Tuesday, August 31, 2004
August 29, 2004
Greg and I had a most humiliating and frightening experience today. I never believed anything like this could happen in this day and age, let alone in California and at a business place! We had an appointment to meet with the Fleet Manager at McKenna Volkswagen in Huntington Beach at 3:00 pm. Both he and that dealership are exceptionally friendly, competent and ethical. Before going there, Greg wanted to stop at Nissan to test drive the new Altima. Sadly, we had the misfortune to venture into Huntington Beach Nissan on Beach Boulevard.
We were “assigned” a brand new sales representative, a young Asian man of about twenty. From the beginning, we sensed trouble. Despite having Greg’s driver’s license in hand, he kept calling him Kamer, George, and all other names except Greg. Finally Greg told him for the third time that it is Greg. The young man chattered ceaselessly, asking us the same questions over and over again. To make matters worse, he drove us for five or six miles until he would let Greg test drive the car. Once they switched places, Greg discovered that it was the wrong model car. Also, the man could answer none of our questions about the vehicle. Then he kept pressing us about our “relationship” to one another and where our wives were. I told him that we were a couple, a gay couple, whereupon he got just plain goofy, alternating between protestations and giggling.
When we finally got back to the dealership, I went into the office to speak with David Maxwell, the General Sales Manager. I did not mention the rep’s insulting behavior about our being gay: I gave him the benefit of the doubt, assuming it was cultural or age differences that led to that. The only words I said to the manager were: “We drove down here from Long Beach to buy two vehicles; you should reconsider having that man take clients out on test drives.” I told him that none of our questions were answered, that the rep did not know the product and that he took us out in the wrong vehicle. The manager then told me that this was no big deal, give the kid a break and “get over it.” I then told him that he had insulted us, too.
Mr. Maxwell’s reaction? “Nissan doesn't want or need your business”. He then proceeded to swiftly follow me [I felt like I was being physically confronted and chased] out the showroom, where he said: “You fellassssss [with lisp] should go back to Long Beach, you don't belong around here." Then a round of catcalls began—in front of other customers and dealership staff. Greg and I heard things like—“see, they have one of those rainbow emblems on their car” and “looks like two Queers for Kerry!” (By the way, we have no political stickers at all on our vehicles.) Several employees followed their manager’s lead. Customers were either laughing or embarrassed and we were just humiliated an appalled.
I want to ask each and every one of you to suggest ways in which we might address this situation. If you know anyone in any position of influence in government, auto dealerships, business bureaus, media, whatever, please please help us. I cannot tell you what this felt like for us. I never knew one could feel so horrible. I know the old “sticks and stones” thing, but this was just awful. In public, in the business place, in front of customers and employees, this man stole our dignity and held us up to scorn in a way I can't imagine. …and he laughed at us through the whole ordeal, challenging us to “do something about it.” Please email this to your networks and help us to at least get an apology from this man.
Long Beach, CA
*If you want to get in touch with these guys, let me know.
No haters need apply.
Monday, August 30, 2004
Shaun Cassidy was my first teen idol. I wasn't exactly a teen yet, but you know what I mean. My bedroom was absolutely plastered with posters of the guy. I cut articles out of 16 Magazine and trimmed pages from Tiger Beat. I had a locket, a t-shirt, and even a pair of khaki bellbottoms with his face emblazoned on them. I have a Hardy Boys record case for my 45s which gets ooohs and aaahs whenever I take it out to my DJ gigs. I had (still have) the first three albums, each one with my name and address scrawled across the gatefold in crayon.
I also have the October 1977 edition of Dynamite featuring a cover story on the Hardy Boys (my friend Pam preferred Parker Stevenson... whatever) and the January 1978 edition of Dynamite with both Shaun Cassidy and CHEWBACCA on the cover. They were proclaimed "Top Stars of the Year!" (My love for journalism must have come from this.)
