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Slipshod went great. It was Brett, JP, and myself. We went straight through
Hollywood Boulevard and this new tune
Bob Marley. Very cool song. I will post it if Panauh gets his ass together and sends it to me. (Now that he does the recording in the other room, he's got to make everything perfect, you know?)
But why am I listening to Jack Johnson early in the morning on a Saturday?
Well, as Slipshod rocked Little Armenia (meaning 1807 Taft Avenue, Apt 1), I could hear applause. Our neighbors were cheering. Next thing I know I'm out having a smoke, and this chick comes up and introduces herself. She says she was just listening and wanted to come over and introduce herself.
"You know like in college you'd just go over to the dorm room. I know it might seem weird, but I figured you were people on the same wavelength, you know?"
"Yeah," I say.
She's pretty. Persian is my guess.
"You speak Farsi?" I ask.
"Yeah," she smiles.
I say hello in my native tongue. She gets cute, bats her eyelashes, and replies. It is evident her heart is curious about me. I'm way too strong for most ladies though. I'm like a heart attack. That heavy. I prove it too.
"You sing?" I ask her.
"That's what they asked me inside," she shifts all nervous and shit. "Why you guys looking for a singer?"
"Slipshod is always welcome to other musicians," I say.
"I only sing in the shower."
"Well, come sing on this track."
"Right now?"
"Yeah," I say.
"Well," she pulls at the bottom of her shirt, "maybe if I was prepared."
"What do you do?"
"I'm a head hunter for audio engineers. I find them jobs."
"Good for my brother," I think and say (because these days it just drools out of my mouth).
"Yeah," she agrees.
"There's something else though. You're a headhunter. I hear that. But there's some kind of art there."
"Yeah," she says. "Well, I did the whole acting modeling thing, but I got tired of it. I also danced."
"Jazz hands," I demonstrate.
"Yeah, jazz hands," she returns the favor.
"Well, what are you up to tonight? Lets go out."
"We're going to
King King's. Have you heard of it?"
"Nah."
"It's really cool. Drum and bass. They have a DJ. One of our friends is performing there tonight. You guys should come. We could meet you there."
"Mmmm," I say. "Well, when are you going there?"
"As soon as I'm done getting ready. I'm a little tired right now. I might have to drink a Red Bull though. Then I'll head out."
She laughs. Gorgeous laugh.
"Well, come get us when you go," I say.
"Oh, well," she frowns. "We're going with a bunch of Armenians. We have to meet at this one person's house and then we're going to have to wait so-"
"I hear you. It's too hard."
"Yeah," she thinks and says. "You could meet us there."
"I don't know. Maybe, you can come over and jam tomorrow."
This is where I can't write anymore. It's too hard. She kind of just leaves, and I didn't want her too. Maybe, she had a boyfriend or something. I don't know. JP was quick to razz me on it though.
"Dude, you blew it."
"I came off too strong?" I ask B.
"Yeah, well, a little," B says.
"Why didn't you tell me I was coming off that strong?"
"Oh," B smiles. "We need signs already."
"Yeah," I say.
"Hey, Pirooz," B rubs his head. "That's a strong breeze."
We laugh.
"Man," JP smiles. "When I saw that girl I was like, 'That's Pirooz's future wife."
"I blew it though."
"Nah, Hollywood girls just have this vaneer you got to polish off."
"Well, are you going to come be my wingman?"
"I'm tired, man."
"I hear you," I say. "Go do what you got to do."
"What are you going to do?" B asks.
"I don't know," I say. "I'm feeling kind of lonely. I might go to this King King's thing. I don't know. Might be a little creepy though, if I show up."
"Yeah," B agrees.
The boys take off. I'm still feeling kind of lonely, so I decide to call up Timeray and hit King King's with her. She'll be my wingman.
"Where are you?" the cell phone chirps.
"I'm heading up Hollywood," I tell her. "Meet me at King King's."
"Okay," she says. "I'm performing right now. I'll call you when I'm done."
I walk up about 5 blocks. I see a massive traffic jam. A girl is eyeing me. She waves. I smile.
Wave. It stirs something in her. She starts screaming. That's when Tim calls back.
"I'm almost to Gower," she says.
"Okay," I shout over the girl screaming at me.
"What's going on? T asks.
"Some girl's yelling at me!" I shout into the phone.
"What's she saying?"
"I don't know. Something about-"
"Hey, man," a guy says walking beside me. "That girl says she's a slut and wants you stick it in her butt."
"Really?" I turn around.
