Don, Adam and Dave
As deadline rolled closer this week, I had never felt such a lost, unfocused, dreadful feeling that there was literally nothing to write about. Whenever that thought comes to mind, I know deep down that it really is not the case at all, but nevertheless, I still go through the motions of that certain anguish. It’s like writers’ block, but I could write if there were just something interesting to write about. It’s faux writer’s block, and when this affliction nails me, I break my frozen stare at the keyboard, pick up the phone and call fellow writer/rocker/culture vulture/drug taker Adam Block and see what he makes of this temporary drift in the doldrums. More often than not, this perks me right up, because Adam is a much more devout media monitor than I am. If there’s something going on that I should know about in the areas of rock music, politics, star gossip or some absurd tidbit on the news that I could joyously vivify in that perverse, maverick, sick-fuck way for readers to enjoy or at least be shocked or amused by, Adam will let me in on It.
I phoned up and quickly stated my predicament to Adam, who responded, “Well, after that self-indulgent ‘why can’t everybody in the gay community just get along’ Dave Ford cover story with that picture of a guy sucking himself off, I wouldn’t sweat it. You’ll think of something.” I recalled the first few paragraphs of that particular article, remembering Dave’s metaphorical reference to “dump truck-sized jello molds” of nutrition for the right wing in preparation for their wars/crusades, while the gay community feeds on itself, the less nutritional option. That is, except for the less tasty ones dipped in CK, chortle chortle ha ha. The article continues, dipping the community in a whole slew of socioeconomicaly far-fetched behaviors, activities and concerns that might lead one to believe that all fags and dykes are wealthy world-traveling bourgeois dilettantes who don’t know where to eat when the Zuni isn’t open on Mondays.
“How about that bit at the end that Dave Ford translates in Latin to ‘be who does nothing, and does it poorly,’ “Adam continued. ‘Except compulsive shopping, something all fags do, according to Dave. And what about the cutesy way of apologizing for something and then continuing to do it in the article, like his run-on sentences.
“Yeah,” I interjected with a hint of indignance. “Everyone knows I’m the champ in the run-on sentence department, only mine don’t require any apologies, not for showy but senseless syntax or obtuse vocabulary choices.”
“What’s up with Dave these days, I wonder?” Adam said in disbelief.
“I’m not sure, but last time I saw him he was wearing a tie, looking all downtown and shit,” I recalled, ‘I wouldn’t doubt he’s fallen prey to the Scientologists or something.’
Adam resumed with a catch-you-up media report, while I wondered to myself if printing the gist of our conversation about Dave would be a good intro. Dave’s a good sport and an old friend so he wouldn’t get upset over a little ribbing. Maybe I’m wrong, though, maybe it would start a big rash of infighting at the Bay Times, then what would happen? Would we become the paper that eats itself, a microcosm of our troubled gay community and its never-ending ‘jungle red” kiss-and-kill bitch-fight tendencies which Dave speaks of? No, we’d probably Just laugh and throw our hands up and suc?cumb to the one activity or weakness shared by our illustrious community and just go shopping together like girlfriends—with trust funds.
But really, who am to talk? I make incorrect or generalized assumptions about the community all the time. He does it in his area and I do it in mine. For instance, I advocated the murder of children who detonate fireworks in my last column, and as you longtime readers might remember, Dave holds children in much higher, deeper regard than that. Especially in Calvin Klein white cotton briefs, unscented. When it comes to certain issues we’re, like, same paper, different worlds, and that’s the kind of diversity that makes this paper great. As for life in general, the real distance between Dave and me isn’t really so great, merely 12 steps or so. In spite of that, he’s been great?ly supportive of my writing for years and I’m pleased to see him back and writing for the Bay Times again. Now, let the games begin!
WHO ELSE? COURTNEY LOVE
Enough of that, Lord knows how counterproductive in-fighting can be, downright cannibalistic even. Adam Block’s area of expertise is most definitely Rock music, so that’s what he dove into, rattling off tidbits of info, new releases, recent faves. Of course the first order of business in that particular vein was Courtney Love. We love Courtney Love just for her sheer fucked-up-edness.
