Late 1979, Scott and I went with our our dates to The Odyssey, a West Hollywood gay disco that our dates frequented, basically so they could get sloppy drunk and not get their butts pinched. We got hammered, my date was dancing with Scott's date, so Scott and me were dancing next to them having a gay old time. Next to us, the only out of shape guys in the whole building started dancing. They were the flamboyant fat guys, both bald, hairy and without shirts, and one was wrapping his feather boa around the other ones neck and dancing like a stripper. The other one responded by swiveling down to the floor, where he proceeded to stuff his tongue in the other ones belly button. I leaned over and, totally creeped out, said in my dates ear, "I'm sorry but, no matter how gorgeous you look, there will be no sex of any kind this evening."

I hired this cosmic designer a few years back, and he was forever asking for things in a doe-eyed manner, that always somehow favored him. The funniest one to me was one morning when he asked, "Hey dude, you want to go to Carl's later?" We'd never been to lunch, so I said why not? He then replies, "That'd be great, cause I'm really hungry. Could you bring me a Charbroiled Chicken sandwich and a fried zucchini?"

Disneyland hired me for a summer stint once, and on my last night there (New Years Eve, 1985), I was working the last news stand before you leave the park. It's about 12:30AM, and I'm watching a little Mexican kid who'd come with a bus group of poor kids line his pockets with every toy in his view. He was a skinny kid, but his jacket was starting to make him look like Fat Albert. He's happily going to town on the toys, looks up, sees me staring at him, and totally freezes in fear. I pause for a second, grin at him, then nod him away with my head. He looked like he'd just won the lottery. He gave me the biggest smile and skipped off, destined to steal even bigger things once he grew up.

When I was out of work during the dot-com crash, I used to hang in the smoking room at Cigar Oasis, mainly cause I did their website and they'd give me free cigars. One day there, someone I'd seen a few times before asks me, "You're a computer guy, right? How can I surf porn sites without my wife finding out?." I give him my usual long-winded answer, how to clear a cache, how to delete visited sites, and more internal things he might have missed, when I realize the other 12 guys in the room have stopped talking, and are leaning towards me and focusing on my words like I'm Deepak Chopra. Porn, it's what unites all of us.

I was on swing shift years ago, and there was this nice kid from Pakistan who had all kinds of girl troubles. He was dating his 1st girlfriend ever, a clinically f'd up chick who, the first time her Dad met this kid, encouraged him take his daughter with him to another coast. He wanted her as far away as possible. During their short time together she slept with a guy at the local dry cleaners, slept with another guy at Blockbuster, blew all this kids money (she didn't work), and was vandalizing cars of girls she didn't like in their apartment complex. One night at 1:AM I had to call my wife and let her know this kid was bawling his eyes out, and I'd be home later than normal. He bawled until 3:30AM, and I assured him he'd be much happier with a nicer girl. The next day he announces they talked, have decided to get married, and from that point on he'd pass me with his nose in the air, never speaking a word to me again because I spoke badly about his little cherub. It's not just women that bear weird grudges :-)

Oh, now I get it: There was a Special Ed school next to La Vista High. Once when we were in the parking lot getting high, I was watching a kid I saw everyday wearing a football helmet and a jersey walking to class. I commented to person I was with, "It really sucks that he's gotta live with that, but it is at least cool he gets to play everyday and pretend he's a football player." The reply was, "He's not pretending he's a football player. He bangs his head into everything and that's to stop him from cracking it open." I liked my version better :-(

Around 1991, I got invited to karaoke by my neighbor Melanie Vammen and her Muffs bandmate Kim Shattuck, which was at an old bowling alley in Anaheim. Kim got up to sing "You're The One That I Want" from Grease, and was her usual Tigger self, bouncing around drunkenly and having just a delightful time. The girl that sat next to the stage and ran everything was rolling her eyes at her friends, and making it a point to let the room see how appalled she was at this drunken loser. When we were leaving, I snuck back to drop a fiver in the tip jar, and said in a concerned voice to her, "I'm really, truly sorry about our friend. She's got waaaaaaaay too drunk tonight since she just signed a contract with Warner Brothers records. Good luck with your career at the bowling alley."

