So last night I'm at the Karaoke Bar (there's a sentence that will shave off a few readers) at the table with the books and the sign-up slips. This woman with an impossible figure and a cute knit-wool cap walks up, takes the pen out of my hand and starts writing on her own slip. "Hope you don't mind," she says. I joke, "It's okay, I'm a survivor. I like your hat." She ignores me, fills out her slip and hands it in, and we don't speak to each other for the rest of the evening.
For half the night, I'm thinking, what weird behavior! If she had been flirting she would have responded somehow to the hat remark. If she wasn't flirting, why not take one of the other 20 pens from that cup o' pens? I puzzled over that between my renditions of Fly Me To The Moon and Baby, It's Cold Outside.
Gradually, from glancing over at her and her friends at the table, I surmised that she and her friends were in the porn industry. I don't recognize individuals in the business, but as a tribe they all sport a certain look.... like rockstars as drawn by comic-book artists. Shoulda realized it immediately. I live in the West San Fernando Valley, near the epicenter of porn, Reseda. These people are as common as barristas in my neck of the woods.
They were pretty good singers too.
It's strange but this chance encounter and the realization that such larger-than-life types are always within reach finally gave me the Christmas Spirit that I've found so elusive this year. It's just heartwarming to be around people who can make a living out of entertainment, even in these recessionary times. It may not be entertainment that I endorse, but I put them higher than reality show producers.
When Christmas Day comes, I'll be in Las Vegas, probably talking to hookers about the economics of their business. In Las Vegas, there is almost no Christmas. It's like it doesn't exist there. So this little epiphany I had last night is almost certainly as close as I'll get to that Xmas Feeling. I suppose I'll start calling it NC-17mas.