I won a poetry contest when I was 8 and the local paper came to do a little human interest story on me. It featured a picture of me sitting on my bed, with my cat Fluffy in my lap, and my Walls of Shaun behind me.
I had, however, moved on when he was covering David Bowie's "Rebel Rebel." Although, in retrospect, that was pretty cool considering that most people listening to him still were girls who wore braces and had never heard of Bowie.
But they say you never forget your first love... and I never forgot mine. I had a boyfriend who wandered around India for a year, and he would check in on me about once a month on a questionable phone line while most likely under a tin roof of a shanty from somewhere, inevitably at 4am or so California time. I would wake up (sorta) and ask two questions: "Where are you?" and "How's you hair?" Don't ask my why this was important to me, I don't exactly know myself. One time his answers were: " Jaisalmer" and "Kind of a shag." I think I squealed. He later told me that he had almost said "Kind of like Shaun Cassidy's" but he didn't want me to get all nuts during the few moments we had on the phone.
I don't exactly understand it, but I still have a sense of loyalty towards my Shaun. Every once in a while I'd get some news of him: producing a movie, writing, on Broadway... He had something to do with that cheerleading softcore "Bring It On," because my brother in law was on the crew and got me an autograph. He's written for TV shows like "The Agency" and "Cold Case" and even created my favorite ill-fated series ever, "American Gothic." (I still have videotapes of that show.)
So Shaun being in LA... Me being in LA... it was only a matter of time. It was one of the few instances I've been glad for gridlock in Beverly Hills. The other time was when I saw George Clooney, but that's a story for another day...
Friday, August 27, 2004
A month or so later, after the tickets had arrived, I learned - quite accidentally - that this friend had given all four tickets away. And hadn't held one for me. Due to a misunderstanding, my Pixies ticket for the Saturday, September 25th show was gone. I cried.
Soooooooo... I'm looking for a ticket to see the Pixies on Saturday, September 25th, at the Greek in Berkeley. If you know someone selling one for a somewhat reasonable (regular) price - please tell me. Or I'll cry some more.
And just so you know, you really shouldn't feel too much pity for me. I'm seeing them in LA on the 22nd and 23rd, then driving to Berkeley for the Friday show on the 24th and Sunday show the 26th. But I'm a completist. And a brat. And I have a history of following this band around as if they were the Grateful Dead and I was a stoner with no shoes on wearing long colorful skirts and tripping. Except for the Pixies, I just thrash around a lot.
Anyway, if you hear anything...
Thursday, August 26, 2004
6:00pm - Opening prayer
6:15pm - Supplementary opening prayer
6:30pm - Prayer in thanks of first two prayers
6:45pm - New energy policy presented (in secret session) by Exxon
7:00pm - Canonization of Reagan
Swift Boat Veterans announce Reagan single-handedly defeated Hitler
7:15pm - Additional prayers
7:30pm - Opening remarks by Halliburton 's CEO
8:00pm - Prayer for the safety and well-being of Ken Lay
8:15pm - Additional remarks by Halliburton
8:22pm - Adoption of Republican Platform.
United States of America to be renamed in honor of Ronald Reagan
8:30pm - Stoning of the first homosexual
8:45pm - Donor lottery to draft new healthcare policy.
9:00pm - Invasion of Iran or North Korea (TBA)
9:15pm - Halliburton contributes 1.4 billion to Republican party
9:30pm - Reagan elevated to Co-Saviour (Holy Trinity now referred to as "the Quad")
9:45pm - Bush undergoes plastic surgery to look more like Reagan
10: 00pm - Cheney runs into Ron Reagan, Jr. Tells him to go f__k himself
10:15pm - Recall of troops from accidental invasion of South Korea
10:30pm - Burning at the stake of 16 year-old girl who had an abortion after being raped by her cousin
10:45pm - Dancing around the golden calf
11:00pm - Stoning of the first homosexual's partner
11:15pm - New forestry policy presented by Weyrhauser
11:30pm - Silent Auction of all Federal Land.
