has to do with the fact that everyone is encouraged to dress up. Something about a costume always immediately conjures a new persona. Especially props. Something to hold. They sort of take over you. I remember this experience in theatre. Dress rehearsal was always my favorite time.
New personas are always welcome, of course. I become more sociable as a result. Anytime, really when I don’t have to be me is good. Like when I’m teaching. I’m never really myself, but feel more like a secondary version of myself and “I’m” doing all the talking while I sit back and watch this person basking in the limelight and enjoying all the attention.
The same can said for my experience writing... or anything vaguely artistic, for that matter. I become a veritable extrovert in my writing. You'd never know me.
Of course, when I have to be myself again, it’s always a bit tricky. Small talk, I’ve found, is impossible. Once, for example, I was riding along with a Rotarian. I was a candidate for a grant that would fund my education in some other part of the world. We were traveling back from the meeting, and he was telling me who everyone was. One guy owned a block of shops, another owned the parking garages located near the LAX airport. I’ve no interest in business, really, and moreover, neither of these businesses were very sexy industries, to say the least. I mean what are you supposed to say when someone tells you he owns a parking lot? “Oh, really? Do you find that those guys waving red flags in front of the parking lots attract more drivers? Don’t you think someone might mistake them for communist instigators or something?”
Anyway, we were running out of things to talk about. He had already finished talking about how much he enjoyed spoiling his grandkid, which was fairly apparent because of the giant television console in the middle of the car, and the fact that the sole reason he drove a minivan was for the kid. I had remembered the fact that he mentioned he had cancer, and at the time I didn’t know what to say. “Oh, that must be pretty scary,” I think I said. So, with nothing else left to talk about, I brought it up again, figuring that he was probably hoping I’d discuss it. Why else do you tell someone you’ve got cancer?
It was quickly apparent that this was the wrong thing to do. His gregariousness quickly vanished, and a fatalistic pallor hung over us. But with little else to discuss, I kept asking him questions.
“Do you think it’ll stay in remission?”
“What kind of cancer did you say it was again?”
"I've heard a lot of talk about chemotherapy. Do you think it actually works?"
“How long have you known about it?”
“The doctors probably don’t know what they’re talking about anyway when they say six months left to live, right?”
So, after some reflection, I decided that it’s generally best to remain silent than trying to pass the time with discussions of weather and fatal diseases.
But, anyway, this hasn’t anything to do with Halloween, except to say I love the holiday because I love to perform. I can talk to people if I’m in a performing mindset, and I’ve sometimes shocked myself when I realized I could schmooze or talk shop, but again, this is because schmoozing and shoptalk isn’t real conversation.
Anyway, here are the pictures. I was amazed with how receptive people were when I asked to take their photos.

Here's Amadeus (I've always wanted to dress like him):

A Barbary Coast Pirate. How awesome is that?

Here's Bob's Big Boy. There's something sad about his eyes, like he's lost the last friend he had. Then again, there was always something sad about the Bob's Big Boy statue. At first, when I was a kid, I didn't think that. I was terrified of him because he had an enormous hamburger in his hand that looked like it was big enough to have been made from ground children. But, later on, thinking about him, I came to the conclusion that he was very sad indeed. It's as though he's saying to you, "Go ahead. Take my burger. I know that's why you've really come. It's never about me, though, is it? That's ok. I'm used to it."

Here's an alt-punk/Britpop type, for whom I always go for against my better judgment, because in the end I'm rarely compatible with them.

That Fantastic 4 guy (What's-his-name Man)

Some footballers going for a tackle.

These guys didn't come in a costume, but wanted their picture taken anyway (one of the guys said he used to write for a fag mag and must have thought I did, too). Still, the "half-naked clubber" is always a great costume by default.

Here's a ninja bee, I guess...

Here's Robin, lurking in the shadows... like The Shadow.

Rosie the Riveter was awesome.

Ahh... Where's Waldo. When we're through finding you, I know of some other games we can play.

Here's an odd couple. They came up to talk to us, saying we were the friendliest group they had met all night. But then the big guy kept talking to us and wouldn't leave us alone, and it became apparent why everyone was rude to them. The tall guy claimed to be a Venetian reveler. I'm not sure what his partner was. Probably the guy who gets shot out of cannons or something.