Well, last I saw, L.A. was still standing, despite the debauchery in Echo Park to mourn the semi-departure of Ken Layne. Layne, in case you missed it, is moving to Reno. But he’s not really moving to Reno. It’s more like he’s going to have one of the longest commutes of any L.A. worker. At least if his evil schemes to change the face of American Journalism come to pass.
There were a lot of people at this soiree whom I didn’t know, so I confined my picture taking, mostly, to people I did know.
|Here’s Layne (the guy in the Matrix-looking sun glasses) and the woman who is dragging him off to the land of tax evasion and loose morals. As the foto was being snapped, the host was offering toast in his honor, though Layne was already well on his way to being toasted. There are some other people in the picture. I don’t know them. Throughout the evening, Layne had to continually insist that he doesn’t know Dave Barry, at least “in that sense,” which I suspect he meant in the biblical sense, but the crowd, which seemed to largely consist of his lawyers and potential staff writers, remained incredulous.|
Steve, who plays some instrument or other in the band Tsar, which seems to be particularly popular with bloggers, mixes your photographer another drink. A strawberry and banana daiquiri. That drink was proceeded by some communist/cuba concoction that Welch forced me to drink. It was quite tasty, but when I began to think kind thoughts about Castro, I thought I better switch beverages.
|Finally, we have Welch, caught in mid-grope, and the ever lovely Emmanuelle, fending him off. “Not in public, Matt,” she told him. Cute couple. So in love. It gives you hope for the world.|