Some genius said "life happens while you're making other plans" he meant that shit. Sometime in 87/88 my honey and I had jettisoned our respective romantic place holders and moved in together, but life wasn't going to be "happily ever after" we struggled with money while she worked on her doctoral degree. My lack of a clear career trajectory and fear of commitment didn't help matters.
I won't go too deep into the these troubling times, but my girl suffered the loss of her younger brother and it effected her deeply. At a time when I should have clinged to her, I was emotionally useless. In my classic imitable way: I had helped with the arrangements and sorting out all the weird and utilitarian things you do when someone dies, but was unable to relate to her loss, and retreated from the relationship. In hindsight, I guess I just didn't want to become anyone's pillar. I was too immature and was already dealing with my parents (who had suffered their own setbacks) She moved out.
After a few months, we sorted through our issues. Truth be known, sometime in the months after we broke up I had to see her (forgot the reason). I went to her apartment and there she stood in the doorway: a new re-invented iteration of my honey, wearing a shiny pink bodysuit (it was still the 80's) and her natural blond tresses had become flame red. I melted. You can call me shallow, a fetishist, whatever, but you weren't there. I was. We were engaged and married with 18 months.
After we got married (the band played "Tougher Than The Rest" at our wedding) we settled into our pattern of her laser focus on her degree, and my rudderless (yet curiously productive) search for career options. We managed an apartment building in Hollywood, while I worked at various film/TV/commercial production jobs. I turned out not to have the correct disposition in dealing with pompous show business folk, and my willingness to humiliate myself had limits that I wasn't aware of.
Eventually, my freakish sales ability (including talking my way into jobs that I'm completely unqualified for) became my fall back for any misguided career aspirations that I had. Over the years I have done many many jobs including, but not limited to the following:
Warehouse/shipping manager, Janitor (at a pet hospital, gross!), Bouncer, Grocery clerk, Grocery merchandiser, Prop man, TV producer (Emmy nominated!), Executive recruiter, Car salesman, Beef Jerky salesman, Coffee salesman, Candy salesman, Cigar store owner, Bar/restaurant owner, a year where I got paid and was never required to do any work (I recommend this to everyone), and Director of sales for a Toy company (today)
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Lonely Pilgrim
The phenomenon of BITUSA eventually culminated in a startling series of stadium shows. These were bittersweet times for me and Shoney. How could the Coliseum and the deluge of media and fans lend themselves to the intimacy and raucousness of the shows earlier in the decade? Jumbotrons and huge radio promotion were not part and parcel to a Springsteen concert, Bruce wasn't, after all Mick Jagger.
Yet there we were. Me, Shony and 90,000 of our closest friends (Rob Lowe said hello, more on him later) Bruce did a great job bringing these some intimacy to these venues. To his credit Bruce has never relied on elaborate props or lighting and his staging is spartan . Occasionally, he'll have a gag prop or two: over the years there have been chalkboards with a map of New Jersey, a carny ticket-taker window, a calliope and on Halloween, a coffin (you have to see it!) But no dragons or spaceships.
The whole idea of this many Springsteen fans was unsettling, how can he be speaking to so many people? where was the voice I heard when I was 16? Well, he grew up (Bruce, not me) at the shows Bruce went into the intro for a cover of "War (what is it good for?)" with a admonishment to the Reagan-era crowd that "In 1985, blind faith in your leaders or anything could get you killed" Shit, if he had seen what W was gonna be doing in 20 or so years he would've praised the restraint and humanity of the Reagan Presidency. But this issue, I leave for another blog.
Digression from main Bruce blog #3
During this time my girl and I hadn't seen each other for a good 6 months, we parted after the summer shows and I had started dating someone else. When she moved down to LA, I was surprised that she came looking for me (I was living at my parents house, not in the basement, but still a loser nonetheless!) The tall, cool , aloof chick was in my parents house: crying. What the fuck? I really didn't even think she liked me. Never can tell with the quiet, smart ones eh? This does bring up a very underrated and desirable quality that my girl has: she rarely talks about "us". Her feelings are not aired out in a constant need-for-reciprocation, affirmation, justification, or general vociferation. I have to make a note to myself to remember this. Unlike most relationships, I (the titular male) need to hear from her, more frequently than she needs it from me, weird huh? Poor thing got an earful from me a couple months ago when I was feeling under appreciated (Am I a woman?) She's taken to leaving little sweet notes for my needy eyes.
Anyway, she confessed that beneath that candy-thin shell of a cool exterior and tall visage she was in-fact, not indifferent to me (as I suspected) but was (amazingly) pretty hung up on your humble narrator (phew!) I didn't even now how to react, I had been dating another girl (I won't debase myself and my wife's good will by mentioning her specifically on a blog dedicated to my love) but, it did mark the beginning of the end for the Other girl.
