Forty Years After

They never get it right in the movies. You always see the funeral and its raining heavy or it’s dark and cloudy. The day we buried my mother, 40 years ago this week, it was sunny, hot, and stifling. The funeral was at Mt. Sinai Cemetary in the Hollywood Hills where the smog hangs like a gray curtain, a blanket of car exhaust. The year was 1970 and the Sixties were dead, you could say my mom died with them. My father cried, my brothers cried, but I couldn’t because I was in a state of shock, just staring at the closed coffin, refusing to believe it was over, confused and frightened. The tears wouldn’t come, although they eventually would later.

Her plot had no trees around it so the light was just blistering from all sides. To this day when I think of my mother’s funeral all I think of is the unforgiving sun and its heat. I was only 13 and just quietly watched the speeches, the crying and the terrible sunlight.

When we got home we performed the Jewish ritual of mourning: for seven days we sat on the floor (no chairs), wore torn clothing, and covered all the mirrors in the house. People from the synagogue would come to visit and pay respects. Of course you had the whackos bragging about being her best friend. The truth was my mother was a lone wolf, trusted no one and liked no one. She was the most antisocial woman I ever knew. Some of these “friends” even tried to come by under the pretense of mourning and started riffling through her bedroom. I kicked them out and moved into her bedroom and slept in her bed. (My father had his own bed).

My mother, Elizabeth, was 43 when she died, and was 40 when she was diagnosed with cancer. A smoker who smoked about 2 packs a day (Kent Cigarettes), she loved her smokes so much she even sewed a leather cover for her flip-top packs. I remember walking with her to the Doctor’s office for her routine radiation treatment. She told me her Doctor sat behind his desk chain smoking, saying, "These things are a bitch to quit, aren't they?" (Back in the Sixties it seemed like everybody smoked). I’d sit there dutifully in the waiting room for her to come out after her treatment. Sometimes we’d walk home, or if she felt weak, we’d take a cab home. We’d go by the huge excavation site ten blocks wide – “Do you see that huge crater? That’s going to be Century City. Isn’t that exciting?”

After the mourning stage was over the school year began again and my classmates who used to bully me and beat me up now just walked away whenever they saw me, staring at me like I was a leper. I was now some kind of phantom. My mother’s antisocial attitude made sense to me. She knew.

The sadness felt like it would never end, but of course it did. Two years later I discovered T. Rex, Roxy Music, New York Dolls and glam rock, and the world was still colorful. Platform shoes, elephant flares and rock & roll. Somehow the sun didn’t seem so ominous anymore.

2010: Last week I went to the cemetery to visit my mother’s grave on her 40th anniversary, and lurking down the hill above us was a young coyote. It very shyly trotted over to a big, lush tree and lay in the dark shade, away from the blinding sunlight. The message was clear: we are vilified but we will keep wandering alone because it’s who we are. And we like it that way.

Mid-Year Wrap Up 2010

Well, we've reached the end of the first half of the year, one of the most depressing, isolating, and selfish eras in history. I'll see if I can make a little sense out of it, but I'm no magician:

January - The 20th anniversary of "Horses", the first record I released. Getting that first record in my hands was one of the most exciting experiences I've ever had. Those were wonderful days, times that cannot be relived or reclaimed, which is why band reunions are such sad affairs.
Gary Baseman gave Rebecca a wonderful painting dedicated to her, which ended up as this year's Lollapalooza poster and t-shirt. Since our accountant passed away we found a new guy who's pretty cool; he likes hardcore punk and plays chess, too. That's pretty hip!

February - Got a new HD flat-screen TV in our bedroom and the first thing we saw was the Dr. Pepper KISS commercial that Rebecca did wardrobe for. Funny. Mixed some tracks for No Policy for an upcoming Montreal hardcore compilation CD.