11:45pm - Thanking God for his wisdom in choosing Bush as President
12:00am - Closing prayer
12:01am - Hookers arrive!
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
There's a ride at Disneyland that nobody but little kids, their parents, and people who are tired of walking ever go on... I think it's called the Disneyland Railroad, and it takes you all around the park so you get "behind the scenes" (meaning you get to see generators and such) views of some rides. But at one point, they actually give you a little natural history lesson, as you get to venture through their version of the Grand Canyon and "Primeval World." So, during a lull between Disney attractions, the train goes into a sort of tunnel, and you are offered a view of the Grand Canyon, stuffed with fake wildlife and plants and things. Like I said, very natural history museum. Then the voice in the tunnel tells us that we are about to go back in time... to see the original inhabitants of the Grand Canyon... (cue menacing music): DINOSAURS! The scenery is much more lush, and you get all sorts of dino action - eating trees, hatching, eating some poor smaller dinosaur, fighting, whatever. I love this part of the ride. It's so silly.
Thing is, I'm starting to wonder if this is how future generations will see nature. Bush seems to really be on a rampage about tearing everything up in order to find as much fossil fuel as possible. I can't help but imagine a place where nature is just pummelled into submission and the world really does seem all man-made. And you get to see displays of what nature was like in a museum.
I have a friend who has a brother living in Alaska. He's lived there for about 15 years. He wants Bush to come and tear the place up. Why? "Most of the 'wilderness refuge' of Alaska is as hospitable as Venus! Lots of baby moose die every year because they get clogged up with mosquitoes the size of your fist. The Sahara Desert is a much more hospitable environment than most of Alaska."
Okay then. Maybe drill that to shit. But does he have to level desert plateaus still marked with petroglyphs, destroy more habit for actual wildlife, and contaminate the few water sources the West has left?
Who am I to talk? I live in California. Los Angeles, no less. People were never supposed to live here in the first place - it's a desert, and what few natural water sources we had we destroyed a long time ago. California's living on borrowed time. So I guess the country has just decided to catch up.
But have you ever noticed how grass and weeds come up through the sidewalks? Maybe there's hope after all...
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Anyway, this delicate flower was invited to wander the distinguished halls of Columbia's Journalism graduate school, and she decided to bail us Californians and head to the fabulous NYC. Then Gawker came-a-callin', asking if she would do her own particular brand of smack talking on their website. So Goodbye J-school, hello Gawker!
I just wanted to say congrats to Jessica, and that the whole world will love her like we west coasters (and mid westerners... it was only a matter of time before she conquered the entire nation) do. She's a smart, sassy, hilarious, super clever and fun gal that New Yorkers better take seriously, because she has one razor sharp tongue and can size you up in about .002 seconds flat.
Really, I don't mind that you kept me up nights. Two snaps and a circle, sista.
Monday, August 23, 2004
But I digress.
And as my boss is on vacation (this new gig has been seriously hampering my ability to slack), I will be taking full advantage of his absence to catch up on the writing. I promise.
So what snarkiness to embark upon just now? Hmmmmm... well, first things first. Rilo Kiley.
Last week at Amoeba Music in Hollywood (the best record store ever; excluding the Amoebas in Berkeley and SF), Rilo Kiley did a free instore performance. I went, being curious about the band I had sort of accidentally seen twice before. The first time was last year at the Sunset Junction Street Fair in my hood of Silverlake, the second time being that same evening onstage with former label-mate Bright Eyes (who was opening for Belle & Sebastian). I didn't see an entire set - just heard a song or two. So I went to Amoeba, knowing I liked a song or two, and wondering how a whole set would be.
