A writer, who describes himself in his own words as a "journalist with bad breath, bad teeth, bad hair, and bad debt" is assigned to hang out with and write a profile on Lenny Kravitz for Spin Magazine. What follows is an experience in sensory overload that can barely be comprehended by this reporter, while for Lenny Kravitz the entire night seems to be as nonchalantly normal as a night at the local pub is for the rest of you pathetic normals. The sum of the article can be described thusly: Lenny is a god at clubs filled with countless gorgeous, exotic, and delicious smelling models (the sexy models and not the weird looking ones) who want to sit next to him, dance for him, get with him. If he's occupied or unavailable and you are sitting next to him, then countless gorgeous, exotic, and delicious smelling models will want to dance for you, at the very least.
"You like this place?" shouts Kravitz."I feel like I'm in Saudi Arabia!" I reply, happily. I'm no longer insecure, but I'm tipsy with a rock star in the kind of club I've never been to before, and Cameron Diaz is dancing again, and she's not even the prettiest girl around.
And the girls come and go -- models and actresses from Brazil, the Netherlands, Denmark, Russia, Japan, France, and New Jersey. Some of them sit and talk with Lenny, and if the girls come in pairs, then one of them talks to me. They'd rather be talking with Lenny, but I must be his friend, they reason, so I must have something to offer.
At some point, I meet a girl with a name that sounds like Samitra, and so I cry out, "Nice to meetcha, Samitra!" and Lenny laughs. Then a Russian girl is doing some kind of amazing belly dance really close to him, and her stomach is exposed, and her rear is a thing of beauty, and Lenny is dancing in his seat, and then she switches to me and is putting that rear right in front of my chin, and Lenny laughs again and says, "What's that look on your face?"
"It's my bachelor-party look," I scream. "Where I act like I'm really cool, but I'm really not! This girl is amazing!" She looks over her shoulder at me and smiles and keeps rotating her rear, mimicking the movements of the earth and the sun, all the things that spiral and are infinite, like the swirl of a beautiful girl's fingerprint on a martini glass which she puts down just before kissing you.
This is about on par for most of my nights out. At times while reading this article, I had to think "Wait, when did I hang out with this reporter?." Serious deja vu. Anyway, you can read the rest here.