March - Progress is going well on the Crash Walker serial, which will progress into a novel. Having a great time writing it. It will last somewhere between 16-17 chapters.
Began reading lots of Patricia Highsmith (Little Tales of Misogyny, The Price of Salt) and Chester Himes (The Real Cool Killers, Run Man Run). Great inspiration.

April - More people I knew passed away this month: Jason O'Gullegher (aka Big Jason) and Malcolm McLaren. It's very weird reaching the age where your peers begin leaving you because your generation has gotten that much older.
People at work are acting so panicky and freaked out, running around pissing and screaming like rats on a sinking ship. I had to take a "mental health day" off, a few actually.

May - The Fairfax and Showcase Theatres shut down and bookstores like The Bodhi Tree and A Different Light closed down, too. All the other bookstores are trying to sell me computer books like Kindle, eBook, etc. After a long day of typing on a computer I can't see myself relaxing in front of yet another computer screen blasting out a book. Paper always wins.

June - Worked as an Inspector (Supervisor) at the polls on Election Day. Unfortunately the polling place was at Park La Brea, the most exasperatingly confusing piece of real estate ever created in Southern California, over 100 acres of look-alike streets and look-alike buildings. Even Christopher Columbus with a compass would get lost there on a good day. I had to keep the Democrats and the Republicans from beating the shit out of each other, seriously. But I'll be back in November to do it again. I think it's time for another mental health day off.

Cadmus In Cadmium

Paul Cadmus 1904-1999. He died five days before his 95th birthday. He was the most outrageous and overlooked artist of his time.

1. Shore Leave (1933) - Sailors spending their leisure time drunkenly chasing girls instead of helping little old ladies cross the street. "Secretary of the Navy Swanson said, 'the painting represents a most disgraceful, sordid, disreputable, drunken brawl, wherein apparently a number of enlisted men are consorting with a party of street-walkers and denizens of the red light district. This is an unwarranted insult, and evidently originated in the sordid, depraved imagination of someone who has no conception of actual conditions in our service" - Time Magazine, 1934.

2. YMCA Locker Room (1933) - Guys in a locker room in various stages of undress (mostly nekkid) primping and checking each other out.

3. The Fleet's In! (1934) - More gobs drunkenly cutting up with torn-up hookers. "As opponents of censorship we cannot condone Admiral Hugh Rodman's burst of indignation at the striking canvas, 'The Fleet's In!' by Paul Cadmus. Admiral Rodman has had a long and distinguished career as a sailor. That does not make him an art critic. The PWAP show is an art exhibition, not an enlistment bureau for the Navy" - Washington Post, 1934.

4. Greenwich Village Cafeteria (1934) - Hipsters cram their faces with food like wild animals and pick each others pockets. "Something of the bitterness which every unemployed artist feels is evident in this painting entitled 'Greenwich Village Cafeteria' by Paul Cadmus of New York City" - New York Herald Tribune, 1934.

5. Gilding The Acrobats (1935) - a jughead-hat wearin' black kid slops gold paint all over a bitter-lookin' naked circus acrobat.

6. Venus And Adonis (1936) - A blown-out rich dowager desperately clings to a statuesque Gregory Peck-looking tennis player, who's classically naked of course.


7. Seeing The New Year In (1939) - A portrait of a party that's gone on way too long, chicks passed out while sleazy guys undress them passed out, nuzzle them, and there's even a guy in the background putting the make on another guy (!). "The painting doesn't have the air of fantasy. There is a cold, hard restlessness in the drawing that suggests that the artist has been determined to give you the facts and nothing but the facts, but at the same time the artist's complete absorption in every inch of wickedness in the picture attests too great an interest in wickedness for its own sake" - New York Sun, 1939.

8. Sailors and Floozies (1938) - This time the tables are turned: our fightin' heroes are all passed out cold, and the prostitutes, looking manly, suggesting transvestitism, are going through their pockets. A crumpled newspaper on the ground bears the headline, "1000 Killed In Air Raid". The sun is bleakly setting. "Paul Cadmus is on another red-hot naval rampage...painting with brilliant finesse a theme doused in indecency!" - New York Post, 1938.