Sure, she has more than proved herself as a lifer in the world of rock, best exemplified by two great LPs which vaulted her solidly into a definitive rank as a compelling songwriter of the times. She’s not too shab?by with the guitar, either. The proof is in the pudding. She got through the Kurt thing, she toured with her band, she got on the cover of Van ih~ Fair, etc. We respect those things, but we really love hearing all the bad things she does even more, like overdosing, showing her tits, beating up audience members in foreign lands, fucking and tell?ing, telling who other rock stars are fucking, beating up girls for fucking her deceased husband, etc.
Well, when Hole confirmed as one of the main stage bands for the Lollapalooza, I had a feeling there was going to be trouble. She has so far beaten up Kathleen Hanna, the driving force behind the snotty “more punk than you” riot grrl band Bikini Kill, leaving Hanna’s arm in a cast, reportedly agitated some of the heat-wave-stricken audiences into an unpleasant fury along the ~x’ay, is rumored, as always, to be fucked up on drugs all the time, and in a recent article in Interview was criticized for performing the same old show she’s been doing for almost two years and was likened by the writer to resemble a punk and messy Norma Desmond from Sunset Boulevard.
Adam and I were cackling over all this stuff, and then he asked me if I was going to this year’s Lollapalooza. I immediately said no. He said he was going to until he found out that Sinead O’Connor had dropped out of the tour. No, Courtney had nothing to do with this departure as rumored. Sinead dropped out because she’s pregnant with her second child. This news made me even more certain of my decision to skip the show, but suddenly I remembered that my dear friend Margaret (who I attended my first and only Lollapalooza with) told me that a film she developed conceptually and also starred in was being shown in the featured film tent at the Lollapalooza and I simply couldn’t miss it. It’s entitled Cream Corn Wrestling, which apparently she does, and thought it up all on her own. So I guess I’ll be going. For you readers who are attending this year, don’t forget to bring lots of cigarettes, for they are not sold anywhere at the Shoreline, which totally sucks. Plus, you’d be surprised what a teenage boy on Ecstasy with a slight sunstroke would do for a cigarette some?times. You’ll be surprised at the great number of brilliant-looking shirtless males around you. It’s practically overwhelming, but don’t be too confident of this event and its New Age positivity raising the con?sciousness of the crowd to new heights of socio-cultural harmony. I got called fag a handful of times by youngsters in groups, and youngsters come a lot bigger these days than they used to.
Adam and I ended our chat on the phone with him telling me in detail about the graphic testimony given in court by a girl named Jewel who was dutifully sexed up by David Koresh of the Branch Davidians. When it was all over, he told her to take a shower. She came back to the room clean and fully clothed, the bed was made and he then read to her from the Book of Solomon. You know there are records and CDs available of David Koresh performing rock and roll, his second passion in life.
Another great show coming up soon that I highly recommend is the band Man or Astroman, who will play Bimbo’s on August 8. This mysterious group plays a certain hybrid of sonically gritty turbo-charged surf style music: like The Ventures, only harder and rougher, and usually augmented by outer space sci-fi sound bites and themes from movies. They have tons of records out, including a single produced by noise-meister Steve Albini, who apparently really likes them a lot. The show stands to be a lot of fun. Buy your tickets in advance.
Finally, if you are one of the many who find yourself asking, “Where is there any place to dance in this city on the weekends besides the usual humdrum gigantic disco fantasyland full of muscle queens and club kids?” there’s finally something else to turn to and that is called Prozak. Lewis Walden was so impressed by the much-talked-about drug he decided to create an environment just like it, happy, less edgy and you can walk into it rather than have to swallow it daily. He and hot new DJ Ellen Ferratto have teamed up again with that winning com?bination you may remember from the short-lived Vertigo. Their new club enjoyed a healthy opening night at The French Quarter and will return definitely in a couple of weeks and be running every Saturday night. Get into Prozak. It’s hard to deny something that makes you feel good.