"What'd she say?" Timeray asks. "Who is that?"
"Just some guy on the street."
I hand the guy the phone.
"Here," I say. "Tell T what she said."
"She says you're a slut and she wants to stick it in your butt-"
"You're?" I interrupt.
"I mean 'she.' She's a slut and wants him to stick it in her butt."
I take back the phone.
"Oh, my," T says.
"Funny, huh?"
"Yeah," she agrees. "Well, I'll see you in a little bit."
I hang up the phone and chat with my newfound interpreter. His name is Pinch. He is from Australia. At least, originally. Now he lives on Gower. He is into Industrial soul. He loves the Nails.
"Nails?" I ask.
"Nine Inch Nails," he says.
I invite Pinchie to come with us. I figure there's nothing better than a gang of 3 on Hollywood.
"Come to King King's," I say.
"Okay," he says. "What's there?"
"A hot girl," I tell him.
Pinchie and I walk for a while, trying to find the place. In the meantime, we drop the knowledge about ourselves. It's clear our meeting was no accident - no matter how new age that might sound.
"Yeah," he smiles. "I figured something like this was going to happen, when I headed out."
We finally get to King King's and the place is packed. There's a line around the block.
"It's an illusion," Pinchie says. "They're just holding people out to make it look like it's packed."
"Mmmm," I say.
Tim walks up about this time with some burly guy. She says he was kind enough to escort her.
"Thanks," I tell the big guy, and give him a hug.
"No problem," he says in a thick accent. "It is my pleasure."
I introduce Pinchie to Timeray. Then we decide about the situation. (Big guy jettisons, of course).
"Lets go to
Starshoes and dance," Pinchie drops.
"Mmmm," I think and say. "But the hot girl was going to be
here."
They look at me like kids who want to go to McDonald's, and I've learned long ago not to argue with reality.
"Okay," I say. "Lets go."
"Alright," Pinchie says. "Going with the flow. I love it."
We walk aimlessly for a bit. Pinchie drops some of his spoken word. Timeray sings her latest piece. I listen and harmonize on certain parts, until we hit some bar on Cahuenga.
We drop in fast. I tell them that drinks are on me, because they are poor and I'm not, so that's how we'll roll tonight.
They don't argue.
I order 3 rum and cokes. A girl comes up to me right away. She shows me her crap, handmade tattoo. I show her the new one I got last Saturday. She thinks it's fake.
"No, it's not," I say.
That's all I say to her. I probably should have stopped there. I didn't though. After we hit the dance floor, I caught her watching us break it down in the packed club.
"Come," I say. "Dance with us."
"I have two drinks," she says, and hold up her hands.
"I'll hold one," I say. "Pinchie will hold the other.
She grinds up on me for a bit. I sing in her ear. Don't think she liked that. She took off in a hurry.
"Did that girl diss me?" I ask Pinch.
"Dude," he smiles. "There are hundreds.
I like Pinchie, I spin.
He's right.
We proceed to hit several more clubs on Hollywood. Tim and Pinch are star dancers. Pinchie taught hip-hop dance, so he tears it up wherever we go. So does Timeray. I dance okay. It's more like an inspiration for others to dance. I got rhythm. I can groove with it. But I'm so manly, you know? I've got that vibe that on a dance floor comes off as a sheik in the desert, while onstage people would be like, "Who is he?" I roll with it though, you know?
Anyway, we are on our last club, when Pinchie tells me that he wants to talk to the owner.
"Dude," he says. "I want to talk to the owner. This place should be packed."
"Okay," I say. "You find the guy. I'll be your partner. Let go do it."
Pinch asks a couple of the bouncers who to talk to. I go and talk to a girl. She points out the owner, and then the 3 of us roll up to him. Pinchie does the sale. He fronts about how many bottles he could get the place to sell. Timeray mentions her showcase and sways ever so gently in front of him. I stand there and look menacing. (I know my role).
He is swayed. He gives Timeray his card.
"Good," I say to the group. "Lets get this place packed next Thurday."
"Next Thursday?" Pinchie says
"Okay," I say. "The Thursday after that.
We walk back down Hollywood Boulevard. We talk about many things. We sing songs to each other. We hit Tommy's for burgers. We say goodbye.
Now it's morning. I listen to Jack Johnson. I think about how I can get that Armenian girl next door to come over.
Maybe, I'll just sing love songs all day. She'll hear them and come say hello again.
(I
f she comes over, she won't ever want to leave)Maybe. Who knows?
I'll keep ya'll posted.
Shikow News. Over and out.
