like a virgin

10Apr08

It has been a minute since I have had a “real” job. I’ve been freelancing since my Miller High Life contract expired last year, hustling weird little gigs and consulting for a small handful of companies. Some may remember the three months I spent pushing Chambord, others may recall the event held this past fall for Appleton Rum. Sometimes I play records, other times I advise people on what they should do.

It’s not a bad life, for sure, although it is doing some real damage to my bank account. I’m going to have to get a “real” job soon, and probably should already have one right now. But, I don’t. There’s a lot of other stuff to do with the hours in the day, and the idea of being back in an office makes me anxious.

I haven’t worked in an office since 2001, when I was at the Seattle Weekly. Well, actually, Quentin and I had an office at Chop Suey, but that was in a club. It doesn’t really count.

The Weekly office was filled with cubicles and a lunchroom and conference rooms and fluorescent lighting and controlled air. The Pioneer Square location meant there were some lovely touches — exposed brick, wood beam ceilings — but, it was still very much An Office.

With all the transients and ne’er-do-wells in the neighborhood, the stairwells were always locked. That meant you had to take the elevator to the third floor. You could walk down the stairs, but not up them. Stupid.

The elevator opened directly into the reception area, where the front desk always had the mandatory bowl of candy and cartoons depicting office humor taped to the wall. The memory of it makes me sigh. Our receptionist was a nice, lovable woman and every day she would greet me with the same exact phrase. I liked her a lot but, by the second year I worked there, I could barely stand it.

Waiting for those elevator doors to slowly open into the foyer was one of the main reasons I quit my job there. I just could not deal with it anymore.

I met Christine back when the High Life program was up and running, and we had expanded from the original four markets to something like ten cities. She lives and works in New York, where she has an agency that handles a variety of events and clients. It has been years since we’ve seen each other or spoken, so it was a pleasant surprise when she contacted me in February, wondering if I was interested in a little one-off gig.

Virgin Airlines, owned in part by kooky bazillionaire Richard Branson, was expanding its airline service to the West coast, with new flight schedules up and down the coast. Parties to celebrate the first flight in each market were taking place, and Seattle was next in line. Would I be interested in helping coordinate and host such an event? And, most important to the client, could I fill the room with interesting and fun people from the 206?

Fuck yeah, of course I could. Rarely do I pat myself on the back, but I gotta say: I think I’m a pretty good hostess. I love to throw a fun party or an interesting event or a weirdo night. There are few things as great as good times with friends, especially when they are on someone else’s dime.

Anyone familiar with Malcolm Gladwell’s book The Tipping Point will surely understand the idea behind marketing that targets a certain demographic. Key influencers, early adopters, cultural visionaries — whatever you want to call them, they are worth their weight in gold to a lot of companies. Particularly companies that build their brand on lifestyle choices.

Whether or not such marketing tactics are still effective is debatable. Modern consumers that fall into this category tend to be at least somewhat smarter than the average bear, and can see through viral marketing schemes with ease. That consumer savvy is, of course, part of the whole equation.

Who cares if you think it’s lame that Esurance sponsors the Block Party? You probably didn’t pay to get in, anyway. But a lot of other people did. And, if that association makes them remember Esurance when the car gets wrecked, a marketing bigwig has achieved their goal.

As I learned long ago from Bruce and Jonathan, any press is good press, as long as they spell your name right.

Believe it or not, I actually do have some standards when it comes to who I will work with. I will never take a gig that will benefit companies that offend my sensibilities. I always research who it is, and what they are pushing, before getting on board.

No offense to any of my friends, but I will never do work for Starbucks. I would rather eat my own hand than be involved with anything to do with fast food, unless it is Dick’s. You will never see me cash a check from a company that overwhelmingly donates to the Republican party, or is guilty of blatant corporate chicanery.

