After moving to L.A. in January, old Uncle Steve has been trying to remake his life once again. His truck got stolen, his dog got stolen, he lost a few jobs, got a few more and in late July he got e-mail and began talking to us at Lies once again. Here are a few highlights and observations.
August 14, 1997
Mattman,
Well, I've been terminated over the phone the night before and resisted the temptation to drown my depression in a six-pack or two. Beat it down with an empty beer bottle, but I'm tryin' to cut down on my concussions as you well know, when I find myself returning from Santa Monica on the bus.
I ditched out the urge to have a beer after a fairly satisfying and cheap breakfast special of steak and eggs at a little diner in the heart of downtown Santa Monica.
It was a beautiful up and coming afternoon down at the beach and I had stopped over as I had to transfer buses and decided to walk off the disappointment of riding an hour and a half on the bus one way to talk to people that had asked me to come out, and then had me fill out an application and beg off till the next day.
The smaller blue Santa Monica city buses were nice, clean, and uncrowded, in direct opposite of the county MTA buses. So there I am, standing up and feeling bummed when this woman gets on in Westwood (on the border of Century City) who could have been the poster girl for comic book super-heroines.
Some kind of super funk white trash rocker chick from hell. She had long red, auburn hair damn near down to her ass, and it's in braids, tight braids and the braids to the side are braided into bigger braids, and she has this black ball cap (with a silver ankh symbol on the front) on backwards, and a tan and she is skinny, but wide in the hips, with some projectile tits that may or may not have been real.
A finely chiseled face graced here, a small pock or two on the right cheek with the hair artistically draped to cover. She wore a tank top kind of t-shirt and this black vest that was open and went down damn near to her ankles as far as length. The lower region was garbed in this silver spandex workout deal and she had on pink ankle socks and white sneaks. Her right arm sported this huge ass full color tat, orange Orchids descending from her biceps past her elbow. Definite tropic motif.
Could not discern the tat on her left tit. What got me was the pouty bottom lip. The first thing that came to mind was collagen injection. She was the bio-engineered implant girl. If she was really a girl to begin with. We were on Santa Monica Boulevard after all and she got off the bus in West Hollywood.
The only thing I felt while looking at her was, "A cold beer would go
over great." Shit, I feel like loserville, ya think I would even consider a chick with implants down here in shitsville with me--forget about it. No more psychos, whores, or loserettes.
Besides, there were phone calls to make, copy for web sites to write, a nap to take, and a couple of cold ones in the fridge.
Life is so stupid, it's funny. If you live... later, Steve
August 31, 1997
Mattster,
Oops, hey, think I could stretch that deadline a day or so? I ended up with an unwanted house guest, my web page partner, who, believe it or not, fled to Australia.
He gets evicted from his pad and moves onto my floor, then this chick he has been e-mailing and phoning for a year (he met her on a chat line) sends him a 1,000 bucks (US) to fly over to Brisbane. Seen a picture, in fact several, and she was actually quite cute.
I couldn't get shit done, and those tech-nerd boys are dull. True to type: good kid, Casey is like 22, a good Missouri-midwestern-values type but all he wants to do is sit at the damn computer like 24/7, and listen to headbangin' death metal and shit. People with no taste in music and no vices are fuckin' boring.
What also annoyed me was the lack of open-mindedness, I was on him once in a while. I said, "If you take anything away from being around me is you should be more open and understanding." There really are still many intelligent nitwits out there into that whole blame trip.
Like, the Federal Reserve is owned by the rich, and they are the ones that are ruining the country.
Gimme a break! Patriotism in the face of global corporations running the planet into the ground becomes more senseless with every passing day.
Fantasies are for the young, and I wonder if I let the hope get beat out
of the core of my heart, will I still be young?
I didn't envy him, I warned him. I said, "Travel. You will learn, but there will be a price, yer flyin' in blind to stay with an 18-year-old who lives at home. Her parents may be cool with you and understanding and all, but you have no cash. Good thing it's a round trip ticket.
I fed him and housed him for a week--figure it can't hurt my Karma. Now I work a gig that feeds on peoples fantasies, but more on that later, I have to figure out why my e-letter to someone in Germany isn't going through and see if I can survive the work day tomorrow.
Friday will be the art-writing night, so if you can cut me slack I will 'e' you a piece, or 2! Say who-ya to yer little bro. Later, Steve-o
September 1, 1997
Mattman,
We shall see, I wish I could tell you that life gets stranger or better by the moment, but that would be as preposterous and presumptuous as I have ever been in print or any other media.
