I'm actually in Glendale, California. This is not my most successful trip to LA, though I've got another week and of course life can change on a dime. I'm staying with my friend Jim Smith, a broke cartoonist. In the abstract, he's not as broke as me, because I owe about $16,000 to credit cards, and Jim doesn't have a credit card. So he's really less in the hole than me.
My friend Burt drove me back to Glendale today after I enjoyed a blanketless night on his vinyl fold down couch, and he was playing 80s music in the car. I missed the 80s and 90s music, well every music except what i find out about case by case. One song, he pointed out, was by Concrete Blonde. He said they had a song where the chorus was all about being Stuck in a Whole in Hollywood. That song and many other pop culture references made him want to move to LA. Burt may have the exterior of a more reasonable person than I appear to be, with my unkempt hair and current stress rash, but the fact is that songs and Bukowski books on how really horrible life in Los Angeles is compelled him to follow his dream and be right at the scene of the reference points. Yep, Burt is an artsy type, one of what somebody recently referred to as my probable artsy friends.
I saw Popcorn last night, she met us at a bar without a name I recall. I had two glasses of red wine. They played the Cramps because Lux Interior died yesterday. I got two forwarded emails to that effect. This did not increase or decrease the existence of my stress rash. I'm on a morid tip due to a writing job, so I checked to make sure that the LA Cornorer's Gift Shop is still open, and it is - I'm going on Monday! Then I'm going to camcorder Burt at the Ha Ha Cafe in Noho! Here's a picture of the terrific queen who used to man the helm at Backlot Movie Memorbilia, which was closed down on Hollywood Blvd to make way for a W Hotel. I bought about 55 $3 lobby cards from him over the years. "What do you collect?" he'd ask. "The Gabors" I'd answer. He promised to remember me. But of course though I meet hundreds of people a year and remeber nobody I remember him, not the other way.
Now I'm watching On Demand on Jim's tv, its an autopsy special - now up to the part of the Sid and Nancy story - the woman voice over artist has upper class lock jaw. Nancy's corpse looks great. Nicole Simpson's body looked good too. You bleach your hair and eat very sparingly, stick to simple black garmets, and yep you'll have be a helluva goodlooking homicide victim. Nancy, in the footage they showed, had a British accent and said she had an IQ of 172.
I notice a lot of career drinkers have genuis type IQs. They manage to drink down the brain cells until they're about the same as me, which is probably upper or mid 130s, except that they'll have more canniness towards matters like estimating spatial relations or home repair.So if Nancy lived I might have a few guesses as to what she'd be up to - hopefully home repair, not some stitch and bitch club, skull and crossbone booties make me want to hurl.
Its raining and there's no umbrella here. My arms are itching. A Thai delivery menu is behind e on the couch. Some people who write badly are not aware of that fact. Sid Vicious' mother bought him his fatal hot shot. See how you can put a petty fact together with a historical one, and get a bit of a noir sound? Class is over. Get the hell out of here and don't come back until you have some Thai food for me.