The strangest answer I ever got from a sales clerk was at CompUSA. I didn't know if I wanted to spring for Word & Excel, and heard the freebie Microsoft Works was a stripped down version of both. I asked a kid there if he knew what the differences were. At first he looked panicky, then, not wanting to admit he had no clue said, "It's math, you know... Like computers?"

They who know the Meaning of Life: A few years back Vicki and I were in Redondo Beach during the most monsoon-like weather I've ever seen. It was too dangerous to drive, so we parked on the side of a cliff to look at the ocean, listen to tunes and enjoy the storm. A few minutes after we arrived, these two teenagers showed up in oversized down jackets, hoodies, and both carrying their belly boards. One of them walks about 30 feet from the ledge, breaks into a sprint, and totally dives off. We watched in awe as he surfed about 90 feet of ice plant, straight down a hyper steep hill. Then his friend did it, then they spent the next five minutes helping each other back up the hill. They repeated the pattern for the whole hour we were there, and looked like they were having more fun than anybody on the planet. Video games are way overrated, seriously.

The Uber-Pious Bono went off on the Uber-Cool Chris Martin for no good reason this week, and it brought back a memory of my favorite print ad. Some time back, Amnesty International had a campaign for the poor of Africa, and ran ads with a room full of pissed off looking people, with John Mellencamp, Sting, and Bruce Springsteen in the forefront, arms folded, and looking the most pissed off. The kicker was, in the prior six months, each one of the three had publicly dumped his wife for his mistress. The lesson here is as long as you pretend you care about people 4000 miles away, then it's totally acceptable to publicly crap on people closest to you.

A couple of years ago I sold a Japanese import of Keith's (98.6/Ain't Gonna Lie) Greatest Kits on EBay, and realized the winning bidder was Keith himself. I wrote him a nice email telling him how the 1st record I ever bought was a Hip Pocket record of 98.6 (1967 at the Singer Sewing Center, they didn't have record stores in Whittier then), my sister's crush on him, and a few more tidbits I thought he'd enjoy. The awaited response was, "Thank you. Please be sure to double-wrap the CD before you send it." I was reminded when, in 1978, Scott Hoogland's dream girl Marilyn Chambers was signing at The Pussycat Theatre in Buena Park, and I asked him if he wanted to go; "No, cause it would be horrible if your idol was rude and ruined your fantasy about them." Amen to that :-)

Around 1972, I went with my folks to the old San Juan Bautista Mission in San Juan Capistrano. I hit the bathroom, sat down, and saw that someone had written, "Tap Foot For Blowjob" with a date underneath at least 100 times around the stall. The clincher was they were all written in different colored pen, and all had different dates posted under them. This must be what priests do when they're bored and not molesting children.

Vicki took me to a company picnic where we met her friend and her fireman husband, whose also a teller of tall tales. After chatting for a bit, he said to me, "You're in a band, right? I have a story for you. I was playing guitar in a band in 1985 that played the Coconut Teaszer. There was this band that opened for us, and no one really thought that much of them, but it turns out they did pretty well for themselves. And that band, was Van Halen." He says the last line like he's Casey Kasem, and then goes back to finishing his hot dog. Of course we used to see Van Halen 10 years prior and by 1985 they were shot, but they apparently opened for his band. I told my wife, and, feeling sorry for him kind of took his side, so I've basically driven her nuts the past five years going, "And that band... Was Van Halen!"

I think my life view was shaped in 8th grade Economics class. There was this suck-ass, Steve Garvey type kid in my class who the teachers just adored. He was good enough to make varsity basketball, but got demoted to JV because if he got the ball, he'd shoot it. Kids hated him, and he didn't care at all. Anyway, there was a test coming up we both didn't prepare for, which we both realized when we caught each other sneaking into class at lunch and stealing "A" graded papers of it from five years prior. We both copied our stolen papers note for note. Steve got an A-, I got a C-. I pretty much knew then and there life would be a lot more fun stoned and not giving a shit.