It turns out I wasn't the only one with this idea. Approximately 2,000 other people had the exact same idea. It became the biggest instore the store has ever held (surpassing other biggies by PJ Harvey, Badly Drawn Boy, Paul Westerberg, Fantomas, Black Flag and even Queens of the Stone Age). There were about 300 people waiting outside who couldn't get into the store once we had to close doors due to capacity (and the store is about a city block big). The majority of the crowd was young college aged kids, with a smattering of twenty and thirty somethings like myself.
I normally camp out at the Info booth of the store, dead center view of the stage, so I can chat with friends and watch the show without being terribly disruptive. This time, however, the store was so caught off guard by the crowd that I took over my old job as the Info counter person, while those scheduled to be there were moved to security positions or cashiering areas or crowd control. We (the staff of Amoeba) were collectively stunned at the indie rock masses.
Well, once the show was over, I remained of the "Eh?" opinion I have of this band. To me, I liked a couple songs because they remind me of a couple songs by early nineties indie band Bettie Serveert. (Well, they still exist actually.) I liked Bettie Serveert because they kinda reminded of a couple songs I liked by Linda Rondstadt and Jackson Browne (mid 70's era). So I guess Rilo Kiley reminds me of the California lite pop of that era; a twinge of country, earnestness, catchiness and all done just poppy enough to not totally bore you. Not bad, but not shut-down-Sunset-Boulevard great.
I know I am a minority in this opinion amongst my particular group of pals, and I can accept that. We all know that back when Linda was dating Jerry Brown and Jackson was making the young starlets of Hollywood swoon, they put out albums highly regarded by the critics and still revered by singer-songwriters today. Nick Hornby has a whole chapter in his Songbook collection of essays about the poignancy of early Jackson Browne tunes. I still don't care for those records all that much, and I just can't get into Rilo Kiley.
Hopefully, I won't be kicked out of Silverlake for that.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
So, yes, I'm alive.
I watched the opening ceremonies of the Olympics last Friday, because I was waiting to see Bjork. I was also running around like a mad person organizing a gig featuring Kristin Hersh and her new band, 50 Foot Wave, but that's another story. Anyway, the commentators wouldn't shut up. I know you noticed this. Finally, there's Bjork, and I guess she's singing, but I couldn't hear her because Katie Couric was saying something precious like "There are zillions of yards of that material on her dress, Bob, to represent this earth" and Bob Costas was saying something really invaluable like, "Well, I hope nobody tugs too hard on that dress because then she's gonna be topless!"
And I was glad that the US basketball team lost, because I used to enjoy watching basketball and now most players seem to be a bunch of snobs. You see, I live in LA, where the Lakers are not so much a TEAM as a collection of egos and endorsements. Oh yea, and role models (ahem).
So read these lovely rants by one of my new favorite people, Chuck Klosterman (SPIN, Esquire) and his buddy at ESPN, Bill Simmons. A hilariously intellectual debate about the Olympics and how lame Americans have become. I mean, pop culture.
And thanks to the roomie for sending this my way.
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
If you wanna help get Bush out of office, you can rock out while doing so! I'm going to do it by checking out my favorite guy, John Doe (of X... swooooooon) and my favorite girl (Kristin Hersh) along with some other folks (Grant Lee Phillips, Bedroom Walls, Blake Hazard) all at the Echo here in LA. It's on Tuesday, August 10th. The show is being put on by Concerts For Change, who are hosting a series of shows across the country as a fundraising tool for anti-Bush forces. I am a part of those forces, as it were. Sounds very Star Wars of me.
Also on Tuesday the 10th, you can support the same cause at the El Rey (but pay more money if you got it) by attending "Unplug Bush!" It's an acoustic show featuring Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Mellowdrone (whose new EP is GORGEOUS, by the way), Michelle Shocker (um, what a shocker) and Johnette Napolitano of Concrete Blonde. It's worth the high price of admission for Johnette alone; she's a showstopper.
Let's not elect Bush in 2004, either!
