If I challenged you to a contest to pick the most disparate
group of seven people to sit around a table at a Jerry's
Famous Deli, do you think you could beat me? Go ahead,
OK, now here's my list: ubiquitous porn star Ron Jeremy; Joey Buttafuoco; some unnamed white supremacist guy whose favorite line for the evening is "niggers is property"; his two polite, Southern belle daughters; Trey Parker and his Japanese friend Jun.
Do I win?
Anyway, the racist is saying that Hitler was right and we should kill all the Jews, while Ron laughs -- despite being Jewish. Then Ron tells the story of doing a sex scene with an 87-year-old woman (Nasty Granny or some such name). He tells Trey he'll send him a copy of the tape. Trey declines. The daughters meekly ask Jun where he is from. Ron tries to explain to Jun the story of Joey Buttafuoco and the Long Island Lolita. Jun does not understand what the fuck is wrong with America.
I still can't get my head around the forces of nature that made such a convention possible. But that's Los Angeles for you. The Jerry's meeting stemmed from a party at Hustler on Sunset, thrown by or for Lloyd Kaufman of Troma Pictures (which distributed Trey's student film, "Cannibal: The Musical"). It's a bust from the start, so Trey and Jun head up to the Rainbow Room, only to get nearly bowled over out in front of the Roxy by a throng of recently pepper-sprayed patrons.
The Rainbow Room holds little more promise. Although the place is packed, Trey's celeb status gets them ushered up to the VIP area. The VIP area, however, is equally packed and unpleasant. But before he can make a quick exit (Trey has an excellent nose for bad anima and we have on more than one occasion been informed that we left "just in time"), he finds himself judging a costume contest. After 15 minutes they were out on the street again, off to Jerry's.
Jun just moved here from Nagano and is living in the Bel-Air
compound. He and Trey met at CU in Boulder and have been good friends ever since. He has had quite an eventful three weeks since arriving in the City of Angels.
His first big L.A. party was the Carrie Fisher/Penny Marshall birthday bash. Full A-list extravaganza. There he met Carrie and George Lucas and Jewel and saw a host of other celebrities, including Meg Ryan and Steve Martin and Mike Myers and Gillian Anderson and Kobe Bryant. Trey was, meanwhile, dousing his stomach with scotch to work up the courage to have this exchange:
George Lucas: I haven't seen your movie yet.
Trey Parker: I didn't see yours either, after everyone
said, you know ... it sucked.
Exit George, stage right.
Trey crossed the threshold into 30 on Oct. 19. All of his friends were apprehensive, as he has threatened on several occasions (even as early on as in high school) to end it all upon hitting that age. So it might have been a day that would live in infamy. Or not. No one knew.
Fortunately, we'd taken a trip to Vegas about a month before, and that seemed to soften the blow because Trey decided to kick off a month's worth of festivities starting right there at the Spearmint Rhino. So by the time Oct. 19 rolled around, we had about 30 days of partying behind us, and he had spent the time getting used to the idea of entering his fourth decade of life. He didn't kill himself.
Instead, he flew 12 of his friends down to his house on Kauai. We had cake and presents and took it pretty easy. The rains came, and we sat on the lanai and listened, enjoying each other's company. It felt very "grown up" in a way, I guess since we were kept in close proximity by the weather, and so the need for cooperation was heightened. Not everyone knew each other, and with 12 different personalities you often need to work at harmony.
There was also a certain amount of coordination and fiscal planning necessary to ensure Trey didn't have to do anything or pay for anything (else). And this was confirmed mostly with serious nods like the ones I remember seeing when I was a kid between my dad and the other dads as they took care of the various tabs at restaurants and liquor stores while we were on vacation on Long Beach Island. A loving inter-adult professionalism that made for smooth and happy times.
So that was Hawaii. Nothing outrageous to report, except Trey farting on Jason's head as he slept on the outside futon. And our friend Butters ...
I have to give you some back-story so you get the full experience.
Eric is our friend from high school whom Trey worked with a bit in college and then hired to help on the pilot of "South Park." So, it's 1996: Matt picks him up at the airport, and Eric is wearing a suit and tie. Well, of course Trey and Matt tease him about this because suits and ties were and are and will always be ridiculous to them. But Eric is very young and goody-two-shoes and wants to do a super job. Doesn't drink, tight with money, gets out of the shower to pee. That kind of guy.
Well, fast-forward to October 1999: Eric is running extremely late for his flight out of Denver to LAX to Hawaii, so he pulls up to the curb in his rental car, jumps out with the car running, grabs his bag, slams the door and takes off for his flight. Just leaves the car.
Our little Butters is growing up.
Most recent news covers Amy Cohen's Annual Halloween Bash, presented for the second year by Trey and Matt. I don't think I can do it justice until I have caught up with everyone and gotten all the gossip. Until then, I'll give you the short list: mass hysteria; broken bones; an AWOL valet; overindulgence; Moroccan room with tents, mattresses and pillows; open bar; spooky spider; me lost for a couple of hours with a hot, pierced and tattooed girl named Jamie; and my angelic friend Celeste, visiting from New York, thrown into the thick of things.