What were the stars of Registered Weapon doing over the weekend? Let’s find out…
Frank went to see Scott Walker: 30 Century Man at the Nuart. Frank’s not really one for music, and he’s definitely not one for documentaries, but he’s had a thing for Walker ever since this murder-suicide he worked back in ’97 where Tilt was playing at full blast in the downtown loft where two peformance artists had thrown a rope over an exposed pipe and used their own body weights to hang each other. Normally when there’s music still playing at a crime scene someone has to restrain Frank from pumping a full clip into the stereo, but he just stood there and listened for a full five minutes. Later he was overheard saying to his then partner, Nick, that “Damned if that ain’t what it sounds like in my head when all of this is over for another day and I got nothing to think about but having to do it all over again tomorrow.” But anyway, he went to see the movie and liked it all right, though he could have done without “that screensaver shit” animation that accompanied the songs, and he was disappointed but not surprised to find out that Walker himself was a pretty normal dude. “They’re all pretty normal dudes, until they ain’t,” he was heard to remark to the usher on his way out.
Kirsten got dragged to a friend-of-a-friend’s 30th birthday party at this bar in Silver Lake called Stinker’s that had kind of an off-putting skunk theme combined with an ironic hipster truck-stop flavor, and in keeping with said flavor it was a “mustache party,” i.e. everybody was supposed to wear a mustache. Kirsten reluctantly drew one on with eyeliner and spent most of the evening getting increasingly pissed off by guys looking at her with this weird expression that she interpreted as “I’m uncomfortable with the fact that the fake mustache somehow makes me more attracted to you.” She was also pretty upset that the bar didn’t have ginger ale but thought that Coke + Sprite was an acceptable substitute, when everybody with any taste knows it isn’t.
Rotunda decided late Saturday night that on Sunday she would finally go to that farmer’s market that’s just a block away because she’s getting up there in years and should maybe eat something green on a weekend for once, but on Sunday morning she got woken up by some band on the market’s little stage playing just the worst cover of “I Shot the Sheriff,” so she called a buddy, got them shut down for noise violation, and headed on over to Roscoe’s.
FELIX went to his crime victims’ support group, and found himself reaching for his Glock when a fight broke out between Hotbox and Exit 41 over exactly what part of an animal’s head is in a cabeza taco. Fearing the insidious reach of Frank’s influence, FELIX spent all of Sunday rereading the LAPD Code of Conduct.