The tower of power used to be one of my favorite sammy’s over at Fred 62. The infamous “moontower” is one of my favorite iconic moments in cult cinema. And towers of empty cans are pretty schnazzy as well. So, I decided that I was finally putting together the official “Party at the Moontower” which kicked off this past weekend. I wasn’t really sure what to expect other than a lot of rock jams and a lot of keg fouls and face planting in the field. All my expectations came true and more. Not only did I faceplant a few times what with all those sticks and twigs, tall grass and rocks along with the tumble from the top of my mini Colt 45 tower, but about a dozen other people wiped out for sure. The keg stands were free. The Colt 45s were free. The rock jams were endless and the party was just over 12 hours long. Moontower is now a monthly blasting off again in July. But for now, you can see photos of the ’76 party special and pay attention to this instead:
What the hell is with the city of Los Angeles and their dogs? All weekend long I was inundated by people and their cuter than hell pets that had a bit more class, and in some cases sass, than I do. Just this morning I was walking to get a tea and this prouder than mary cockerspaniel poodle thing jaunts past me. He’s got the hair cut of a lion and polished toenails. I look like a wild animal who was roping through the jungle all night. And my converse are dirty as balls. And no kidding, Poodle Spaniel raises his nose as he walks by and gives me the eye. What a turd. I actually stopped and turned around to watch him walk away. His saunter was even rectified better than my own, I’m sure.
Regardless, some of these LA pooch got some serious snoot. I’ll continue to maintain my wayward swagger.