My Belated KSEX Awards Show Post
I been busy, okay?
Anyway…
The KSEX Awards Show– Where do I start? How do I describe the pomp and grandeur of this event? I suppose I’ll take Lewis Carroll’s advice and “begin in the beginning and end in the end.”
After showering, grooming, and dressing myself in a pair of black slacks and a black shirt–they say black is “thinning” and I need all the help I can get–I headed down to my car only to discover it had a flat tire. An omen? Perhaps. But I was intent on attending KSEX’s annual bash.
My good friend, Robert “Mister Rogers” Lombard, had gone out of his way to invite me as one of his VIP guests. I accepted his kind offer but, when I did so, I could tell Robert was somewhat skeptical that I would actually attend.
Ya see, Robert knows I don’t get out much. I’ve been a “no-show” before, even after I’d guaranteed I’d be somewhere, and Robert was well aware of my track-record in these matters. Flat tire or not, I was determined to attend and make good on my word to show up.
A can of “flat fix-it” enabled me to make it to a local gas station where I pumped additional air into the tire. It seemed to be holding the air. So far so good. I wheeled out of the gas station to make the trek down to the San Pornando Valley from my digs in the Santa Clarita Valley. On the way, I stopped a few times to examine my tire: It seemed to be holding.
I arrived at the event’s venue, Palladino’s, and parked in the Metro Rail lot across the street. There was an LAPD patrol car sitting there, idling, and I wasn’t sure if parking in this lot was a wise idea. Maybe the cop was assigned to enforce some “No Parking” rule and have the porn carnies cars towed? Ya never know, right? Porn breeds that kind of paranoia. I decided to throw caution to the wind and park in the lot in spite of the presence of one of L.A.’s finest. A quick look at my tire told me everything was still okay in that department.
I walked across the street and into Palladino’s small parking lot. As is usual at these events, there was a line to get in, there was a red carpet, and there was a big banner with the names of the event’s sponsors plastered on it. There was, also as usual, the same cadre of porn papparazi you see at all these events. Quite a few people milled about the parking lot, some trying to look like bonafide celebrities, some merely hanging out and conversing with friends, and some civilian types; curiosity seekers politely best describes them. There was also a big barbeque pit with some bouncer-looking dudes grilling meat and fowl. That was something you don’t often see at porn award events– Barbeque!
I found Lombard almost immediately. He seemed somewhat surprised I had made it. So was I as I explained my flat tire problem. Soon, I bumped into other people, some I know well and some not-so-well. It felt good to belong.
There were also plenty of people I’d never seen before. For every person I recognized there were 9 or 10 or more I’ve never seen before. Porn used to be a much smaller family. Fortunately, the event didn’t seem to be too much of a sausage fest as is the usually the case. Sure, there were 6 or 7 guys to every chick but that kind of ratio is pretty close for these things. Normally, the guy-to-girl ratio is 20 or 30-to-1 or greater at porn shindigs.
Palladino’s is a rock-and-roll nightclub. It ain’t a dump and it definitely ain’t the Ritz. Its ambience is entirely appropriate for a porn suaree: Not high-brow in any way and definitely a get down and dirty kind of place. Palladino’s seems larger than it is but that’s an optical illusion courtesy of the mirrors that cover one of its walls. As usual, there were VIP tables near the front of the stage where some band was jamming. Porn, BTW, is a very class-conscious society and VIP status is a big deal to many of its citizens. Go figure, right?
While there, I didn’t actually see any awards handed out, not one. I’m not even sure they gave out awards. Somehow, I never seemed to be inside the club when (and if) that took place. Like Sardos on PSK nights, I find it more fun outside where I can bullshit without shouting over the music. Plus it’s where people with nasty nicotine addictions, like me, can smoke. So, whoever the winners were and assuming there were actual winners, congratz! I’m confident your acceptance speeches were eloquent and memorable and perhaps even a few Moms and Dads were thanked by their daughter’s for their special abilities to take it in the keester. If my friend, Harry Weiss, had won an award–which I thought I heard he was up for–I’m absolutely sure I would have heard about it. But I haven’t so I assume he didn’t and I remain unsure if any awards were bestowed on anyone.
Outside, around the red carpet, people continued milling about hoping to be the subject of the porn papparazi’s cameras. I asked Lombard and AdultFYI’s Gene Ross about their sponsorship of the event and what that entitled them to besides VIP status for themselves and their invited friends. It seems, for a yard, i.e., a grand, i.e., a thousand bucks, Lombard and his Creative Image Management company and Ross’s AdultFYI were each entitled to a VIP table, what looked like a third-of-a-page ad in the program (the program ad could have been bigger, or smaller, I’m not sure cuz I’m not good with fractions) and their company’s names on the big banner behind the red carpet. I examined the big banner and it seemed to me Lombard’s and Ross’s business’s names were a little small for such a big banner and a thousand bucks. But Lombard and Ross both seemed okay with that. I guess Wankus is a better marketeer than I thought he was; maybe they could use his services at AVN for this year’s upcoming awards show at Mandalay Bay?
All in all, it was a cool, enjoyable evening but all good things come to an end and I headed home even though it was earlier than I usually leave these things. (The event started at 6:30 in the evening. That’s practically dawn for many porn people.) But getting home early was not to be. About half-way home, that tire decided to completely blow out. I’m talking half the tread blew off! I managed to pull into a service station to change the flat. That’s when I discovered I didn’t have a jack or a lug wrench. How fucked up is that? Yeah, I know, my bad. But I never needed one for that car before and I never thought to look to see if one came with the car when I bought it. It was a used car… I mean, previously owned… it’s a BMW after all. You’d think a a car that cost about $65K or so when it was new wouldn’t even need a freakin’ jack! I should be able to push a button and it self-jacks itself or levitates or whatever! My crippled, ultimate driving machine did, however, have a spare in the trunk and it had air in it. Whew! I called my friend, porn lighting guy/car mechanic John Wilkes, who eventually rescued me using his jack and a lug wrench we borrowed from the only friendly, late-night shift, born-and-raised in the USA, middle-aged ex-car mechanic service station/mini-market attendant I’ve ever come across in Southern California. (The wrench from John’s Lexus didn’t work on my Bimmer.)
Thanks again for the invite, Robert!
Posted by jimmyD under It's all the same crap. |