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One of my cast members in Twelfth Night, Paul, also grew up in Berkeley. He is a few years older than me and I didn’t really know him until this play (though he did date my trapezist friend briefly). Lately we’ve been driving everyone crazy by sharing Berkeley stories, and realizing we had very similar experiences – experiences which, to a large extent, were shared by most people from Berkeley around our age. We used and still use the same slang words (fresh, bunk, hella, wack, scrub [we used it a decade before that stupid TLC song], chump [way before Limp Bizkit], dookie [way before Green Day], etc.), we both used to tag, break dance, and beat box (all very very poorly), and we both smoked tons of weed starting in like Junior High.

And talking with him, swapping stories, I realize what a little scrub hoodlum I used to be. I’ve already talked about the constant egging. But there were many other things. In junior high there was a major shoplifting phase. We used to steal little things like markers for tagging, candy, smokes, comic books, etc. This one Christmas my friend Dev and I went to the Telegraph area Tower Records to do some Christmas Shopping (read: stealing). I spent about 15 minutes loading up on tapes, when I realized I couldn’t find Dev. I looked all around the store, even back in the classical section, when I saw a group of adults at the front of the store pointing at me. Oh shit. I whipped back down one aisle and relieved myself of all the tapes in my jacket. Sure enough, the minute I left the store, I was grabbed by the arm and dragged to a back room, everyone staring at me. (The worst part was seeing the girl I was madly in love with, that week, Maya, in the store witnessing the entire debacle). Dev was seated in the back room, scowling, and the workers proceeded to pat me down. I was clean. "I’m sure I saw him shoving things into his jacket," said this woman. In the end they had to let me go. (Dev suffered a worse fate as they called his mom to come get him, and took his photo, telling him to never enter the store again. I think the whole thing really affected him because as of a few years ago, he would still not go back in the store.)

Strange thing is this: when I left Tower that day after coming way too close to being pinched, I walked the two miles home… shoplifting the whole way. To this day I don’t quite know what I was thinking, but I just went nuts. And my family, they all got hot merchandise for Christmas that year.

Yesterday Paul reminded me of one of the low points in our mutual friend Marc’s young life. It was high school some time and Marc, the bassist in my jazz band at the time, Joshi (sax), and Super-Hippie Amir were ‘shrooming at one of their houses. At first Marc felt nothing but when he and Joshi went to pee and realized they’d totally forgotten how, he knew he was tripping. Laughing and enjoying the feeling, Marc decided to take his clothes off and just lie on the ground, watching the air and the ceiling and the light through the window.

Then Marc realized with absolutely certainty and clarity that Amir was going to kill him.

Knowing he was due to be killed any moment, he did what anyone would have done. He left and started walking home. Small problem: he was naked at the time and lived 2 miles away. Bigger problem: Marc’s naked path took him past UC Berkeley’s Memorial Stadium. Huge problem: It was Sunday at about 4pm. And as Marc walked past the stadium, the football game ended. Seconds later, 30,000 fans were walking out of the stadium right towards him.

When he was released from jail that night, he stupidly told Joshi and Amir what happened.

Hence, if you go to Berkeley at the right time this fall, you’ll see at least 2 young men engaged in what is now called the "Annual Marc ‘Shroom Run". But clothed of course.


… Man, my brain is aflutter, and I cannot concentrate on anything. I know it is due to the impending opening of Twelfth Night. I get like this. So much on my mind. Like:

People have been talking about the song used in the etoys commercials lately. If you lived in Hawaii, or were a savvy motherfucker like stee, you would know that was the deceased 800 pound wildly popular Hawaiian singer Israel Kamakawiwo'ole’s version of Somewhere Under the Rainbow. I heard it 2 years ago when he died and my heart burst. I ran right out to buy it. A lot of his stuff is this totally hokey Hawaiian-pop. But when he lets his unreal voice fly… No words to describe.


…I don’t know man. I’m really really really wary of this thought, but is it just me or are the fucking Olsen Twins threatening to grow into very attractive women? (That sound is Plaintive Wail being ripped off Bookmark lists around the world.)

Back At Your Mama’s House…

…I’m so down to see this:

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But it has only played in Chicago and soon, Baltimore. Did anyone see it? Read it? Know anything about it? Do tell me. I read the Chicago production review in the New Yorker a year ago and have been Jonesing to see it ever since. I have a love/hate relationship with Bogosian as a monologist and actor, but I think his plays, Talk Radio and Suburbia (the movie sucked), are quite wonderful.

From the Newsstand…

…These current headlines from the Enterprise tabloid made me laugh today:

30 Stars Without Make-up, Photos Inside!
Regis to Quit – Pat Sajak to take over
Garth Brooks Divorces Wife – leaves her in a trailer
Chuck Woolery in Suicide Drama

From the Let’s Give Them Something To Talk About Department…

…First Howard Stern and Allison, then David Copperfield and Claudia, and now Bonnie Raitt and Noonan. Goddamn it. I guess Noonan stopped Being The Ball.

Prove To Yourself That Stee Really Exists…

…Twelfth Night is playing at:
The Gascon Center Theatre
8737 Washington Blvd. in Culver City
Thursday – Saturday at 8pm
Nov. 19 – Dec. 12. (we actually open this Saturday but we’re totally sold out.)
For Tickets Call 310.572.6748.


…I am dumb. Last night I got a bowl of ice cream I’d neglected to eat earlier out of the freezer. Immediately I put the spoon to my tongue... and it stuck.

The Larry King Happy Song Corner

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6am, day after Christmas. I throw some clothes on in the dark. The smell of cold. Car seat is freezing. The world is sleeping and I am numb. Up the stairs to her apartment. She is balled up on the couch. Her mom and dad went down to Charlotte. They're not home to find us out. And we drive, now that I have found someone I'm feeling more alone. Than I ever have before. She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly. Off the coast and I'm headed nowhere. She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly… speaking of which. Is that not the worst – cold car seats? Oy. Every morning when Bruno picks me up to head to the offices, I make him blast the seat-heaters in the limo. You know, another pet peeve of mine is when you’re in the limo watching The View (that Starr Jones really cracks ol’ Larry up, boy) and you run into that spot of signal interference around Times Square. I always end up missing a minute or two of the show! (Hopefully it’s when that yenta Barbara is on.) But seriously, can’t Rudy G. do anything about this?

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