9. Herrin Massacre (1940) - Strike-breakers are depicted beaten to death by labor union activists in a cemetery, the dead are left bloodied, broken and naked. "Just gory journalism" - Journal American, 1940.

10. The Shower (1943), Point O' View (1945), and Fences (1946) - Male nudes on the beach with dark, midnight lighting. "The Shower was sold before it settled on the hook waiting for hanging. His dealer's main problem is not how to sell the next Cadmus, but how not to play favorites" - Art Digest (1943).

11. Playground (1948) - Tenement boys hanging around the New York playground aimlessly looking around waiting for something to happen.

12. Finistere (1952) - Boys in Euro bikinis hanging out on bikes in beach-side Italy. One even brandishes a big Italian bread!

Discover the art of Paul Cadmus. Audasse, audasse, toujours l'audasse. Audacity, audacity, audacity always!

My Cup Runneth Over With Swill

The first taste of alcohol begins in church/temple. Yeah, it starts with God. Like it or not. When you go to the house of the holy they pour that wine in your mouth and you're hooked. At the age of ten. Little boys get their first taste of sweet fluids, followed by a divine buzz. Let's thank the Lord and give grace. It starts there and builds into something unholy, of course.

My first booze buzzes began with childish, doggy highs: Southern Comfort (syrupy barf bait), awful Gilbey's Gin, and punk rock heaven circa 1978: MD 20/20, sometimes called Mad Dog 20/20, but really called Mogen David 20/20. I'm sure good King David is turning over in his grave. Another punk (nee puke) rock high: Mickey's Big Mouth (aka "The Green Death").

And those boozy upchucks like the time you mixed Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum with Mickey's Big Mouth (yeah!) and you ended up vomiting in that lucky girl's purse. Hey, don't laugh, I'm sure Tommy Lee's done that dozens of times...and then scored.

Stuff I like (in no particular order):

1. Goldschlager (gold fairy tale flakes drifting in your shot glass for a rockin' cinnamon buzz).

2. Maker's Mark = smoother than Jim Beam, love to break the fake wax seal.

3. Jack Daniels, making me pass out on my anniversary, talk about a Kentucky blackout, wake up and vomit, while the room is spinning watch Tom Servo and Crow rip on Arch Hall, Jr. on Mystery Science Theatre 3000.

4. Domaine de Canton - ginger liqueur mixed with Ginger Ale for a double whammy of ginger.

5. Hennessy cognac, excellent for a cold when you have a chest full of flug and have to cough the green devils out. Once when I was tubercular I lived on cognac and donuts. Rock 'n roll, baby.

6. Greyhounds - Grey Goose vodka with grapefruit juice because orange juice is for babies.

7. Rye - booze of choice in billions of old noir movies and novels and kicks ass harder than bourbon. Tastes best in old Hollywood dives like The Formosa Cafe, aye laddie.

8. Manhattans - classier than martinis and tastier, too. Honest. My drink of choice at Jones Hollywood.

So whatever God hath wrought booze is thy destiny. Blame it on my Jewish upbringing; we have not one, but two holidays that encourage hard drinking: Purim and Simchat Torah. On one Simchat Torah I mixed so many different drinks that I perforated the lining of my stomach! Praise the Lord and pass that bottle, brother.

PS WTF

Palm Springs Walk of the Stars (Palm Canyon Drive)=I love the Hollywood Walk of Fame, but the Palm Springs Walk of the Stars might be just as cool. A lot of c-listers get their just due on this walk, and it’s more than fair.
When you have your coffee and scone at Starbucks you might walk by a star with Nancy Sinatra, Phyllis Diller or Catherine Deneuve inscribed on it. What great choices. I so approve.
Continuing on Museum Drive on the way to the Desert Museum I might pass by Jerry Vale, Kaye Ballard (one of Paul Lynde’s best friends), or Trini Lopez.
When I left the Peppertree Book Store after getting “The Man Who Invented Rock Hudson” (THE Palm Springs book!) I looked down and saw Guy Madison, Liberace, and Connie Stevens.
And let’s hear it for the Mamie Van Doren star…after all, she was Ms. Palm Springs when I was still learning how to walk.

