By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
That afternoon, I went to Capitola, a town near Santa Cruz, with Therese, state Senator Jim Brulte's princessy and somewhat out-of-control chief budget officer, to have margaritas on the sand. (Therese is an excellent margarita partner.) But since I saw all the other reporters totally working the whole time—like, finding regular people at the convention and interviewing them and stuff—I'm sure you can get the story from them. Capitola, meanwhile, was 78 degrees, and the sky was an unnerving color: it looked . . . blue. I highly recommend it.
Back at the convention, people were gearing up for the Saturday-night hospitality suites. Jimmy had imported for Simon's party The Tone Kings, a ferocious blues band that included T-Roy, Fabulous Thunderbird Kid Ramos, Johnny Minguez, who plays with Junior Walker, and Johnny Ray Bartel of The Knitters. The dentists were in heaven, as were people such as Riverside state Senator Ray Haynes, who once tried to cure me of socialism. Sadly, it didn't take. Jimmy closed the evening after 1 a.m. with, "See you all at 7 a.m. at the prayer breakfast!" I thought he was joking. He wasn't.
But the real party was in Bill Jones' hospitality suite, which had a better location right off the massive hotel bar. There, the aforementioned 20-year-olds packed the dance floor to "Celebration" and "Dancing Queen." During Prince's "Kiss," girls danced like lesbians. I leaned into a pair of them. "Excuse me," said I. "I was just wondering. Are you lesbians?" The ferret-faced grinder spat, "No," while her prettier grindee friend sniffed, "Yes!" I hate it when straight girls pretend to be lesbians—especially if, in reality, they're the kind of folks who get all het up about other folks trying to "destroy traditional marriage." Feh. I never did find Todd Spitzer.Have you seen Todd Spitzer? E-mail the Girl at firstname.lastname@example.org.