And since I'm telling you what to do... Go to Fais Do Do on Friday the 13th. Kristin Hersh will be rocking like a madwoman with her Throwing Muses mate Bernard Georges in their new incarnation - 50 Foot Wave. There will also be the beautiful noise (think early My Bloody Valentine) of The Loudest Tragedy Ever Heard, and the manic folk pop of Linister. It's the last showcase that online radio station Little Radio will hold for a while, so come on down and celebrate a fun summer with us.
Oh yea, and PJ Harvey is going to be doing a free instore performance at Amoeba Hollywood. Thursday. The 12th. 6pm. But you didn't hear that from me...
Monday, August 09, 2004
So it all started after my girlfriend Rachel and I enjoyed a tasty lunch at Subway. There was a Baskin-Robbins in the same shopping centre, and after devouring our sandwiches we found our tummies clamoring for ice cream. During the short walk over we were talking about movies and Netflix, yet I failed to notice my girlfriend's sudden silence when we entered the store. I specifically remember looking around and beginning to wonder what flavor I would get. (Gold Medal Ribbon has long been a favorite, but I've had a weird desire to order French Vanilla as of late. No idea why.)
Anyways, we settled into line next to these two jockish dudes and began to wait. Rachel was still strangely silent, although she claims she was trying to quietly get my attention. Still oblivious to what I was about to witness, I finally noticed this blonde girl at the front of the line. She had just grabbed her ice cream and began to walk out of the store. At first, I noticed nothing unusual. Young woman, dressed in a yellow tank top and white sweat pants - no big deal. I do remember a big head, more of a long face actually. Quickly my brain began to put together the pieces and I thought, wow that girl kind of looks like Britney Spears. That was quickly followed by another thought - wait a minute, that IS BRITNEY SPEARS!!!
Oddly enough, everyone in the store played it cool. Rachel had apparently noticed Miss Spears right away and had been stunned into silence. As for the other patrons, there was no yelling, no asking for autographs, nothing at all. I think Britney did notice our collective gawk on her way out and gave us all a quick smile. After she bailed, the store collectively exhaled and everyone began chatting to affirm that yes, we had all just seen the teen pop queen at Baskin Robbins in Tahoe City, California.
Oh wait, the story gets better. Her new fiancee was there too! Mr. Kevin Federline, the new tabloid star and apparent impregnating force (for those of you out of the loop, he knocked up another girl before getting with Britney) was also in the store. He actually lingered behind and paid for their ice cream while Britney slipped out. For those of you wondering, yes - he does look like a douche in person. Decked out in hip-hop clothing but still screaming skinny white dude, you have to wonder just what Britney sees in him. After paying, he too exited and climbed into a white Range Rover parked just outside. With that, they drove off and the Britney Spears chapter of my life came to an abrupt end.
If you're still reading, I'm guessing that you really want the REALLY gory details. Britney had bad skin - blotchy zit bad. And not the one micro-zit that hot girl you know gets and subsequently finds funny. I'm talking patchy forehead redness. Somewhat surprisingly, she didn't look bloated, chunky or fat. Despite recent rumors of Britney ballooning, her body actually looked pretty trim. She was not tall, but not short either. I'd say around 5'4" or 5'5". Her head did seem big, though - her face just seemed really long. She had no entourage. No bodyguards, personal assistants, nothing. Just her and Kevin. I'm guessing the lovebirds were on some kind of weekend getaway, although we didn't witness any amorous activity. There were no paparazzi either. Despite my lengthly description, the whole thing happened in about a minute or so. And the whole thing was remarkably low-key. Like I said, no freakouts. There was even a little girl in the store, but I don't think she (or her mom) even noticed. Leave it to us young adults to go nuts over these things.
Friday, August 06, 2004
Most of the cars around me are about three times my size. They never see me, they rarely signal, and I can't see past them. Yet I console myself knowing that I will never be asked to drive anyone somewhere (in my little two seater? In this town, if it ain't a Posche or an Audi TT, who cares?) and I get better gas mileage than all of them. (My roommate drives a hybrid - ROCKIN'.)
