standards
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| Let's all go to the lobby! Let's all check our eeeeemail! |
The reading was in the groovy Cactus Lounge at the
Standard Hotel in West Hollywood. When my dad arrived—and god bless my dad for
unblinkingly attending readings where it’s not uncommon for someone to start
his (really great) poem with the word “Semen”—we had this conversation:
Me: Did you have any trouble finding the place?
Dad: No, no. It’s kind of run-down, though. At first I
thought it was abandoned.
Me: This is a really nice hotel. I could never afford to
stay here. I mean, I don’t know if it’s at the top of the trendy hotel list anymore, but—
Dad: The lobby is dimly lit. That might be on purpose.
But usually hotels want a well-lit lobby, to look welcoming.
Me: That’s on purpose.
Dad: And the sign outside is upside down, but I’m assuming
that’s on purpose too.
Me: That’s on purpose.
Dad: It could really use a coat of paint.
Me: That’s a good point. Maybe it’s not in its heyday.
A few feet from us, in the hotel’s hair salon, a man with
pink hair and spiked, clear plastic platform shoes shampooed a customer. In the
giant human fish tank behind the reception desk, a model in pajamas checked her
email. The last time I was at the Standard, a good ten years ago, they were
still filling the tank with scantily clad models posing like statues. I decided
I liked the new down-and-out vibe.
*It’s saved in my computer under “Adoption Scam Project.”
Every time I see it there, I want to add some kind of note to the FBI (which is
naturally keeping tabs on me because I’m very important) that says “This is a
fictional story about someone involved in an adoption scam, NOT notes on a scam
I am actually running.” I’m paranoid these days.
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