My latest Geeks of Doom article published yesterday. It’s about another family rock band that’s actually playing The Troubadour with us tomorrow night (can I get a holla from my L.A. peeps?). You can read it here.
For all that are interested, my next Geeks of Doom article can be read here. It should hold the interest of anyone who was interested in the 80’s hair metal scene which was a pretty fun time in L.A. Shire is my brother in law’s band and this is a picture of him with Guns N’ Roses Izzy Stradlin before he was famous.
When every leaf is a dead body
Of the rodent caste
And each discarded rag a pigeon
That has long since passed
The sidewalks telling stories of
A jaded negativity
A rope sentenced as guilty for
Weird sexual activity
A pair of old discarded boots
Left lonely in the street
I’m sure each hold their designated
Now dismembered feet
All typical of just another
Walk on my work day
When I see an old used condom and
Just ponder “How cliche”
A bit of a departure for me but a true rendering of my break-time outings at work ever since my office moved from an upscale neighborhood in Sherman Oaks to an industrial ghetto in Van Nuys. Highlights have included a rat scurrying under my sandaled feet and a man driving by who pulled up to me to ask if I was ‘working’. The image below is an actual street view, but the office is buried all the way in the back of the lot and I think the picture doesn’t near do the disgustingness of the place justice. Maybe next time I can embed the smell.
It rains, wind blows and comes untethered
The fragile joints of my umbrella
With human’s so advanced and clever
Technology that makes life better
Might we find ways to endeavor
To make one that’s well put together?
It started out a day just like any other day
Blue skies, pleasant temperatures, typical L.A.
But this Friday was special as I was psyched to be
Meeting soon at Starbucks, a group of bloggers 3.
For a wholesome day of fun, coffee, gossip, laughter
With Erika Kind, Corinneonline, Carolina at Yesterday After
All the women were so sweet starting off you see
But I don’t remember much after sipping my coffee…
And the next thing you know, well, the scene was quite outrageous
My head was pounding as I woke in a hotel in Vegas
Corinne was sprawled out on the couch and starting to come round
Carolina on the floor, Ms. Kind was nowhere found
Strange clothing strewn across the floor, emptied bottles of booze
A gap where I once had a tooth, Corinne had new tattoos
And in the other rooms we found a tiger and a baby
Plus little Wayne, Wayne Newton and of course, Wayne Brady
But as for Erika,we’d no idea what we should do
‘Til looking out the window, we came cross our fist clue
For what did we see flying high as we were sitting there
Hanging from a monument, Erika’s underwear
And then we all did realize it was our mission then to find
Erika in time to get her back to Lichtenstein
And we would do all that we thought we could do in our power
To get her on that flight which was to leave in just 10 hours
Our mission was before us, and it was do or die
We pondered perhaps she was kidnapped by some Asian guy
But despite our best efforts there was no way to retrieve her
So we asked Mike Tyson but he hadn’t seen her either
Time was getting closer and still we had no luck
We’d have to call her family and say disaster struck
And just as we were bout to put the phone up to our ears
We heard Erika’s voice she said “Hello ladies I’m here”
We looked in disbelief sure her image holographic
But she said “It’s really me, I just got caught in L.A. traffic!”
And we said “Oh gosh you drove here? well you really are insane
At 6PM on Friday you should have just got on a plane!”
And so it seemed that Erika would safely make it home
And the rest revealed itself inside Corinne’s iPhone
With pictures so embarrassing we all squirmed in our seat
And with no time to spare we all just quickly hit delete
And no one will find out what went on, that we all did swear
Or what the heck was up with Erika’s flying underwear
And the only picture that we all agreed to show
Is the one that I am posting right here down below
Just four normal bloggers who you see are looking awfully
Happy when they thought that they should all meet one day for coffee
If I had seen you on the overpass prepared to jump
Onto the freeway hoping you would end a lifeless lump
I’d try my best to tell you you had everything and more
The world just waiting at your feet and ready to explore
But if you just had let me know your mind was fully made
I’d choose another path and choice and so try to dissuade
For wine is fine and whiskey quicker, and a lot less painless
Bathtubs, razor blades and rope would be a lot less heinous
But if this was the way you chose for your final achievement
Let’s postpone from rush hour to a time much more convenient
For we’d all be more sympathetic to your pain and your hurt
If you didn’t make thousands of people late for work.