I also can’t get behind the tobacco companies. As someone that constantly struggles with a nicotine addiction, I hate them. I hate that every pack of cigarettes I have ever purchased helps line the pockets of people that do not give a fuck about their product’s harmful effects. I love to smoke, and I wish it wasn’t bad for humans. But, there is no denying it is. You can’t really defend smoking, even though it is totally fun to do.

Just that sentence makes me want to light a cigarette.

Believe me, I recognize that my standards are full of contradictions and loopholes. It is difficult to be a consumer with a conscience in a time when corporate culture is so strong. And, I’ve had a lot of people ask me how I can be against tobacco company money when I’ve worked for a variety of liquor distributors.

I’ve seen plenty of lives destroyed by booze. I’ve lost friends to alcohol-related accidents and my last real boyfriend put me through hell with his love affair with the bottle. But drinking, unlike smoking, is something that, when done in moderation, isn’t gonna kill you. Most people I know do not have a problem with the juice. Sure, they’ll get real loaded every now and again, but, generally speaking, it’s not so much of an issue.

When I went to work for the Miller Brewing Company, one of the things I liked about them was their corporate policy. High Life is still union brewed, and the company offers same-sex benefits to its employees. They donate to both political parties pretty equally which, while not ideal, is better than a strictly Red corporate giving policy. The bottle is cool. It’s called the Champagne of Beer for a reason. I haven’t been on their payroll for almost a year, and I still keep High Life in the fridge.

Besides, I love the culture surrounding drinking. The neighborhood bar as a third place is a well-worn tradition. There is nothing better than a beautiful cabernet with a good meal, and I will rarely refuse Jameson on the rocks. I’ve met some of the most interesting people I know in bars, and I really appreciate the mixology behind a good cocktail.

So, whatever. I know my standards aren’t perfect, but I’m good with them. No one is holding a gun to your head to attend a corporate-sponsored party, and I sure have never seen an anchor on anyone’s ass at any event I’ve put together.

Although, Anchor on Your Ass would be a good name for a club night. Someone tell Jon Cairns.

Jon came to the party I helped throw at the Showbox on Tuesday night for Virgin America. It was good to see him, it’s been awhile. I’m not so into going out these days, much preferring the comfort of my home, or a nice dinner party with friends. You can forget about seeing me out on the high holidaze — Friday or Saturday night — unless it’s a real special event. I still enjoy the rare midweek occasion, which is one of the many reasons why Tuesday night was such a blast.

As with a lot of corporate-sponsored events, there was a decent level of d-baggery on the line. The VIP area was packed with a motley assortment of weirdo celebs and eager employees. Festivities had begun earlier in the day in Los Angeles, where the Donnas played at the LAX terminal, before everyone boarded the first flight to Seattle.

Cisco Adler, he with the infamous nutsack, performed on board, and so did the Air Guitar Champion. The invite-only passengers were also subjected to a performance from Virgin America posterboys the Bamboo Shoots, a truly awful band out of Brooklyn.

Winning a contest on MTVU doesn’t mean your band is listenable. Looking good in an ad campaign most certainly does not guarantee you will sound good. I am not trying to be mean by saying this, but, seriously, Bamboo Shoots is one of the worst bands I’ve ever seen at the Showbox. Or, anywhere. I am not alone with this opinion. It was the number one complaint of the night.

I actually wasn’t subjected to much of their aural assault, since I was busy being hostess at the Showbox entry. The guest list was packed with friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, and I was there to make sure they all had a good time. They did. It’s hard not to, when the drinks are complimentary, and there are tasty snacks to enjoy, and there is a slew of folks to talk to, and gift bags to receive.

I mean, come on, who hates good times?

Even better, the headliner for the evening was none other than Thurston Moore, with a full band. It is hard to believe he is 50 years old. He looks great, and he completely brought it on Tuesday night. I’ve always felt that Sonic Youth were a bit overrated — people seriously get all kinds of crazy over them, and I’ve seen them really shit the bed onstage. But, man, Thurston KILLED IT the other night. Not even the lame corporate graphics on the screen behind the stage could dampen his performance.