So, I took today off, cause Labor day is Labor day, and I was up all night with the trotts. Think that cigar I smoked over the weekend hit the colon in an unpleasant manner. A boring weekend, sat around by my lonesome, can't get the death of Di thing, yeah, duty, tragedy blah blah, having lost my mom a long time ago to long and difficult battle with cancer. I really feel for her kids, but they won't be out begging by the curb, will they now? Not that I ever went begging, but as it is Labor day weekend perhaps the fantasy would be that we all should have a shot at some fulfilling work that would remunerate us all equitably.
The plane boss, the plane--ha! Herve' shot himself, there's a dose
of the reals for ya.
Carmen Electra was just on late night. Who is this broad? Some
former porn queen? Welcome to the Southland.
Hopefully I'll still have a job tomorrow, nobody told me to come in and I WAS sick as a dog, and no-one called.
I will get my requests for transcripts off this week. There's a fantasy--38 this month and I'm trying to get into college. The nice thing is that not only will it help re-establish my credit but I will be able to use former credits and start as a sophomore, not that freshman drudge shit--and if they make me take a language, heh, I'll take Spanish.
My landlord will lower my rent to $185 next month. I am no longer the token white person. Some red-haired chick, and maybe her boyfriend--I haven't met them yet--moved into the upstairs unit in the house out back.
Missed Lutefisk at the street festival last weekend, but L7 was wild and I caught the end of Wild Orchid's set, and they are like hot in real life, oh, my god.
Quentin Tarantino looks old for 34, his beard is all white. Mira Sorvino really is a damn Amazon, like, it is so cool when the personalities are as tall as they seem 'cause usually they ain't. Drew Barrymore is like one of the little people. Laura San Giancomo is damn hot, but she, too, is like 3 feet tall and old--man she is like 36. I know, I read everyone's I.D. I don't care who you are, I do my job--not that I have that job anymore.
For the best, I wasn't makin' enough and I was drinkin' too much.
Full circle, my first winter in Cali (over fifteen years ago) was the El Niņo,
and now my first winter back, another El Niņo is coming. So I expect floods supreme, okay by me. At least it won't get as cold as the Quirky before I left.
Have to talk to a lawyer, maybe legal aid about my truck. The thing is stolen then the cops find it and lose it, or won't call me back. I shouldn't have to buy
an answering machine when I'm home two days in a row.
Victimized by thieves and then victimized by the system--welcome to the big city kid! Hey, have we got a plan for your tax dollars!
Now I call and fill audition rosters for a talent agency in Beverly Hills.
Got pierced again.
Riding the bus sucks. My pal up in Crestline, a resort up in the mountains near Big Bear and Lake Arrowhead will sell me his Jeep Samurai. That will be my target for September.
The working poor are cool 'cause they is me, but the stinky street homeless, hey, I could go on about the clash of the last hundred years, the right of those who work to get paid for it, how the minimum wage was raised and there has been NO increase in inflation, ha! I think we need to foster individuality and protect it cause the reality is most people are sheep who are and should be happy to be trash collectors and butchers and bakers. I just wish writers and artists were paid better and weren't such a bunch of fops and fuck ups 'cause, man there is some good shit out there that is going unrecognized and much drivel is being paid too much for.
It's all a corporate endeavor now.
Man, the fantasy would be to buy Montserrat and live with the volcano. Live like a feudal lord with a sword, the earth dancing like a dervish waiting for the end. Krakatoa, west of Java, a better end than the Princess. Let 'em have their pictures, or have the guards start shooting, yeah!
It's like I've been saying all along. People buy the rags so the paparazzi stalk and shoot the pictures. The rich and famous want peace, they need to get paid less and be normal. Not raised like gods, 'cause they ain't. Both ends of the scale need to get a life.
Me, I need a vehicle. Legalize drugs, empty the jails, and then put the poor in them. Yep, no more beggars. Deal with the people who are homeless and keep the jail operators in the money. Fastest growing industry in America.
Prisons. Put the panhandlers in prison. Solve both problems and several more to boot.
Can't hold a steady job cause you don't have a trade, you'll be makin' license plates for a living for ten to twenty, ya loser!
At least the Dodgers are in first place in the west.
Me, I never bothered much about fantasy, 'cause I make my dreams come true. I just haven't bothered to dream in so long 'cause hope is a friend I have to reach long distance, but even though I haven't talked to her recently, I know she ain't dead. She is still young and pretty and she will smile my way soon.
How can I fail to be happy when I'm in the place I long and need to be?
return to the subbasement.