Last year I worked on a film shoot where we had a mock-up liquor store scene. So, the show purchased several thousands of dollars’ worth of two buck chuck and King Cobra Malt Liquor in addition to having multiple liquor distributors pitch in truckloads of freebies for product placement.

After the show ended and the liquor store set was struck, all the good liquor went home with various crew members. No one ever called accounting . . . no, I’m not holding a grudge about that . . .  However, later I found that no one wanted the cases of King Cobra (or the chuck). Ain’t these people never hear’d o’ malt licka? Anyway, the set decorator was just going to throw the stuff away . . . and that’s when I had an idea!

I took all the chuck and any cases of old, hot beer that I could find and gave it away to my friends. I also took all the King Cobra home. And I saved it til the night of the next full moon. Then I put it all in the freezer for about 45 minutes, til it was nice and frosty. Then I went outside to take a peek onto the night time streets of my lovely Venice ghetto ‘hood, where, sure enough, there were crack dealers and prositutes galore. During the summer, there is alot going on out there and for some reason, the street activity picques even more during times of the full moon. So I thought I’d help out.

I brought the King Cobra outside, lined the street corner with it’s frostiness and left it sitting there for all to enjoy. I checked an hour later. No malt liquor on the sidewalk. Music pumped up a notch in the hood. Hookers dancin’ in the streets. This is how we roll in Venice.

We all met, most of us didn’t know one another, a flash-mob created at 1:10PM at the Barnes and Noble in The Grove in LA. We each grabbed a book and began reading aloud while walking throughout the store . . . and on the escalators . . . and in the grand three-story balcony.

I was running late, and bustled into the store around 1:09ish, pushing past people, sliding in my flip-flops on the marble floors, bounding to get to the third floor. I had no idea which book I was going to grab, but I definitely knew it would be on the third floor. I didn’t know how many, if any, people would be here reading with me, I was listening for others, but didn’t really hear anything. I grabbed a book from a low shelf. It was a book of blessings. “Perfect, I thought, “It’s just what I need to be putting out to the world.”

And I began to read, and listen for others. I walked around, then sure enough brushed casually by a long haired tattooed dude who was reading Mien Kampf. Then I saw others. Then I heard others mumbling near and far, like constellations of mischeif, as I myself read as loud as I could. I noticed a couple of kids walking together arm-in-arm, reading aloud too.

The plan was to read out loud until about 1:30 or until getting kicked out.

We all continued to walk around Barnes and Noble, reading aloud and eventually we saw staff members and customers begin to look at one another like, “What the . . .?” And on we read, some were mumblers, most were just reading in a relaxed and normal way, like it was perfectly acceptable public behavior. I, on the other hand, was as loud as I could be reading poetic blessings into the air. . . a sustained theatre voice projected from the diaphragm, not screaming or anything, but definitely enough to cause people to notice. I wanted to be heard by the others, to help keep momentum going. I noticed a security guard coming near me, but he was actually going after one of the other men who were reading. It was odd, like he didn’t see me. Then a sales lady approached and said, “The customers are complaining, ma’am, you have to stop.”

I walked a couple of aisles over and commenced to the blessin’ again. Then as I rounded the balcony, I saw that security guards were escorting people out, so I put my book down. The kids were still reading and giggling. No one ever asked them to stop. I found a dear friend of mine, mumbling, but still reading. It was not yet 1:30. I hugged him, and walked out the door, glowing.

The others who’d been kicked out were standing in front. I introduced myself. They said, “Hey, wanna go for coffee?”

We did. And we planned the next shenanigan. Coming soon.

Yesterday, when I showed up at the office wearing not a shred of green, someone said to me, “Anna, I’m shocked that you forgot St. Patties day!” Well . . . OK, I must admit . . . . it just wasn’t on my radar this year because of a little shenanigan that happened in mid-December called “SantaCon.”

Take about 150 friends dressed in all various forms of ‘Santa’ , causing trouble at local malls, parks and bars . . . .  . . . and drinking yellow snow lemonade . . . and gettin’ the cops called on us . . .

. . . and about four hours later, you’ve got ‘Santa-AnnaTude’ sleeping at Formosa Cafe, puking behind a plastic tree and squealing, “I just don’t know how this happened!” between heaves . . .

 . . . and ever since that fateful day, my body has said, “Ho means HO! We’ll be having none ‘o that pot o’ gold!”