The guy responsible for those graphics was real proud of himself. When he showed up earlier in the day and started offering strong suggestions about the room’s set up, I thought he was an opinionated hipster dude hired to help with load-in and set up. Turns out he’s some sort of creative director for Virgin. The fact that he dressed like that lady man in Le Tigre should have been my first clue.

Thurston’s blistering performance was not marred by the rotating graphics that included phrases such as Virgin Rocks! and an image of horned hands. The horned hands were actually awesome, if only for the reason that they were wrong. Instead of the sign of the devil, it was actually the American Sign Language symbol for I love you. Sweet!

The backdrop was, of course, the only other thing that people complained about Tuesday night.

I had a good laugh about it with Mark Arm, who I booked to DJ a set before Thurston played. Those dudes are old bros, and it was fun to see them hanging out. One of my many highlights of the night, in fact, was seeing Mark and Charles Peterson spellbound by Thurston’s set. An email from Charles yesterday confirmed my joy: Yeah, it was fun joking around with Thurston and Mark before the set. Like old times.

I am not even exaggerating when I say I talked to at least 400 people that night. Probably more. I am good at talking and it was fun. I truly love to be the hostess and it is lovely when everyone is having such a good time. Drink tickets always make people smile, and so does the company of other good folk. We had no shortage of either the other night.

Thanks, Richard Branson.

It was the first time I’ve ever seen an actual red carpet at the Showbox, complete with paparazzi and a number of television cameras at the step and repeat, which is the term for that logo emblazoned backdrop that you see celebs getting photographed in front of at events. The first hour of the night was completely nuts, with interviews being conducted on the red carpet and photos being snapped.

The Donnas were in the house, and so was Jerry Harrison of the Talking Heads. The early part of the evening had featured a one-song performance from two local bands, as part of a tie-in with KNDD. The winner, determined by this odd panel of judges, would receive a package that included a professionally shot video, which will be included in Virgin’s on-board entertainment menu.

I missed all that, as I made sure folks got in the door. I heard the judges were pretty brutal in their assessments, which would have been interesting to see. I don’t think Luke Haas is an authority on music, but fellow judges David Cush (CEO and President of Virgin America) and Joe Scoleri (VP, Hollywood Records) certainly know a thing or two about the rock.

My favorite panelists were Hot Lix Hulahan and Stryker. You don’t know who they are? I didn’t, either. Why don’t you just go ahead and Google “US Air Guitar Champion” and find out more? Rad.

My guest list was 500+ strong by the time I was done, and it sure was a good one.

Folks from Sonic Boom, Sub Pop, Barsuk, Light In The Attic, KEXP, Fuzed Music, One Reel, Ten Club, KNDD, Zune, Microsoft, The Council, STG, The Stranger, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, Seattle Weekly, Seattle Sound, and a whole bunch of others. All sorts of band folks in the house, from the Saturday Knights to Triumph of Lethargy to Kinski, and a whole bunch in between. Local DJs, promoters, party people, and boozers. Those bad boys from GOODS and Winner’s Circle that I love so much, and all sorts of fashion plates.

It was a fucking blast.

To my knowledge, no one managed to see Cisco Adler with his pants off. J.R., however, did get him to do shirts off at the Cha Cha after the shindig at the Showbox ended. I didn’t see it happen, but there is photographic evidence.

By then, I was whupped. I finally had a drink around midnight, some Jameson with Fourcolorzack and Nikole. Zack murdered it on the turntables, and I loved watching him do it. He truly is one of Seattle’s best DJs, and was a stellar addition to the night.

I’m sure a lot of folks were cursing my name on Wednesday morning. People were partying hard, and the room was nothing but fun.

Sarah Joann Murphy took that photo above of me, and it pretty much sums up my night. Lots of talking, smiling, greeting, and a handful of drink tickets. She’s got some great shots of Thurston on her blog, which you will find by hitting that link.

It was a great night. I am still looking for a job.

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