Tag: friends

objects in the rear vision mirror

I miss Saturdays on the patio at Diedrich. It hit me hard today that I really wanted to go there and see my friends, hear their stories of the week and tell mine, talk about everything and nothing, maybe go for a meal later or just spend the evening talking.

I want those people back and that place. But it’s not what those people need any more, and the place is gone.

It is probably not very grown-up to want and need that big social group and the hangout. Certainly the others in that group grew out of it into something more satisfying to them, and I want them to be happy.

I suppose I should figure out what it means for me that I miss that experience this much.

It’s Gergmas. Damnit.

GERG

Greg Franco (left), in a photo for his band Rough Church

To the stupid “where were you” question I have to respond “asleep” because I’m on the west coast and lazy. Where I was the night before? At my old good friend Greg’s birthday party, because up until 2001, September 11 meant GERG’s birthday. And it still does, goddamnit.

I’ve known him since 1985, and he and I have been in many car crashes. We did a radio show together and played even crazier music than the crazy college radio station wanted us to. We both showed up at a Cabaret Voltaire show in sweaters because we were fucking corndogs. I always bought lunch and he always had a car. We made the same mistakes and forgave each other. We spent a lot of time in the dark listening to some magically good record. We also spent a lot of time listening to shitty music that one of us thought would be good.

He was there for me when my life exploded in college, and when I was a flat broke depressed part-time editorial assistant with a stain on my pants. He saved my ass in the L.A. Riots with his insane courier driving skills and bravery. He and I lent each other two dimes back and forth 1,000 times and ate cheap rice sitting on the floor of a hundred crap apartments. He moved me across town in blinding heat in a 1967 Mustang, 8 trips. I carried his amps and drums around. He kidnapped me from work the day after my dad died and drove me up in the mountains.

My friendship with this guy led to an night sessions at a Persian recording studio in Van Nuys, and to a big beach party we threw where no one came but us, and to a hundred other adventures we can call back with one or two words: “Buttonwillow,” “Psych 201,” “Pepper pot soup,” “Mike F. on acid.”

I have not seen him in a long time but I bet you we could have a conversation entirely in incomprehensible catchphrases to this day.

He makes great music and is passionate about it, and gives up a lot to do it well. Do yourselves a favor and visit Rough Church, see if you agree about the music.

Celebrate Gergmas with me. Instead.

An email from Kazakhkstan leads to coffee in Newport

Tom at Kéan Coffee

Saw Tom today, for the first time in more than 20 years. I went to high school with him and I think saw him once after that. In the meantime he’s had a few careers and is currently fully employed saving the world. This is a damned good thing in that the world is in need of saving and Tom is both smart and on the side of the angels.

I tried to explain some of the more recent features of our locale including Mortgage Bro ‘n’ Ho Culture, the Vanguard Nice Christian Kid Death Star Attack, and the deadly affluenza of drugs and alcohol among the Kids These Days. Not sure if I was sufficiently descriptive.

I went away with the happy feeling of having reconnected, some good stories from both of us, and a sticker that says COALITION CONVOY / STAY BACK 50 METERS / DEADLY FORCE IS AUTHORIZED in English and Arabic. I think that is going to go on the laptop. I’ll leave the rest of the storytelling to him, if he chooses to tell the stories.

On the way over there I was listening to Indie 103 (which I’m liking more and more) and it was Steve Jones’ show. It was a crazy reunion show at that because Jonesy had John Lydon on the show and they were bullshitting and laughing about the Sex Pistols days. Best quote was from Lydon: “And we were very confused, as one ought to be.”

Anyway they wrapped up the show as I was driving from the shrink’s office to meet Tom at Kéan. Just as I drove past my alma mater, all decorated with happy cheerleader girls doing the splits, the radio spat out “God Save the Queen” and I realized that this was something like my 25th anniversary of driving past that high school blasting that song on my car radio.

As Tom said, “that still works.”

Whereabouts of etet

Attention former AOLers and the lazyweb:

I’m trying to find Guide ET / Etet / etrose from the old days. My last contacts with her were about 1996, which is about when the addresses I have drop off Usenet etc.

If you’re her, or if you’ve seen her, let me know!

ignatz

celebrate good times?

I think I’m going to Mt. Washington for Greg’s 4th of July party. His band is going to play (Rough Church). It’s a block party, street closed off at 3 pm, etc. It should be relaxed and pleasant, because Mt. Washington is a neighborly neighborhood.

The Fourth is a weird time for me for the last few years, and especially a Costa Mesa 4th of July is something I don’t much want this year.

If anyone else feels like going, ping me. It’s a nice buncha people.

And yes, I am listening to the Very Best of Hall & Oates. I’m not sure why, because I usually hate hate haaaaate this kind of slick R&B pop, but I’ve always liked those guys.

Give Joe something for his 85th and our 4th

My friend Joe Bell turns 85 this July 4. Joe’s a great guy, and has been close to our family forever. This is the first time I’ve seen Joe ask for a birthday gift, because he’s got Midwestern values about these things and he’s got all the stuff he’s likely to need from now on. But he did ask for something.

He’d like his country back, please.

It’s the least you can do for an old veteran.