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Published: November 6th 2008
Thursday 23rd October to Thursday 30th October, 2008 “When In Rome Do as The Romans Do”. That’s what the saying says and who were Phil and I to argue when the website set up in aid of the 11th annual Monster Massive Halloween Dance Festival not only encouraged but almost insisted attendee’s don their costumes in a bid to make it the biggest fancy dress ball ever. The event, which much like my trip to Noctorum a couple of months earlier was featuring some of the world’s top exponents of electronic music including Brits’ Judge Jules and Pete Tong was being held at The LA Sports Arena, Southern California’s largest indoor venue located in the shadows of the now decrepid Olympic Colessium and an anticipated forty thousand punters were expected to attend. This was going to be big.
Halloween Stateside is one of the biggest social events of the year and second only to July the 4th in the celebration stakes. Homes have been adorned in a spectacular range of ghouls, witches, skulls and cobwebs since as early as mid-September in much the same way that houses are dressed at Christmas time back home and I'd been told it’s
apparently an evening where every man and his dog dresses up in costume. Monster Massive was being held a week prior to Halloween itself but our reckoning was that there is no harm whatsoever with a dress rehearsal.
On Thursday evening we’d made a reccy to the costume store on 2nd Street but due to a combined lack of motivation, ideas and selection had left empty handed and by 3pm on Friday when I left work for the weekend we were still effectively costumeless and getting desperate. I figured, as was the case with every other past fancy dress party that I'd been to with Mr Kirby that the inspiration and the graft was going to be down to me and that if things were left to him we could be in for a bit of a disaster. My early dart from work had persuaded to me to take a leisurely drive home along the coast through the wealthy seaside settlements of Manhattan, Hermosa and Redondo Beaches instead of facing the terrors of the 405 and I’d just entered Hermosa when I noticed a sign at the side of the road advertising costumes and so more in desperation than
anything else I pulled over and entered.
The store was much bigger than the one on Second Street, spread over two floors and crammed full of every fancy dress outfit imaginable as well as quite a few that weren’t. What was particularily noticeable as had been with the store the previous evening was that every single female costume hanging on display featured little more than a themed frock that would barely cover the buttocks. Nurses, nuns, policewomen, Alice in Wonderland, you name it their outfits were designed as though there was a worldwide shortage of dress making material telling me that this Halloween was going to be interesting if nothing else and fifteen minutes later I emerged to resume my journey overloaded with a bag full of garments harbouring a slight concern that Phil, based purely on his comments to his daughter the previous evening in response to a suggestion she'd made of "I'm not going anywhere dressed as a freaking' Scotsman" would refuse to wear them.
After a Saturday which saw me remove my hoover from it's packaging for the first time since my arrival and do my first thorough cleaning of the flat (disgraceful I know)
we rendezvoued around seven for make up and and refreshments and half an hour later emerged from the apartment stairwell headed for the Acopulco Inn on Second Street. Dana, our neighbour was in the street outside her front door and so overjoyed with the outfits that she rushed in to get her camera but the bar, occupied with a smattering of early evening drinkers wasn't quite as impressed. We strutted in, steel drawn ready for action and crashed our swords onto the bar. It was as though crazed sword wielding warrior savages wearing skirts were in and out amongst them all day and night long. A couple of drinkers looked up from their beers, eyed us up and down from head to toe and then returned to their contemplations and so ever so slightly crestfallen we quietly ordered a beer and had a game of pool.
The gig itself was altogether different. By the time we arrived at the venue Downtown LA had been enveloped by a damp late Autumn mist that suited the Halloween theme of the occasion perfectly and the area around the venue was packed with thousands upon thousands of excited fancy dressed revellers. Like the
Bravehearts & Hot Dogs
Phil, Spaceman & Robin.gig at San Bernadino I'd invested in VIP tickets which for an extra forty bucks allowed a queue hopping entry to the venue, access to four or five VIP exclusive areas and, of course, a complimentary bar and we spent the night walking between the areas enjoying the eye opening sights and sounds of the occasion.
We rolled into our pits as the sun came up we were up and about five hours later and headed for The Home Depot Center to witness LA Galaxies final game of a wholly unsuccessful season. Headlines of Golden Balls' impending trip to train/play for AC Milan had me suspicious, despite his insistence to the contrary that this could be the last time we would ever get to see him so having been provided free tickets by my man Chad we collected Lisa and the girls and headed there.
The game, a two two draw with Dallas and nothing more important than an end of season kick around given LA's failure a couple of weeks earlier to qualify for the play off's was surprisingly competitive and entertaining and Beckham in particular seemed particularily fired up, even finding his way into the referee's
notebook for contesting a decision. With fifteen minutes remaining Chad came scuttling down the row of seats to where I sat.
"Here Matt, here's five tickets for the underground" he said pointing to the far corner of the ground "Go over there and take the elevator down to the ground floor"
Huh !! Underground ? Elevator ? What the hell was he on about ? Unlike a lot of the cleverer cities LA doesn't have an underground railway and we sure as hell weren't looking to take a train anywhere. Totally unaware what he was on about I asked him for clarification and was told that the Underground is an area adjacent to the players tunnel in the bowels of the main stand with a bar serving complimentary food and drinks. "You can get really close to the players down there" he enthused before turning and rushing off on his errands. And he was right. As the final whistle blew we were stood literally a few yards from where one of the world's most recognisable faces was shortly going to pass.