I can't imagine what it must be like for motorcyclists.
So read this article. Just another reason why SUVs are a bit much.
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
Speaking of trannies, I went to the Scissor Sisters show last week with my best friend Steve. Steve's no tranny, it's just that those Scissor Sister kids are fond of reminding the audience that they have been greatly inspired by the wiggy population, especially San Francisco's infamous Trannyshack. "They taught me how to tuck in my penis. BOTH of them." Or so claims lead singer, wig wearer and sassy gal (really, a gal) Ana Matronic. (Love the name, by the way.)
This fag hag co-leads, along with Elton John sound-a-like (in the good years) Jake Shears, a rag tag group of queers doing damage on the dance floor for the indie homos. I had seen the Sisters at a free Spaceland gig about a month or so before, but it was the wrong space and the wrong crowd. Too many jaded hipsters to let the vibe totally loose, although I commend those who did get nuts!
But last week I saw the show with a bunch of my gay boyfriends and it was a blast. We danced all night and got sweaty and everything. The Sisters (who, by the way, did a European tour with Duran Duran last spring - handpicked by self proclaimed "not gay" keyboardist Nick Rhodes) broke through with their interpretation of Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb," if Pink Floyd actually happened to be the Bee Gees on crack in Amsterdam. Now I guess they are all over VH1.
I still think they are a bit of a novelty act, but maybe they'll have staying power as a novelty, kinda like the B52s. They have been staying like, 25 years or something. So we'll see.
Monday, August 02, 2004
PIXIES ANNOUNCE L.A. DATES
The PIXIES announce that they will headline two Los Angeles concert dates at the Greek Theatre on Wednesday, September 22 and Thursday, September 23 as part of their Fall North American concert tour. These will be the Pixies' first L.A. concerts since their performance at the Palladium on December 22, 1991, more than a dozen years ago. (Editor's note: um, yea, I was there... the infamous got-my-foot-broken gig.)
Tickets will be priced at $35.00 and $45.00 and will go on sale this Saturday, August 7 at 10:00AM at all Ticketmaster outlets including Tower Records, Wherehouse Music, Robinson-May and Ritmo Latino. To charge by phone, call 213-480-3232 or 714-740-2000. Tickets will also be available online at http://www.ticketmaster.com/, at the Greek Theatre box office, and, starting tomorrow, Tuesday, August 3 at 9:00AM PDT, as a "pre-sale" here at PIXIESMUSIC. Radio station Indie 103.1-FM will present the September 22 show, and the Distillers and Grant Lee Phillips will open; KCRW-FM will present the show on September 23, with The Thrills and Grant Lee Phillips as support acts. On both nights, doors will open at 6:30PM, the show will start at 7:30PM, and the Pixies will take the stage at 9:10PM.
(Editor's note: YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!)
Sunday, August 01, 2004
Just getting nostalgic over my many firsts...
The “First Time” : Yes, I mean sex. This is the one everyone always wants to know about. Well, I ain’t gonna tell ya. Let’s just say that it involved me, a boyfriend, a red convertible, and a pesky neighbor that got me mixed up with my mom. ‘Nuff said.
The first time I ever got drunk : High school, at the beach in Del Mar, wine coolers, vomiting. Lots and lots of vomiting. In broad daylight. My friends dragged me into the water to wash me off. Ugh.
The first hangover: That was just last year at Mardi Gras. Thirty odd years without a hangover... But I bet they'll catch up with me.
The first love interest: Shaun Cassidy. But don’t you think he was a babe? Come on, that feathered hair was to die for...
The first obtainable love interest: Greg Rosa, the cutest guy in 4th grade at St. John’s Elemetary School.
The first obtained love interest: I won’t name names, because I still hang out with him, even though we started dating in high school and broke up because I was bored and then got back together and then broke up again when he dicked me over and then started seeing each other again and... well, you know how those things can be.
