Yay! The lovely RoseMarie stopped by my profile and said she liked my pic. I'm quite flattered, as she is definitely the cat's *meow*.
Am just now getting home (6:45am, well after dawn) after quite an interesting night.
First off, I went to see a pre-release screening of "The Mayor of Sunset Strip", a documentary by George Hickenlooper (who also did "Hearts of Darkness") about Rodney Bingenheimer, a.k.a. "Rodney on the Roq" of KROQ Los Angeles. He's been there forever (well, since 1976). I first heard him on the air in 1984, about a year after I moved to California (I was like 12). Tonight I got to meet him. Very cool.
The film opens in San Francisco and San Diego tomorrow. It was excellent. Everyone should go see it, if for no other reason than to support the guy who led David Bowie into the limelight. Rodney's been courting fame for decades, but always the bridesmaid... Granted, he was the bridesmaid for the likes of Cher, Nancy Sinatra, Joan Jett, Courtney Love, and Gwen Stefani, but he was always on the fringes of celebrity, working for all these years because "he loves the music".
While the film hits quite a few nostalgic notes and showcases some great music, it's most endearing quality is the way it handles the ambiguity of Rodney's sucess. I was left with the hope that in the future, fate will smile more kindly upon him. He is definitely not the poster boy for Hollywood cash flow. On the other hand, he's not an asshole (a quality so useful in tinseltown), so maybe he reaps a reward greater than fame. I'm waxing here, so I'll stop and fast forward to the rest of my evening...
I took this little goth girl I know, V, to the film. V is 12 years my junior, and at the risk of sounding like a pedophile (not literally, she's 20), I've got a bit of a crush on her. She's part of a group of kids I recently met, and they have unwittingly cast me under their spell of disenfranchised, disconnected, disaffected youth. They're so cute and morose and nocturnal. Sometimes I think I'm drawn to youth like a moth to flame. I swear, I'll be 60 and, like my hero Allen Ginsberg, hanging out with the punk kids in NYC starting at the hotties.
Later I went to a local bar and ran into a friend of mine, MM. She's a lovely woman (my age) I met a while ago, in that very bar no less. Her brother had just returned from a tour of duty in Iraq (like, off the plane two hours before I ran into them). Despite the fact that I'm steadfastly against the war, I bought him a drink because I'm glad he made it home safely. MM's goal that evening was to get him hammered, so after last call I went back to my pad, grabbed some booze, and split for her place for a little after hours merriment.
As the night progressed, I pounced on MM. Thankfully she was into it. We kissed for a bit and then passed out. It was so nice to crash in someone's arms again. Each time I doze off with another, I'm reminded of just how much my skin yearns to press against the skin of another. Of how much I want to hold and be held. Sex is great, but I think I've hit a point in my life where cuddling is almost as big a draw for me. Damn I'm girly sometimes. No wonder people think I'm gay.
Anyway, that's why I'm dragging my ass home at this ungodly hour.
Am just now getting home (6:45am, well after dawn) after quite an interesting night.
First off, I went to see a pre-release screening of "The Mayor of Sunset Strip", a documentary by George Hickenlooper (who also did "Hearts of Darkness") about Rodney Bingenheimer, a.k.a. "Rodney on the Roq" of KROQ Los Angeles. He's been there forever (well, since 1976). I first heard him on the air in 1984, about a year after I moved to California (I was like 12). Tonight I got to meet him. Very cool.
The film opens in San Francisco and San Diego tomorrow. It was excellent. Everyone should go see it, if for no other reason than to support the guy who led David Bowie into the limelight. Rodney's been courting fame for decades, but always the bridesmaid... Granted, he was the bridesmaid for the likes of Cher, Nancy Sinatra, Joan Jett, Courtney Love, and Gwen Stefani, but he was always on the fringes of celebrity, working for all these years because "he loves the music".
While the film hits quite a few nostalgic notes and showcases some great music, it's most endearing quality is the way it handles the ambiguity of Rodney's sucess. I was left with the hope that in the future, fate will smile more kindly upon him. He is definitely not the poster boy for Hollywood cash flow. On the other hand, he's not an asshole (a quality so useful in tinseltown), so maybe he reaps a reward greater than fame. I'm waxing here, so I'll stop and fast forward to the rest of my evening...
I took this little goth girl I know, V, to the film. V is 12 years my junior, and at the risk of sounding like a pedophile (not literally, she's 20), I've got a bit of a crush on her. She's part of a group of kids I recently met, and they have unwittingly cast me under their spell of disenfranchised, disconnected, disaffected youth. They're so cute and morose and nocturnal. Sometimes I think I'm drawn to youth like a moth to flame. I swear, I'll be 60 and, like my hero Allen Ginsberg, hanging out with the punk kids in NYC starting at the hotties.
Later I went to a local bar and ran into a friend of mine, MM. She's a lovely woman (my age) I met a while ago, in that very bar no less. Her brother had just returned from a tour of duty in Iraq (like, off the plane two hours before I ran into them). Despite the fact that I'm steadfastly against the war, I bought him a drink because I'm glad he made it home safely. MM's goal that evening was to get him hammered, so after last call I went back to my pad, grabbed some booze, and split for her place for a little after hours merriment.
As the night progressed, I pounced on MM. Thankfully she was into it. We kissed for a bit and then passed out. It was so nice to crash in someone's arms again. Each time I doze off with another, I'm reminded of just how much my skin yearns to press against the skin of another. Of how much I want to hold and be held. Sex is great, but I think I've hit a point in my life where cuddling is almost as big a draw for me. Damn I'm girly sometimes. No wonder people think I'm gay.
Anyway, that's why I'm dragging my ass home at this ungodly hour.
So, good for you.
Is having feelings or wanting cuddles girly, and not "boy-y?" Hm....
Rhetorical question...?
Hm.