There were timing issues, a horrible family tragedy, and my own stupidity to overcome (many, many times) but we would become a couple.
Tunnel of Love
Things that had gotten so far out of hand had started to pull back to more modest and reasonable levels for long term Bruce fans. Tunnel of Love was bittersweet and stark, there were some sentimental songs about love gone good, unrequited love and love gone bad. Some people were saying that if Bruce is writing about his own experiences (and why wouldn't he) than it sounded like his marriage was in serious trouble. Or put this way: If your spouse or significant other writes and sings "Brilliant Disguise" youse in trouble, dude.
The Tunnel of Love tour saw Bruce moving back to the smaller arenas (thank you god) My sweetheart and I went on opening night at the LA Sports arena (back when it was just a drab dump vs. and old drab dump) I couldn't help but notice Bruce and Patti during the duets. I don't have a huge bevy of core talents, but one of them is that I'm rather observant, to my salesman's eyes, Bruce and Patti looked to be in love... My wife (girlfriend at the time) said "You're crazy" Boy, did I ever hit that one on the head.
Side notes on Red heads
The firebug community (those of us who prefer lasses with scarlet manes) for the most part don't care how that hair got to be so red, while natural is always preferable, the woman who feels like her hair should be red also warms our hearts. The red hair is a statement, a political affiliation for the spirit. I have all sorts of red issues: Firstly, my mother was a natural redhead (sharp wit and bad temper too) she was pretty domineering and I can say with supreme certainty that there was no Oedipal leanings (or even a scant thought) but for some reason I always found Ann-Margret, Rita Hayworth, that chick from "Boogie Nights" and even pre-fucked up and blond Lindsay Lohan to be infinitely more desirable than any blond I ever saw. So there's that. For my leanings, god or whatever wickedly self-amusing, wiseacre has bestowed upon me the reddest of redheads for my daughter. I will spend my 50's keeping firebugs like me at bay and be put in the very pathetic position of having to discourage mofo's (not unlike myself) from getting too chummy with my little red angel. Cursed fates.
To be continued...
Thursday, November 1, 2007
The Tactical Retreat
Digression from main Bruce thread #1: There she was...
It was August of 1984. She had been brought to the house by an older brother who was dating her best friend, she was from Spokane and down in LA for the summer. I saw her wild blond "Nina Blackwood" styled hair above the rugby scrum of fraternity brothers (she's almost 5'11'') all trying to get in her graces while cock-blocking or being cock-blocked by their closest friends. She caught my eye, how could she not? Long and slender with shy, almond shaped eyes, lovely mouth and chin and a high regal stature. By 1984 I had grown tall and lost the pudginess of my adolescence. I wasn't cool, but could do a pretty good impression of it. I knew that phalanx of idiots in pursuit of my future honey's tender charms were a mojo killer. I had learned that, in matters of the heart (and other areas) that tactical retreat and patience could yield results that pressure and desperation couldn't. Yeah, she was striking and I was smitten, but there was no way I was going in, not then, not there.
The next night was a beach party, and (lucky for me!) there she was sitting on a log by a fire pit, alone. I grabbed my friend Steve and said "Do know that girl?" he shook his head "Introduce me" we walked over and he said "This is Dodd, what's your name? She said "Beth" I then said "Oh, yeah we spent the night together last night" then she said "We'll it must not have been very good, or I'd remember you" Ouch!
For what ever reason I was able to weasel onto this girl's radar, we become a summer couple. I liked being with her, I liked looking at her, we said our good-byes a couple of weeks later. There was something there, but she seemed aloof and indifferent to me, we stayed in contact (by snail mail, remember that?) and she agreed to come down for the Born In the USA tour in October...
Opening Night- Born In The USA - LA Sports Arena
There we were: Shony and me and our girls (they would both become our wives, still are!) in the 2nd row, dead center, no bullshit, no scalpers, we'd earned our right to be there. The Anthemic show opener "Born in the USA" was followed by a smattering of old and new Bruce, the shows, which are always good, felt more like an social event and less like the catharsis of old. It wasn't Bruce, he was, as always, spot on and in the moment, it was the crowd: they were there for the scene. What should have been a great series of shows were a little disappointing. It felt like we had lost some innocence and the messenger (or who the messenger was dating) got more important than the message. It was somehow different. By the time BITUSA and all the singles moved through the charts it established Bruce as worldwide media fodder. Even Reagan took a shot at co-opting a piece of Bruce. Then there was the marriage to an actress/model. Who gives a fuck? I didn't want to know his private business, and I didn't care for the people who somehow thought it made them bigger or better fans because they knew some personal shit about him. It was, and always has been about the music for me. I'm a snob, whatever, STFU if you think your stupid ass Bruce insider knowledge means anything to me.
