Damn. No one told me that it was Curtis Mayfield’s birthday today. If I’d known, I’d have tried to make it to the Curtis bash at Little Temple that LAist mentions here. Oh well. Instead I hang out with Joy and Heather at the Hammer Bash in Westwood, where one of Joy’s Showtime coworkers is spinning vinyl. The company’s great, I don’t mind that there’s no Curtis. We wander around the gallery of sculpture by LA artists, scratch our heads perplexedly more than once, drink gin and tonics and then disperse into the night.
But the day’s not over. Still time to get a Curtis fix:
