My Hollywood Diaries

Upon reflection, most of what I wrote while in California for four days seems pretty negative. On the contrary, I had a very nice time and I like California a lot. I had a lot of fun visiting my friends. My diary nearly always reflects bad times, and I know that pretty much everything I wrote will upset someone somehow. However, nothing is meant to be offensive or accusatory, especially my critique that people in Hollywood are stuck in the '80s. That doesn't apply to anyone I know, because my friends are smarter than that.


10/21/11 Friday

We arrived at the Whisky too early and were sitting at a booth when Michael Monroe walked by casually with his wife and an entourage. I waved, he waved back, and then we spoke but I don't know who said what.

"Hi."

"Hi. How are you?"

"Good. How are you?"

"Good."

"Good."

My face was red as a cherry. The man who "filled my thoughts and my diary" when I was 17 was talking to me. But all I felt was shy, awkward. Nothing residual. Loving Keith has made all former interests obsolete.

Security kicked us out for being too early, so we went to the Rainbow--tuesday, Jaimo, Lexa, and me--where we had appetizers with Patti and her friend Abigail.

Sadly, by the time we got back to the Whisky, I only got second row. The show was spectacular, though, full of leaps and kicks and splits, strutting and even a stage dive. The man is 49 years old and he performs with more energy and enthusiasm than kids less than half his age. Sebastian Bach came out during the encore for "Taxi Driver." He was clearly stoked to be onstage doing a Hanoi song, since pretty much every hair band singer worships Michael.

The club closed early, but Lexa and I stood on the sidewalk until Michael and Bas came out. It was obvious that Michael wanted to leave in a hurry, but he was being mobbed for pictures. I wasn't going to bug him, but he was being very gracious so I figured, fuck it, I might never see him again and I want a picture. I put my arm around him and told him, "Thank you, you're a sweetheart." He hastily responded something like, "You too," I complimented him on the show, and that was it.

We ended up all walking the same way on the sidewalk, Michael and crew behind us and Bas a few paces ahead. I called out, "I'm glad you came, Sebastian. It was great to see you." He gave no indication that he heard me for about 30 seconds, but then he stopped, put his arm around me, said, "Hey," and patted me on the back before climbing into a Rolls with Michael and Johanna.

Lexa had heard him mention the address of the after party, but we drove by the building and didn't see anyone. I went home with her and fell asleep on the couch, finally, after a 25-hour day.


10/22/11 Saturday

This time I'm seeing a different side of L.A., a much less flattering side. Everyone is here to be a star, which is fine, but they're hanging onto the '80s in a way that's really pathetic. Clubs play Great White not because the crowd is nostalgic rock fans but because none of them have ever moved on. Nothing evolved. They're all in denial. Everywhere I look there are long-haired pretty boys in tight leather pants, and I can't help seeing them as pretty pitiful. In Chicago, someone like that would be cool for expressing his individuality. But here, everyone is the same, clinging onto the old hair metal scene in a way that shows just how delusional these people really are.

Besides being with my friends, and enjoying the beautiful climate and landscape, the only reason I'd want to move here is to be a hanger-on. I suppose that doesn't necessitate relocation.

We got invited to a Halloween party at GWAR's house, but I was too Hollywooded out, so tuesday and I went to the beach and then played dress up and did a photo shoot together.


10/24/11 Monday

My body is still on edge, more anxious than usual but also exhausted. I feel totally drained and sorry for myself, wishing I could undo most of last night's experiences. I had some reservations, doubting that acid was a good idea when I was feeling so sad and homesick, missing Keith and resenting all the circumstances that were keeping us apart.

But still, I was excited, my first time doing acid, the paper tab on my tongue, waiting and wondering what effects would take hold and when. It kicked in while I was alone, petting Cruiser, feeling lonely for Keith and missing the security of my apartment. When tuesday and Jaimo got home, she was happy and it lifted my mood right up. We walked to the carry-out Mexican place on the corner for tacos and chips, but while we were filling our containers at the salsa bar, a man appeared behind us, being sneaky and shifty and grinning. We had taken a long time getting the salsa, so we moved out of the way for him, but after that, it seemed like everywhere we turned, he was right there in the way.

Back at the house, I finished my tacos in about five seconds and started devouring the chips. I ate too many and there weren't enough for tuesday, so I decided we'd go back and buy a giant bag with my credit card (since I'd overdrawn my checking account earlier buying vintage clothes). While Jaimo and I waited for tuesday to decided if she could handle going back, I remember calling Keith and laughing so hysterically about the shifty man that I couldn't even talk.

I couldn't read the sign back at the taco place either, so Jaimo had to order, explaining that we simply wanted a gigantic bag full of chips. He said we'd pay $7 for it, which I charged, and as I signed the receipt, my pen melted into the paper and I drew squishy squiggles, laughing as I was writing.

It wasn't until we got back home that I realized we had way too many chips--a whole grocery bag stuffed full. Jaimo was sober so he left for work, leaving the two of us with our chip mountain in a bag and endless supply of salsa containers, both green and red. I ate so many chips I started feeling sick, so to distract myself from the excitement of food, I decided to color a handprint turkey. I chose the colored pencils that I liked best and started working, drawing whatever I felt the turkey wanted, like multicolored spikes and a scraggly tree on his side. The next thought that popped into my head was, "It needs more propellors," which I knew was not the same thought at the end that it had been at the start. I had been questioning what the turkey needed, but my thought changed mid-sentence, so my thought process went, "It needs..." and my answer was, "more propellors." I disguised them as flowers by connecting them to two lines I had drawn in the sky, but then I worried they were too abstract and ambiguous, so I drew a manatee under them, since I associate propellors with manatees.

Tuesday wanted to show me what it was like laying under the desk between the speakers with Black Sabbath playing. For some reason I can't listen to music well when I'm tripping, but I tried, and I mostly enjoyed looking up and watching the ceiling squirm around.

By this time I was starting to feel bummed though, just really uncomfortable because I was so far from home and Keith wasn't there. We decided to play with her Mayan tarot cards, which cheered me up a bit because the pictures were really cool. I've always liked Mayan art, the shapes, patterns, and colors. My cards of choice were Venus and the moon. Those cards had lots of circles on them in green and blue.

After that, it turned into a straight-up bad trip. I won't go into incredible detail because I don't want to relive those awful feelings. Once it got bad, it seemed so never-ending, like I was stuck in this terrible mindset of perpetual, expanding negativity. When we finished with the tarot cards, I desperately wanted to wrap up in a blanket and sleep away the sadness, but I knew tuesday really wanted to go to the beach. I was terrified of being out in a strange neighborhood at night, but I thought I could bear it for a short walk.

Unfortunately, the beach was miles away, across the whole city, and we walked for hours through the scary haunted darkness. A group of people emerged from a house in front of us, including a fat lady and a midget with Down's syndrome who was staggering drunk and clinging to her arm. I was starting at his freaky, distorted face because I couldn't figure him out. After we passed, tuesday told me he was just a tired little boy holding onto his mom.

My stomach ached, bad, and I couldn't wait to get back to the house and sleep all this away--the fear and overwhelming sadness--but the beach was still far away. We walked through a park and I climbed on the giant roots of a tree, brown and crumpled and bumpy like the backs of toads. I stepped all over the toads and balanced along the back of a dragon.

The park ended in a steep sand cliff, which led down to the beach and harbor. I didn't want to go down there because sand is so annoying, but tuesday was worried about us getting separated, so we took a long, winding road that sloped down to the beach. At that point the sand was unavoidable. I tried so hard to keep my little leopard shoes clean, but that terrible sand kept swallowing them, covering my feet and dirtying my socks--the striped ones Keith gave me for Christmas. No matter how softly I tried to walk, I just couldn't keep the sand from my shoes. They felt filthy.

By this time my stomach was full of gnomes wielding spears of fire, and I hunched over gripping my midsection as we walked along the shore through that fucking evil sand. The ocean was black and wet and slimy and bad bad bad, like a big goopy monster lapping up at me, and I was so far from my home, and Keith, and safety. We kept passing stairs that led back up to the street, appearing up ahead like pure salvation--a way out!--but they were all under construction and it took an eternity to find a staircase that wasn't broken or barricaded.

At the top of the stairs I could barely walk from the pain in my stomach, but I knew tuesday didn't want to leave the beach, so I sat on a bench half-hoping the pain would subside, even though I knew it wouldn't. Not until I could be back inside and lying down, relaxing and texting Keith.

As we headed back across the busy streets I was crying, wiping the tears away with napkins and the back of my hand and trying to get them to stop, but they wouldn't, springing from my eyeballs like the sprinklers that were all over the grass. I was relieved to be heading back toward tuesday's house, away from the overwhelming danger of the unknown, but it was still so far, a world away, and we had miles of darkness to walk through before I could finally stop panicking, stop crying, breathe and calm my wretched psyche so maybe my fiery stomach could cool.

We walked forever, forever and ever through the quiet and eerie, almost supernatural, world of mystery and abandonment and never-ending lurking danger until I finally spotted the taco restaurant up ahead. We were close! Immediately my stomach loosened and I felt some emotional relief. Soon I would be snuggled up on the couch, indoors with the doors locked, in a house that I was familiar with. Once there, I laid down and didn't get back up again, just texting Keith about the trauma and trying to derive comfort from reading his nice words. I thought about the bed at home in Chicago, which felt like mine for the first time ever, and how comforting it would be to snuggle up with the maple-smelling blue blanket.

But I was safe. I was out of the danger zone. My stomachache was nearly gone, and Keith was talking about hugs and fish and tofu. I turned off the light behind me but couldn't sleep at first, so I watched the flashing silver lights out of the corners of my eyes.

Then I woke up, it was 8 AM, and it was over.