Digression from main Bruce thread #2: The Boss Club
About 1985 I started going to The Boss Club. Some Springsteen devotees had set it up in the anachronistic locale of the Imperial Gardens, an old school Japanese restaurant on Sunset (it would later become the Roxbury). Every Tuesday night they would play Springsteen tunes and run grainy VHS bootlegs of ancient Bruce shows from yore. I had a regular booth there and was the venue where the following incidents may or may not have happened: I dove Slip N' Slide style across the beer soaked dance floor headfirst, I made out with Paris Hilton's future Aunt, watched Rob Lowe get denied by a chubby redhead (what was she thinking? I'd of fucked him, and I'm straight) had drinks with Michael J Fox (that lil feller could pack it in)
The Boss Club was a sweaty, loud and anachronistic joint (I mean a Springsteen themed club in the middle of a Japanese restaurant?) but in the mid-80's you were either wearing a puffy shirt with eye-liner or had skinny jeans with metal hair, or you were marginally normal and went to places with an element of fun and hijinx.
It was August of 1984. She had been brought to the house by an older brother who was dating her best friend, she was from Spokane and down in LA for the summer. I saw her wild blond "Nina Blackwood" styled hair above the rugby scrum of fraternity brothers (she's almost 5'11'') all trying to get in her graces while cock-blocking or being cock-blocked by their closest friends. She caught my eye, how could she not? Long and slender with shy, almond shaped eyes, lovely mouth and chin and a high regal stature. By 1984 I had grown tall and lost the pudginess of my adolescence. I wasn't cool, but could do a pretty good impression of it. I knew that phalanx of idiots in pursuit of my future honey's tender charms were a mojo killer. I had learned that, in matters of the heart (and other areas) that tactical retreat and patience could yield results that pressure and desperation couldn't. Yeah, she was striking and I was smitten, but there was no way I was going in, not then, not there.
The next night was a beach party, and (lucky for me!) there she was sitting on a log by a fire pit, alone. I grabbed my friend Steve and said "Do know that girl?" he shook his head "Introduce me" we walked over and he said "This is Dodd, what's your name? She said "Beth" I then said "Oh, yeah we spent the night together last night" then she said "We'll it must not have been very good, or I'd remember you" Ouch!
For what ever reason I was able to weasel onto this girl's radar, we become a summer couple. I liked being with her, I liked looking at her, we said our good-byes a couple of weeks later. There was something there, but she seemed aloof and indifferent to me, we stayed in contact (by snail mail, remember that?) and she agreed to come down for the Born In the USA tour in October...
Opening Night- Born In The USA - LA Sports Arena
There we were: Shony and me and our girls (they would both become our wives, still are!) in the 2nd row, dead center, no bullshit, no scalpers, we'd earned our right to be there. The Anthemic show opener "Born in the USA" was followed by a smattering of old and new Bruce, the shows, which are always good, felt more like an social event and less like the catharsis of old. It wasn't Bruce, he was, as always, spot on and in the moment, it was the crowd: they were there for the scene. What should have been a great series of shows were a little disappointing. It felt like we had lost some innocence and the messenger (or who the messenger was dating) got more important than the message. It was somehow different. By the time BITUSA and all the singles moved through the charts it established Bruce as worldwide media fodder. Even Reagan took a shot at co-opting a piece of Bruce. Then there was the marriage to an actress/model. Who gives a fuck? I didn't want to know his private business, and I didn't care for the people who somehow thought it made them bigger or better fans because they knew some personal shit about him. It was, and always has been about the music for me. I'm a snob, whatever, STFU if you think your stupid ass Bruce insider knowledge means anything to me.
Digression from main Bruce thread #2: The Boss Club
About 1985 I started going to The Boss Club. Some Springsteen devotees had set it up in the anachronistic locale of the Imperial Gardens, an old school Japanese restaurant on Sunset (it would later become the Roxbury). Every Tuesday night they would play Springsteen tunes and run grainy VHS bootlegs of ancient Bruce shows from yore. I had a regular booth there and was the venue where the following incidents may or may not have happened: I dove Slip N' Slide style across the beer soaked dance floor headfirst, I made out with Paris Hilton's future Aunt, watched Rob Lowe get denied by a chubby redhead (what was she thinking? I'd of fucked him, and I'm straight) had drinks with Michael J Fox (that lil feller could pack it in)
The Boss Club was a sweaty, loud and anachronistic joint (I mean a Springsteen themed club in the middle of a Japanese restaurant?) but in the mid-80's you were either wearing a puffy shirt with eye-liner or had skinny jeans with metal hair, or you were marginally normal and went to places with an element of fun and hijinx.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
