Much better kind of fall
Memories fog. I do remember hanging out with John Lurie at Save The Robots, but I can't remember why he was with us...
Actually I kind of do. It started at the wrap party for a film I'd worked on. I think we were partying on some kind of boat that was permanently attached to shore, and John was there, but what the hell did he have to do with the movie?
At Robots I made an ass of myself, but I was drunk and that's what we do when we're drunk.
Before I got drunk I remember thinking, "this dude's pretty cool."
I had seen his band The Lounge Lizards perform a couple times at the Village Gate (another place that is no longer... Lots of places are no longer, I mean look at Atlantis! But the Village Gate?? Come on, man. You know who has played there!?! I used to love looking at the pics/albums on the stairwell going down into the place. Of course that's not how I got into the place - my roommate worked there so he let me in the back door because we were young and broke. Not every youth is broke. We were. We worked though, so we weren't completely broke, but we didn't make enough to spend it on cover charges at clubs. What we had we needed to save for booze.)
John, or Mr. Lurie (since I'm not really on a familiar basis with him, the way say, everyone used to like to talk about Robert DeNiro as "Bobby." I mean, yes, these actors worked with him, maybe had a scene or two with him. Maybe was an extra. Maybe just saw him in a movie and suddenly it was "Ya know, Bobby -- Bob DeNiro I mean -- Bobby, he liked to...")
So there we were. John Lurie, some other stoned (stoned didn't always mean "as in marijuana," could be he was just drunk) crew member, and me headed downstairs into Save The Robots and... And...
Shit. That's all I remember.
I got pretty drunk on some jungle juice they were serving, I do remember that. And I remember fading out during the conversation and suddenly John Lurie was gone, the sun was high in the sky, and I was stumbling home.
The Lounge Lizards live, by the way, were great.
I have one album, No Pain For Cakes. I love it. Both the music and the song titles. My Clowns On Fire? Sweeeet. Actually it's a cassette tape but it still plays.
This whole episode falls under my I-had-an-awesome-time-during-my-New-York-days, days.
I even romanticize the bad days. I survived, right? Hey, I was in my early twenties. I could handle those days better than I could today.
I didn't go looking for trouble, well I did, but didn't call it trouble then.
Now it would be the kind of trouble I might not escape because -- though I am wiser -- my reflexes are not as quick. My senses not as sharp.
I probably would have been thrown out that 32nd story window, or, if I had managed to fight my way back into the apartment, at least stabbed or shot on the living room floor.
You know what gave me incredible strength that night? I was getting on a plane the next morning to fly out West to visit my mom and I thought, "She will really be upset if I don't get off that plane and she has no idea why and then reads about it in the newspaper or something."
We didn't have twitter and stuff then. Or cell phones (at least I didn't, maybe the military did. Or Mick Jagger. People like that.)
And there was no way I could text her during that craziness to tell her, "Hey Mom? Just a quick 'I love you' in case I die in the next twenty minutes... Oh, nothing, just something stupid, but serious. Lol."
Actually it probably wouldn't have made the papers either. Too many crazy stories in that city for all of them to make the news.
This was all in the early 90s, by the way. For a frame of reference. Think it was 1991-ish.
I was living on Cooper Square in a building that is no longer there. That's another story, though. Not "the building is no longer there" story, the "what went on in that building" story.
Actually, no. I can't talk about it. Not with employers scouring the internet to find out just how imperfect we all actually are -- I touched on this in my last post.
The Village Gate. Now that's a story deserves it's own post, or two.
John played there. My roommate served there. I was an audience there. All the parts required to make something happen.
At least something that more than one of us can reference.
I wonder if any of my employers were ever there, too? Village Gate, Save The Robots...
Getting so drunk they pulled their own underwear over their heads, ran through the streets maybe.
Well, if they were, they probably don't blog about it.
Of course, I really could have been thrown from the 32nd floor that night, so the fact I'm still around to blog, that ain't so bad.
I think using "ain't" in that last sentence is acceptable, no?
Unless I'm applying for a job as a writer.
Man, this social media thing is more dangerous than the 32nd floor!
Thankfully I made the flight