These two talking about Game of Thrones and spewing about who’s dying and who’s screwing and what-the-what and I’m thinking, man, I haven’t been able to physically watch the damn show since the ex-girlfriend, so would you both kindly stop talking and ruining things I’m still unable to sit in front of? Can you not see this by the look on my horrified face and the way I’m saying “la la la la la la,” while you’re yakking spoilers all over the place? God!
We used to have contests to see who could suck down the most nitrous oxide without passing out, he used to live by the big milk carton and had a half decent record collection. He was stupid clever and probably the funniest man I ever knew. He was keen on design and art, rock music and all things pop culture. He was grimy and cool, smoked cigarettes and had a bellowing laugh that entered rooms before he did. He had failed relationships but never had trouble finding women, he was crass and spoke his mind,
even especially when it meant saying things that everyone else was afraid to say. We drank at the Matador before the Gogol Bordello show and those were the last photos I had of him. He was hard drinker, one of the hardest I ever knew, he showed me the dark weather on his face and the sharp humor in everything around him. There are certain days I need to talk to him, solicit input about women and whatnot, and in my dreams I can only eek out something nonsensical and forgettable. Today I need to talk to him and he just ain’t around.
All bridges should be made 5 feet off the ground.
I paid money for this show. I worked last night so I could come see this band play live, not on TV, video or anywhere else. Live. So would it kill you people to put your damn phones down and not fill my field of vision of you recording part of the act that you can barely see, anyway? Unless you have a high definition professional video camera, no one is going to want to watch your fuzzy, garbled little snippet of a show that would have been so much better if half the crowd didn’t feel the need to have youtube parties afterward comparing different shaky angles.
Sometimes we forget the here and now as we try to preserve moments for posterity, and we just annoy the people who love live performance more than they like watching a hundred drones pretending their cell phones are video cameras.
I was getting off my bike. It was late and I was downtown visiting a friend. 5 leggy miniskirts and bustiers march up to me as I’m removing my helmet and ask if they could take a picture of their friend on the motorcycle. Hesitatingly, I agreed, since I’m a man conscious of photography and appreciate those who are creative, of course. The one who draped herself across the seat was incredibly good-looking and it wasn’t until about 30 seconds into this situation when I realized that he was not a woman. Maybe it was dark and I might have not had all my wits about me, but he was the most convincing tranny I’d ever seen. Then I realized that they were all transvestites. With them clamoring over the bike and posing like dirty calendar girls, cell phones flashing away, I stood back and also realized that they were all under 21. I laughed, shook my head, laughed again, grasping the fact that timing is everything and perception really is anything you want it to be.
Except when it comes to a gang of underage drag queens.
If you cannot wait to get to work everyday because you love it that much,
if not having food today never occurred to you…ever,
if the funniest person you know is the same person you’re sleeping with,
if the mode of transportation you’re using is the exact one you want,
if you have family that are within a 20 minute car ride,
if there is at least one place you can go for at least one moment of solace,
if you can find the exquisite beauty in something/someone commonly considered otherwise,
if you’re able to show indomitable patience for the elderly and young children,
if you have passion in anything you can call your own,
if you live in a place where the sun shines for more than a week at a time,
if you know the difference between taking one on the chin and getting socked in the eye,
if there is just a half-truth in any of this,
you’re pretty effin’ blessed.
Rarely am I starstruck, but when two international porn stars came into my work for a drink, I’ll admit that I was in absolute awe. Their personalities were indicative of years of southern California exposure both in and out of the adult entertainment industry and their mid-1990’s sex appeal wasn’t as much lost as it was just slightly weathered and likely required a bit more maintenance. Their conversations were financially savvy that obviously came from a considerable amount of experience in the “sales field”, it was interesting listening to them endlessly gab about who to network with and how to go about it. Sounded like research marketing 101 for strippers. That, however, was not the weird part.
I’m not afraid to say that I’ve seen both of these women’s bodies contorted in terrific ways, devoured and demolished in the most terrible and beautiful of footage, while in my early ’20’s these two ladies were closer to me than actual humans. For years they were my dependable lovers, unconditional intimate confidants of my advancing sexuality. I spent countless hours studying their subtle and often times, not so subtle techniques of pornographic performance, holding these two particular professionals in extremely high regard in contrast to their endless parade of lackluster colleagues.
Not unlike two regular women who were traveling to my town for work, they sat and drank and ate like a couple of normal bimbos, a pair of silly giggling twits that nearly shattered the very foundation of who I am and particularly, who I used to be before outgrowing their videos. These two women were not supposed to be real people, I don’t have that same celebrity relationship with 99 % of Hollywood. If Steve Buscemi or William Hurt walked in, I’d be fine with it. Heather Graham or Selma Hayak, it’s all the same to me. My instant and chemical reaction to them is an entirely different dynamic, worlds away from the parasocial relationships I happen to have with certain adult film actors.
The stark personal time I’ve shared with these two porn stars they will never know about, they will never see how they’ve shaped me, consoled me, motivated me and taught me. And seeing them out of that context and in the flesh, in my everyday work environment, no less, turned my quiet private world into an awkward and mortifying day at the office.
I’m one lucky boy. My car kept dying so I traded it in for something reliable and the next day I went to the horsetrack for the first time and hit a trifecta in the 8th race. 900 clams to pay for what the new rig cost on top of the trade. I’m lucky in how I’ve managed to survive the same tribulations that have claimed the lives of many a friend and stranger, lucky in how I’ve still got all my fingers after all the 4th of July firecracker-throwing mishaps, lucky in how I live in a beautiful city in a beautiful home with an orchid that just won’t die and the best music and art a bartender can buy. I still have the first record I ever bought (Oh No, It’s Devo), and the first comic book I ever loved (the original brutal Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in black and white). I’m fortunate to no end so every time I think I’m getting a raw deal or find myself pouting about the state of my world, I have to jot something down to remind me that no matter what happens, I’m one charmed individual and I give my thanks. I gotta share this gift so come rub my bald head for good luck. Or my not-so-bald belly for even better luck.