I'd like to be a small time police chief in Fecal, California, so when big-city police chiefs try to stick their nose in my affairs, I can angrily pound my desk and shout, "This is a Fecal matter."

Once, when walking along Hollywood Blvd., I passed an old-school homeless guy, eyes closed, head rolled back, cupping his nether regions and joyously pleasuring himself as people passed. He had a huge smile on his face. Tourists were trying to get their kids not to look, but I noted that he looked happier than anyone I‘d seen in my life. I don’t recommend this for everybody, but he definitely looked like he was onto something.

In the late 70’s, I was waiting for my date at the Rainbow Bar n’ Grill in Hollywood when this cokehead comes over to make conversation. We’re talking, when I make a sniffing sound, and his eyes light up; ”Hey, you got any more coke?”, and I’m like, ”No. Allergies. Sorry, dude.”

Vicki and I once stopped off at a filling station in Big Bear, and were talking to a guy who looked like he came out of the 40's with his craggly face, greased hair and little Gomer cap. We were talking about I can't remember what, but when I replied to something with, "Man, that's the worst", he firmly shook his head and corrected me: "Nope. The worst is waking up next to a gal with no teeth."

When Randy Carr was still with us, I took his Ramones-looking self to see my house being built, and when I walked him through the sales office, he motioned to the perky sales yuppies and said aloud, "What, was there a sale on brown paint?"

One time over at Scott Hoogland's apartment, I notice he's filled out a bunch of return-postage "Give Us Your Feedback on Making the Store Better" cards for Target. I pick one up, and it says, "I like a circus theme, with tents, clowns and juggler's. No splits though, could be dangerous. And popcorn's too messy!"

We were watching a band called Rough and Ready at the short-lived Cabaret Club in 1977 and Sandy West (drummer of The Runaways) sat on our drummer Sandy's lap for a long period of time. He was beaming with pride, or at least until we saw her make out with three different guys in the next two hours. From what I hear she's now gay, so maybe that was the night she'd gotten men out of her system altogether.

In the 80's, I worked with someone who was a man years before, and now was sort of an odd looking woman. I've been known to pepper my speech with F-bombs, and said something was 'f*****g great!' when we were both waiting at the printer. She let out a light sigh, then proceeded to give me an impassioned speech on etiquette in the work place. Whatever her message, it was completely lost since all I could think about was that a grown man wearing slingbacks and stockings was giving me a lecture on good taste.

Back in Junior High school, the Monsanto ride at Disneyland was our 'Date Gauge'. Being the best make-out ride in the whole park (Dark... Roomy... Free..!), after a weekend date there, Monday at school would always start with, "So, how many times did you go on Monsanto?" One was O.K., three was very good, seven was it. Seven meant you would spend the whole day being admired for your suaveness.

You may have read about The Children of God (70's cult River Phoenix's family belonged to) and their leader Moses David using girls to lead people into the faith through sex. This would be true. When I was 15 and visiting the Cerritos Mall, on the way in I was approached by a striking girl about 20 years old wearing cuffed hot pants, go-go boots, and a loose fitting floral top. She gave me a speech on God wanting people to enjoy themselves and told me she had a van parked somewhere if I'd like to see it, all the while standing right in my space and making my blood pressure go haywire. I of course chickened out, took one of the tracts she was handing out and zipped into the mall. Years later I found out they called this "Flirty Fishing." These people made the Scientologist's seem pedestrian.

When going on a date, it's important to show the woman your pedigree. When the waiter brings bread, stop him with, "Say... Aren't those Parker House Rolls made with rich creamery butter from nearby farms?" Women appreciate a man with culture.

In 5th grade, Bob Yancey and I started our first band in his garage. Bob played guitar on a tennis racquet, and I played drums on different sized plastic cole slaw containers. We'd mime to classic stuff like The Bugaloos and The Partridge Family. His younger sister and her friends watched us jam once, and finally after the third time through the Partridge Family's "Doesn't Somebody Want To Be Wanted Like Me", one of them stepped forward, puffed out her little chest and said firmly, "You guys aren't really playing!" We must have totally rocked to pass muster the first two times.