The first car: Green1972 Volvo 164SE w/fuel injection. I bought it for $800 & drove it for 5 years. I don’t want to traumatize myself by figuring out how much I spent fixing it, but I loved it.
The first brush with fame: When I was eight years old, I won Honorable Mention in Cricket Magazine for the following poem:
The peaceful seashell
Sitting on the beach
Like a wishing well
Full of songs it can teach.
Soft songs, hard songs,
Always something new;
The songs of a seashell
Will never make you blue.
I was in all the local papers. I guess I’ve used up my fifteen minutes.
The first pet: Fluffy the cat. I got him when I was three and he died when I was 22. He was big and yellow and, well, quite fluffy. He had extra toes and would suck them when he was happy. He had bad breath and farted alot and would have seizures that made him lose control of his bladder and spin around in circles. And he was mine, all mine.
The first kiss: Quite cute, actually. It was about 4am and he had snuck over to my house (I was in Catholic school, what else could you expect?) and he actually asked first. Doesn’t it almost make ya sick?
The first fight: The first fight I can remember was with my friend Pam, and I think it was over a Shaun Cassidy or Andy Gibb poster, but we scratched each other up and pulled hair and all that fun girl stuff until my mom separated us and forced us to make up.
The first favorite band: DURAN DURAN! And I still love ‘em. I should, I spent enough babysitting money on them. JOHN TAYLOR IS A TOTAL BABE! I think he’s actually a decent bass player as well.
The first act of vandalism (not counting toilet-papering homes): This gets a little hazy- there was such a long string a mischievous acts- but the first one I can remember involved an illuminated Carl’s Jr. sign in my friend’s living room... or was it that eight foot chicken...
The first zit: Can’t answer that one. Not because I don’t remember, only because I didn’t get one, I woke up with thousands.
The first vivid memory: I was about three years old and chucking lemon cupcakes with pink frosting at monkeys at the San Diego Zoo.
The first concert: Donny and Marie Osmond. I was six. (To make up for it, I took my little sister to see the Oingo Boingo Good For Your Soul tour, and my little brother to the Pixies Doolittle tour as their first concerts. I didn’t want them to be traumatized, as I had been.)
The first time I caught my parents DOING IT: I haven’t because they don’t. That’s just too gross.
The first serious injury: I fell off a monkey bar and fractured my leg. My parents didn’t believe me though. That night, when I had to go to the bathroom, they told me to go myself. I’m probably the only person in the world who actually broke her leg by falling off the toilet.
The first day of school: I got on the wrong bus on the way home and the bus driver dropped me off five hours after school got out. My mom had my kindergarden teacher’s ASS.
The first record: Disney’s Tiki Room, with the narration to the Jungle Cruise ride on the other side. To be played on a white and pink Fisher Price turntable only.
The first time getting stoned: High school. Of course, I had a friend with one of those hippie dads who grew his own pot, so a bunch of us went over to smoke it and listen to Pink Floyd. I sat in a chair and stared at everyone else all night. I guess I was stoned, although I thought I was just really bored.
The first Dead show: Everyone always said you have to experience one, so I went and smoked a little and sort of fell asleep. I could still hear people around me and someone said, “Hey, check Mo out... She’s really getting into it man...”
The first job: Miller’s Outpost. I still have my name tag - a plastic yellow star proclaiming “Howdy!” Sheesh, how revolting.
The first mean thing I ever did to an animal: Gave beer to a duck. It was my duck. My friends told me after the fact that since ducks couldn’t burp or fart, that they would blow up because of the carbonation in the beer. I was really terrified that our duck would explode and my parents would find out I’d had people with beer in our house.
Ah... There are so many first times in our lives. I can only hope that my little journey into the past has inspired similar joy and nostalgia in you, the reader. Excuse me while I slip Rio onto my turntable and dance around in my Rick Springfield Working Class Dog jersey; I’ll be alright. Really.