Author's note: Originally posted on my MySpace blog dated Sept. 13, 2008. Moved the post to Facebook so a friend could read it. Then Cartouche came across it and "order[ed]" me to post it here. I am not so foolish as to ignore a mandate from this woman.
P.S. Drew: "Whip It" wasn't that great.
Current mood: hungover
Chalk it up to repressed memories of being the last (and shortest) kid to be picked in gym class dodge ball scrimmages, but I really, really hate being made to feel like a second class citizen. However, while we have-nots in American society are forced in a sense to accept a certain degree of plutocratic structure that is inevitable in capitalist America, I certainly do not expect to take it from a bouncer on Washington St. in the middle of downtown freaking Ypsi, let alone at the dive mecca that is the Elbow Room.
Last night some friends and I were in search of some good times and a little drinky drink, and on our way from our car made the careless and admittedly ill thought out decision to relieve our thirst at said Room. And isn't it just funny that the luscious starlet Drew Barrymore was across the street (no, for those of you who know Ypsi, I am not making this up) filming a movie?
A-hem. Did y'all READ THAT?? DREW BARRYMORE was across the street FILMING a MOVIE! (Whip It). I spent an entire week in L.A. a couple years ago and never once saw a single movie star, and here's one filming on my local street corner. Isn't life just sooooo ironic?
Well of course we arrived as an entire wheeled armada of semi trucks, giant cranes, trailers and all manner of tech equipment proceeded to dock in an empty lot directly across from the bar. Because of the sheer volume of equipment being hauled in, we were forced to park two blocks from any sign of civilized life, which -- believe me -- is a very long walk in a town like this. But I won't bore you any further on this topic -- back to Drew.
No, nobody that I know of saw her, or got her digits sadly. The most I heard among the rumblings was that "she was somewhere in there, wearing a dark hooded sweatshirt."
Shortly after the point of our arrival around one, all the self proclaimed "awesome"- ness that normally permeates the Elbow Room atmosphere was completely deflated, and well, to put it frankly, folks just kinda lost their shit. And please let me clarify: by "folks" I don't mean the usual hipster crowd that flocks to the Elbow Room to hear the nightly ensemble of obscure-yet-tragically-cool local indie rockers (lots of spectacles and vintage clothing in this crowd last night). Rather, the people whom I describe are the friendly neighborhood Elbow bar staff and bouncers and, oh yeah, the Ypsilanti Po Po, who partnered efficiently to unceremoniously, rudely, and loudly kick all of us out who had paid $4.50 a pop for our bottled PBR and well drinks just seconds as the clock struck two.
What made it even more difficult is that we couldn't even linger out on our own publicly funded sidewalk for a moment as we collected our friends, perhaps out of fear that our commoner stench might somehow waft over across the street and dangerously encroach the vicinity of Drew's trailer. No -- police where there too, pushing us along like a big stupid herd of drunken cattle, Way, way up the next block, far from our homes and our cars and the after parties that awaited us. We weren't rich or famous, not even all that cute actually, so we could walk.
Of course the bouncers tried to play it off like it was any other Friday night where the police infiltrate their establishment near closing time and force everyone out, cordoning off the entire block. In between verbally assaulting their patrons, they also yelled out that they were tired - they had family waiting for them and they wanted to go home.
This is where they really got my sympathy because hours later, around 5 a.m. as my motley cru and I were walking back to our cars, long after the studio lights had been pulled away and parked God knows where (hopefully somewhere VERY secure) we walked again past the Elbow Room, which was there in its familiar spot on a very deserted Washington Street. Oh yeah, except for a very lively private party that was going on inside.
For what honored group was this party being held? Honestly, I cannot tell you; it's a total mystery. I was going to ask the bouncer: you know, that same bouncer who told me and my friends that he wanted to go home and be with his family, who apparently was forced at the last minute to work a very extended schedule. But he stuck his head out the back door only briefly to ask us if we had any reason to be there before slamming it back on us like he was that little munchkin who guards the goddamn Emerald City.
Do I have any reason to be here? Now that was a very good question. I figured I'd ponder it more after the Drew crew was gone, leaving a trail of treasured celebrity residue behind them, and I had sobered up.
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Comments
"Celebrity residue" is kinda like the stuff snails leave behind isn't it?
most excellent telling. love your style.
Great piece.
R
It's about respect, Hollywood. We don't swim in your toilet. Please do not pee in our pool.
to Drew Barrymore!
Rated.
And yes Drew is hot ~ picturing her in the hoodie, sounds cute, lol.
Thanks for forcing the hand there Cartouche! Hehehe Now I'm gonna go look at more of Kasey's posts. . .
I'll tell you, that's one cool thing about NYC. Celebrities get shoved out of the way with everyone else. There's pure, equal opportunity rudeness there.
I will forever be slightly peeved with John Turturo, who came to see a play I was in (not for me but for the lead.) The ENTIRE CAST was forced to wait until he was done talking to the lead near the exit before we left. Finally I said "eff it" and walked out anyway. He was OUR guest - we weren't HIS captive audience. What audacity.
Years later, I saw him at an open air market in Brooklyn. I hope I picked the apple he wanted.