…a more wretched hive of scum and villainy."
This is what I was thinking as we stood by the window of the media room, looking down like unkept gods, upon the floor of the Los Angeles Convention Center, where Erotica L.A. was becoming progressively more unhinged.
Working in the media room at ELA means that you will be checking in journalists, film crews, photographers, producers, etc. who want to cover the event, write their stories nd submit them to their stations, websites or publications. Or maybe they just want to get in for free and look at the ladies in the fishnet bodysuits.
It means that we check the credentials for outlets with alot of 'X''s in their namaes. It means that we have to review business cards which more often than not feature name, company, address, email address and a photo of a woman without any pants.
Friday and Saturday I pulled nine-hour days working in that room with its mint-colored walls and coffee pots which were NEVER REFILLED. A couple of times porn actresses would wanter in – these women were invariably petite (the camera and zoom lens always add at least ten pounds) – to give a 'serious' interview, the host no doubt barely holding on to his sanity. The interviews were on Friday, and I was grateful for that, because I was in there from 2-11PM, and I needed the entertainment.
Still, the visits to the restroom were festive. That was because it was kept dark as an energy-saving device until you walk in and then the lights flare up and you feel as if the paparazzi were jumping out of the stalls to greet you.
Saturday was interesting, because I rode up with my parents whom, to my horrified delight, wanted to stay and check out the naughty extravaganza themselves. I certainly was not interested in seeing wht they bought. (It turned out that they left empty-handed, though they took plenty of photos: mother in front of a 20 ft. poster of Stormy Daniels, for instance.) Saturday was also notable because one of my fabulous Vox friends showed up to greet semi-fabulous Aubrey and the dash downstairs to join the festivities.
Finally, shortly after 9PM I ventured out myself.
As I later confessed to my rather disappointed co-workers, I have a nose for non-porn. I walk by the glass…structures, the vibrators, the various items that lift and separate, but I can find jewelry if I had my lights punched out, was then blindfolded, and then put in a darkened room. I could always sniff out the baubles. Still…who's to say that a bracelet at half price isn't sexy?
But there were some things I couldn't help but notice:
Jenna Jameson needs a sandwich.
The girl modeling pasties (not to be confused with Cornish pasties, which would have been messy)
The $4,000 plastic doll – one was…oh, displayed and arrayed on a couch, but the other was hanging upright on a coathook!
The guy wearing a…prosthetic limb in the vicinity of his crotch posing with two girls wearing chains and plastic panties.
The guy dressed as a pirate. Yo-ho-ho. And here be hos.
The guy dressed as Captain Marvel
The guy dressed as Robin
The pornographic paramedic with his nurses wearing strips of denim skirts, black patent leather books and nurse's caps.
The chunky girl wearing a thong and a halter top. We salute her bravado. And her lack of a bra. (it was amusing to watch the men surreptitiously follow her around)
I was then able to retreat to the comparative safety of our Room With A View(of the Zoo).