The players tunnel was split down the middle by a low steel railing and the opposite
Bravehearts & Hot Dogs
Swordwoman. A delightful VIP barmaid. side to where we stood, as is often the American way, was occupied by numerous full of their own importance club officials desperately attempting to find a justification for their presence and existence. Half way up our side was a puzzling false wall with an open door in the centre, puzzling as it appeared to serve no purpose whatsoever and as the final whistle approached one of the goons started moving up from pitchside ushering the twenty or so people stood around us up the tunnel to the door.
"Move back people, you all gotta get behind the door".
Assessing the situation I decided there was absolutely no logic, purpose or common sense in what he was saying.
"I'll just stay here for a bit if you don't mind and get a couple of piccies of Becks" I said "I'm not doing any harm here am I ?"
I could tell he wasn't entirely convinced but after repeating his initial statement a couple of times whilst staring at the wall behind me thus avoiding any possibility of eye contact he realised he was having no luck, turned and slowly sloped off back towards pitchside leaving me
stood all alone. I could see Beckham out on the field, still shaking hands and returning the applause of the crowd as he slowly but surely made his way towards us when suddenly a guy at the front of the tunnel area who was wearing a flourescent waist coat, a beard and his long wirey hair in a pony tail with a face that stated his job was a matter of world security noticed his dejected colleague sloping towards him and started to move towards me. He looked like a Hells Angel prospecting for a place in his local chapter as he approached and waving his arms in a helicopter like motion he spoke "Move back sir, you can't stand here. Move back behind the door"
Whether it was my lack of sleep that made me object to his manner I don't know but my answer left him completely flummoxed. "Why?"
A look of confusion not to mention stress and puzzlement immediately etched across his face.
"Because you cannot sir. Now move behind the door please"
The door was ten yards away and open and behind it was the twenty or so strong crowd, a possible
safety issue, including Phil and family who moments earlier had been stood alongside me all waiting for a close up glimpse of bona fide mega star. I certainly wasn't causing a danger and all day long the PA announcer had been boasting "welcome to Supporters Day" so I stood my ground. There was no logical reason for requiring me to move, especially if security and public safety was this man's one and only concern.
By now Beckham's arrival was imminent so I stalled "Yeah but why ? What's the difference between me standing here and standing there ? There isn't any difference other than that door which is causing a crush of those people"
His next answer was typical of the US protocol to which I've unfortunately become accustomed over the last few months and made me more determined to stretch it out.
"Because"
"Because what ?"
"Because it's the rules"
"What do you mean 'it's the rules' ? Well who makes the rules ?"
"The LA Galaxy make the rules, now get behind the door"
I could have gone on and was convinced there wasn't any such 'rule' at all but
realising I had probably pushed him to the limit of his patience simply by questioning his apparent authority slowly moved back and stood with my feet dead in line with the door jamb making sure my neck exaggeratedly stretched forward thus ensuring my head was poking through. Just seconds later as he swaggered away with his chest jutting out as though he'd justified his existence by preventing a major security risk to LA's number one club came the prodigal Beckham, taller and leaner than expected and close enough to pick out the whiskers on his chin. A middle aged man was walking alongside him with his arm around his shoulder whispering sweet nothings into his ear. I waited until he was just feet away in my viewfinder and then pressed the trigger and watched aghast as at the second of exposure a hangar on stepped right into the line of fire completely obliterating any recognisable sign that this was DB and by the time the camera was ready to go again he was just seven blue letters on the back of a shirt.
We were driving through Belmont Shore on the way home when we came across a large
crowd of people at a crossroads. The occupants of a couple of the area's ubiquitous police cars were attempting to control traffic and return some order to the proceedings but they obviously weren't having much luck and it immediately became apparent that we'd stumbled across the Annual Belmont Shore Dog Parade. I'd read about it earlier in the week and thought of it as another 'only in America' occasion and just had to witness it so asked Phil to drop me so I could walk back. Belmont Shore is renowned as an area of dog lovers and this bizarre event, obviously devised by some crazed dog owner feeling it was wrong for the adults to have all the fun was effectively a Fancy Dress Party for pooches and their owners. Hundreds and hundreds of canine's and their rather eccentric masters come dressed up to strut up and down Second Street before parading past the judges who were sat in deck chairs on the front lawn of one of the houses. Crufts for wierdos. It was very warm, we'd just been through a brief Indian summer where temperatures had touched the nineties and these peoples ideas of expressing their love for
their pets was to risk their demise by dressing them in an array of coats, hats and costumes. I found it all a bit sad and returned home via Second Street where I got into a long and frank conversation with a strangely eccentric woman parading with a placard stating 'Say No to Prop 8', California's religious bigots attempts to overturn the recent law change which made same sex marriage legal.
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Aussie or Scouser
Not sure if William Wallace would sound better with an Aussie or Scouse accent??? Calm down, calm down.............. freedom!!!