It seems that Los Angeles,
is not a 24 hour town,
When we moved here from NY,
neighbors told us to turn it down.
They didn’t like our high heels,
clomping up and down the stairs,
And when I played my bass guitar,
It so did offend their ears.
And though we thought they were uptight,
and we scoffed at their restrictions,
It seemed our rebelliousness,
could lead to an eviction.
Now I have a job and kids,
and do not mean to complain,
But it sure is difficult
to wake up at 6 am.
And though the neighbors are lovely,
they sometimes party at night,
So am I hypocritical,
when I ask them to be quiet?
People now I have to warn ya’,
If moving from New York to California,
It might not just be the way you talk,
That gives the natives culture shock.
Perhaps more spread out than lofty,
Wait a little longer for your cawfee,
Be sure to watch the sarcastic tongue,
And control the impatience to get things done.
Work on the ingrained avoidance of people’s eyes,
When passing on streets try to say ‘Hi’,
But when all this forced politeness,
Paired with unbearable niceness,
All does reach a fever pitch,
And you get the undeniable urge to bitch,
Watch the shocked faces of the natives looking,
At the girl that was taken out of Brooklyn.
If Samson wasn’t a Judge of Israel,
But say President of the U.S.A.
And Delilah not from the Valley of Sorek,
But just a homely intern from L.A.
Perhaps a great scandal would occur,
Where the word impeachment might have arisen,
And perhaps his wife would come to his side,
And publicly announce she forgives him.
Or perhaps to this day with the intern he’d stay,
And into disgrace he would fall,
As she worked on taking over the country,
And dumping him when he went bald.
I think I was 17 when I fell in love with Manhattan. Unlike the closed minded Brooklyn community in which I grew up, it was there, among the freaks and the weirdos, that I felt truly accepted.
Give us your different, your strange,
Your misguided, your misunderstood
Our apartments like cubicles, piled one on top of the other, outrageously painted, posters on the wall, not unlike a college dormitory. People wonder, why put up with the crowding, the masses, the limited amount of space? But it is here where community grows strong, it is here where we know this is a small price to pay for living in the greatest city in the world.
My neighbors, the T.V. hooker with the heart of gold, the rock star, the guy who sells comic books on St. Marks, the homeless guy who sells words of wisdom at 25 cents a pop, and Mr. Schindleheim at 3rd and C who makes the city’s best bagels, and you know in NYC, that is saying a lot.
Give us your tired, your poor
Your huddled masses yearning to be free
If I can make it here, I’ll make it anywhere
But the best is the night time, when the energy of the street beckons you. And so we emerge from our tiny cages, in our platform boots, our tight jeans, our short fur jackets, the beautiful wrecks, the 5 AM perfection, the glitter in the gutter, the screwed up eyes and screwed down hair-dos
Oh, Alice, you remind me of Manhattan
The seedy and the snaz, the shoe boys and the satins
Like a throne made of gilt that too many johns have sat in
I’ll never forget the last morning, as the grey light of day descended over a city still asleep, or maybe still awake from the night before, he left my bedroom, leaving me a wreck, crying on the disheveled bed, saying goodbye to a city I would never see again.
Now I live in Los Angeles, with all it’s sharp angles, it’s elegant curves, it’s austere white mansions, it’s eminence front, and it’s perpetual blue skies and sunshine, where you could almost forget the heavy layer of smog that hovers outside the atmosphere, where I look at the people around me
if they know what it’s like
to love a city.