Wherehouse Music (555 S. Palm Canyon Drive)= Now it’s called FYE (For Your Entertainment) but who cares. I like this store, it’s like a rock & roll Pic N Save, you can get a leather CD wallet for $2 DOLLARS!
You can get a junky mp3 speaker system for $10 DOLLARS!!!
Who cares if it sounds like a tinny drive-in movie speaker? What do you want, Bose Acoustics, it’s 10 dollars and does the job! I got a crappy Pirates of the Caribbean watch chain for $4 (such the deal!). This place is a paradise of rocker junk in the desert. I got a used copy of “The Downward Spiral” by NIN for $7. I had a ball listening to Trent scream in my face all through my weekend in Palm Springs. I must be sick.

Ichiban Japanese Steak House & Sushi Bar (1201 E. Palm Canyon Drive)= The first time I heard the word “ichiban” was in the movie “The Naked Kiss” when Griff tells Kelly she’s going to be his ichiban (#1 hooker). I don’t know much about hookers any more than I know about Japanese restaurants, but this place put a smile on my face. Ichiban is a very reasonably priced restaurant – I was surprised with the bill when I got it. We ate well and the wallet didn’t take a spanking in the process.
The décor was kind of cheap: wood paneling, tiled mirrors, chrome furniture, kind of like Dad’s rec room. All that was missing was the Playboy mags buried under the couches.
The food was good, though. An order of Teriyaki Filet Mignon came with tempura vegetables and steamed rice. The Wasabi Caesar Salad had no wasabi in it, I guess they threw the wasabi part in the title to make you feel like you were getting something Japanese. You’re not. I washed it all down with plum wine, a “blush” according to the menu. It was sweet, light, and lovely, like my date. I’ll be coming back. Ichiban scored an ichi with me. Burp!

Desert Springs Spa Hotel (10805 Palm Drive)= The place rocks. Seriously. Not one, not two, but about eight different pools of varying sizes and temperatures. If you like it cool, they have one. If you like the warm old fogey Jacuzzi pool, they have one.
Lots o’ lockers you can store your schitt away at while you’re hanging in your bikini.
And best of all, nobody’s leering at you in your bathing suit because everybody’s busy having fun in the water. A locker key and admission is dirt cheap: $5 last time I checked. They also have a hotel that wraps around the pool, but if you stayed here you would probably have a nervous breakdown from all the noise.
The pool opens early: get there around 10, have dinner at 6, be back in Hollywood by 10 pm. That’s swanky.

True Value Hardware (233 S. Farrell Drive #8)= Hardware stores rarely score a 10 in the coolness factor, but TV is the exception to the rule. Before you get to the hammers and weather stripping there’s the swanky display of lounge furniture.
TV also has a great selection of tiki gear, any tiki fanatic would go crazy here, not just tiki torches but tiki kitchenware, tiki furniture, etc.
You’ll also find a huge selection of pool paraphernalia, so stylish that even if you don’t own a pool you’ll want to buy all their stuff. I don’t know who their buyer is, but he has a great artistic eye. Amazing taste.
The staff is very friendly, helpful and know their hardware. Very cool people to deal with, like most hardware sales people they have a pretty dry sense of humor. Must be from hanging around all the lumber.
TV is connected to the Palm Springs Mall, the loneliest indoor mall in the world. It always looks empty and abandoned, like a George Romero movie. It might be the creepiest mall ever, and deserves at least one visit for the eerie factor alone.
Bloody hell, I just double-dipped a review again.