I arrived at the Bali Hai bar yesterday to meet my friend Tim. One week earlier we had bet each other $50 on the outcome of the De La Hoya/Mayweather fight. I had felt so certain that De La Hoya would triumph on that Cinco de Mayo holiday. My hopes had not dimmed when Mayweather had entered the ring sporting a giant sombrero and trunks bearing the colors of the Mexican flag. Now I needed to pay for my misguided thinking and I flung three twenties on the bar in front of Tim as soon as I sat down. He handed me $10 in change.
"Why didn't you want to get together in El Segundo?" he asked.
I had mentioned that I was driving through El Segundo when we were speaking on the phone and deciding where to meet.
"El Segundo is a miserable little town." I responded. "There's not a single bar there that is relaxing, fun, or compelling in any regard whatsoever."
Tim swallowed some of his beer and did not bother to disagree. El Segundo is kind of like the town of Springfield on The Simpsons. Isn't there a nuclear reactor in Springfield or something? El Segundo has both a Chevron refinery and a sewage treatment plant within its confines and Los Angeles International Airport borders one side of it. You cannot escape the pollution or the sickening, strange smells in El Segundo. I think those factors have made half the inhabitants of the town crazy and left the other half very mean-spirited. Some people do like it there. They are the ones who populate the local bar scene in that blighted community.
"Yeah, I never really go to any of those places." Tim commented mildly. "Some of the people who work there seem to take pride in being rude."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"It's just part of their persona. Or their shtick. Or something." he said. "Personally, I can live without it."
"I'm right there with you." I concurred as I hoisted my gigantic Stoli on the rocks to my lips.
The Bali Hai offers great service and exceptionally strong drinks to regular customers. It's only 10 minutes from El Segundo, but it may as well be on a different planet - a nice, friendly one.
"That Irish pub I go to in Culver City has a few bartenders who behave in that same grating manner." Tim continued. "I just avoid the place when they are working. They even give me free drinks.. and I still don't go there if I know they are going to be tending bar."
I smiled.
"They act like miserable people from the East Coast and they just never give it a rest." he said.
"You mean like folks from New York or New Jersey?" I chuckled.
Tim favored me with a scornful glance.
"No." he said in a corrective tone. "I mean like people from Boston or Philadelphia."
I looked back at him and realized he was being serious. My eyes wandered to the TV screen where Phil Mickelson was playing golf. I sipped my vodka and began doing a mental inventory of the people I've known from Boston and Philadelphia. One dancer/porn actress named Liz jumped to the forefront of my brain. Generally Liz used to behave in a sarcastic, rude, hostile manner, but not always. I don't even know if she's still in the business. Others in the industry who knew her had thought she was "tough" and savvy. She had lost custody of her children and I thought she was weak and delusional, unable to prioritize the various issues in her life. For some reason Liz and I often got booked on shoots together. She was uncommonly smart and funny, but she seemed to squander her energy fighting unimportant battles and behaving in an abrasive manner towards the wrong people. At one shoot she started a verbal fight with a young model who had accidentally stepped on Liz's lingerie bag. Liz tore mercilessly into the pretty girl and tried to humiliate her. Her cruel, misplaced rage came from somewhere deep. Yet Liz also showed up to another shoot with a half-healed black eye given to her by her boyfriend. Liz had not bothered to break up with him after the incident. I had found myself vaguely wondering if she had even fought back while he was beating her up.
One afternoon at a bondage shoot I overheard Liz describing various experiences she had had while dancing in Boston. She had been telling another model how the strippers there would go up on stage and yell to the customers:
"I'm fucking taking my clothes off up here! You better fucking tip me, you cheap assholes!"
I could easily picture pallid, angry Liz up there doing exactly that. She seemed to believe that inflicting her hateful personality on strangers was more important than making money or doing the job at hand. Presumably Liz viewed her manifestations of wounded pride as exhibitions of her own strength. Overall she was just too churlish for me to have much sympathy for her.
Memories of Liz ran through my mind as I sat in the Bali Hai. Tim watched golf. My vodka-tainted thoughts then drifted to a shoot I had done in 2005. I had shown up to the location and the photographer was just a dick. Just an unmitigated prick. Why are male appendages often used as descriptions for obnoxious men? I'm not sure. I like dick. But I did not like this guy and he was a dick. He tied me up in various contorted, uncomfortable poses while he snapped away with his camera and made repeated references to how all women in California were stupid and how all of them lacked backbones, education, and couth. Lacked couth? Wow, was he ever one to talk. As it happens I am not good at placing accents, even obvious ones.
"Where are you from?" I had finally asked him.
"Boston. I'm from Bos-ton." he informed me with boastful pride.
The shoot progressed and I had already worked the allotted number of hours. He told me we were finished. I watched him begin packing up his camera, the lights, etc.
"Um.. you need to untie me.." I said.
He ignored me. Later he responded with laughter to my growing discomfort and mounting fear. I knew he was going to wait until my stress level turned into terror. He began crafting something out of the sweaty ropes he had used for bondage. It was a gag. I missed my last chance to scream. I opened my mouth to try and force the sound out and he jammed that huge mass of rope nearly down my throat. My rational mind started to fail me and the last thing I remember thinking was:
What is this maniac going to do to me?!
