Riot

I got invited to a magazine launch last night. It was Tuesday night, but my god the term ‘school night’ means nothing in this city. Especially in the music/pop culture magazine industry. The club was rammed. It took 45 minutes just to get our first drink, by which time it was obvious that doubling up was required to avoid going through the ordeal again. We managed to get hold of four glasses of sparkling wine, a schooner of sparkling wine and one vodka cocktail, for two of us.

The magazine is called Riot. The theme was ‘circus’. There were rock bands, and again it occurred to me that rock gigs are remarkably lacking in vibe compared to dance parties. Hardly anyone dances. They just stare at the band members – in dance clubs these people would be called ‘chin-strokers’. Oh – and they all dressed the same. It’s that electrotrash look all the models sport. Everyone looked like they fully expected to have their photos taken for the social pages.

We managed to get reasonably drunk in a short time, but not as drunk as the hired midget wearing coat tails. He was the drunkest midget I’ve ever seen. One of my co-workers got into a fight with her boyfriend (event organisor) over the drunk midget. Their fight escalated when the party photographer was caught taking happy snaps of the midget lying on the floor throwing up. The photographer justified his actions by declaring that “He’s just a normal person! I’m just treating him like a normal person!”

I forgot to pick up a copy of the magazine, and as I left I tried to charge a Russian tourist $20 for one of the souvenir sweatbands the party was giving out. My co-worker awoke this morning to find a hungover midget asleep on her couch.

Tonight I’m off to see some black comedy theatre at a place called The Crypt. I dunno, I guess I do like my job after all. At least parts of it. At least enough to not quit. Not yet.