See the full "Chair Tied" gallery at www.TanyaDanielle.com now!
- XXOO Tanya
***
"Why didn't you want to get together in El Segundo?" he asked.
I had mentioned that I was driving through El Segundo when we were speaking on the phone and deciding where to meet.
"El Segundo is a miserable little town." I responded. "There's not a single bar there that is relaxing, fun, or compelling in any regard whatsoever."
Tim swallowed some of his beer and did not bother to disagree. El Segundo is kind of like the town of Springfield on The Simpsons. Isn't there a nuclear reactor in Springfield or something? El Segundo has both a Chevron refinery and a sewage treatment plant within its confines and Los Angeles International Airport borders one side of it. You cannot escape the pollution or the sickening, strange smells in El Segundo. I think those factors have made half the inhabitants of the town crazy and left the other half very mean-spirited. Some people do like it there. They are the ones who populate the local bar scene in that blighted community.
"Yeah, I never really go to any of those places." Tim commented mildly. "Some of the people who work there seem to take pride in being rude."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"It's just part of their persona. Or their shtick. Or something." he said. "Personally, I can live without it."
"I'm right there with you." I concurred as I hoisted my gigantic Stoli on the rocks to my lips.
The Bali Hai offers great service and exceptionally strong drinks to regular customers. It's only 10 minutes from El Segundo, but it may as well be on a different planet - a nice, friendly one.
"That Irish pub I go to in Culver City has a few bartenders who behave in that same grating manner." Tim continued. "I just avoid the place when they are working. They even give me free drinks.. and I still don't go there if I know they are going to be tending bar."
I smiled.
"They act like miserable people from the East Coast and they just never give it a rest." he said.
"You mean like folks from New York or New Jersey?" I chuckled.
Tim favored me with a scornful glance.
"No." he said in a corrective tone. "I mean like people from Boston or Philadelphia."
I looked back at him and realized he was being serious. My eyes wandered to the TV screen where Phil Mickelson was playing golf. I sipped my vodka and began doing a mental inventory of the people I've known from Boston and Philadelphia. One dancer/porn actress named Liz jumped to the forefront of my brain. Generally Liz used to behave in a sarcastic, rude, hostile manner, but not always. I don't even know if she's still in the business. Others in the industry who knew her had thought she was "tough" and savvy. She had lost custody of her children and I thought she was weak and delusional, unable to prioritize the various issues in her life. For some reason Liz and I often got booked on shoots together. She was uncommonly smart and funny, but she seemed to squander her energy fighting unimportant battles and behaving in an abrasive manner towards the wrong people. At one shoot she started a verbal fight with a young model who had accidentally stepped on Liz's lingerie bag. Liz tore mercilessly into the pretty girl and tried to humiliate her. Her cruel, misplaced rage came from somewhere deep. Yet Liz also showed up to another shoot with a half-healed black eye given to her by her boyfriend. Liz had not bothered to break up with him after the incident. I had found myself vaguely wondering if she had even fought back while he was beating her up.
One afternoon at a bondage shoot I overheard Liz describing various experiences she had had while dancing in Boston. She had been telling another model how the strippers there would go up on stage and yell to the customers:
"I'm fucking taking my clothes off up here! You better fucking tip me, you cheap assholes!"
I could easily picture pallid, angry Liz up there doing exactly that. She seemed to believe that inflicting her hateful personality on strangers was more important than making money or doing the job at hand. Presumably Liz viewed her manifestations of wounded pride as exhibitions of her own strength. Overall she was just too churlish for me to have much sympathy for her.
Memories of Liz ran through my mind as I sat in the Bali Hai. Tim watched golf. My vodka-tainted thoughts then drifted to a shoot I had done in 2005. I had shown up to the location and the photographer was just a dick. Just an unmitigated prick. Why are male appendages often used as descriptions for obnoxious men? I'm not sure. I like dick. But I did not like this guy and he was a dick. He tied me up in various contorted, uncomfortable poses while he snapped away with his camera and made repeated references to how all women in California were stupid and how all of them lacked backbones, education, and couth. Lacked couth? Wow, was he ever one to talk. As it happens I am not good at placing accents, even obvious ones.
"Where are you from?" I had finally asked him.
"Boston. I'm from Bos-ton." he informed me with boastful pride.
The shoot progressed and I had already worked the allotted number of hours. He told me we were finished. I watched him begin packing up his camera, the lights, etc.
"Um.. you need to untie me.." I said.
He ignored me. Later he responded with laughter to my growing discomfort and mounting fear. I knew he was going to wait until my stress level turned into terror. He began crafting something out of the sweaty ropes he had used for bondage. It was a gag. I missed my last chance to scream. I opened my mouth to try and force the sound out and he jammed that huge mass of rope nearly down my throat. My rational mind started to fail me and the last thing I remember thinking was:
What is this maniac going to do to me?!
See the full "Chair Tied" gallery at www.TanyaDanielle.com now!
- XXOO Tanya
***
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