Last week, upon re-entry to Los Angeles, my new friend, Lonn, invited me to join he and his daughter to the KROQ weenie roast in Irvine. Fortunately, I was carpooling with his pal Mark later in the afternoon. Not that I didn’t want to see who was on the second stages, it’s just that a hot afternoon filled with sausage smell and general “street fair” fare is not my scene. Everything smells like Italian sausage, gyros, someone’s always throwing up and there is trash everywhere. At the Verizon Amphitheatre, it was no different, although when we arrived, people we just starting to pile into the amphitheatre, the Red Bull guzzling contest was just ending and sunburned bodies were peaking on their beer red bull buzz. The line up that I caught was The Killers, Audioslave, the Foo Fighters and Motley Crue. The audience was fantastic, all types of tattoos adorned everyone, the crowd a mixed group of ages and races, multi-mankind brought together by music the boom boom of the bass from The Killers, covering Depeche Mode. Girls in t-shirts and tiny shorts proving that rock chicks will always be rock chicks, there is no change in fashion. Long hair, short everything and heels. It’s like a timeless uniform. The energy pounds through you, my heart sped up and I felt about 15 years younger, wishing I could get down on the floor. Rock concerts are the only place, I’m convinced, in this day and age that people can be openly sexual. It’s the way everyone was moving and grooving, like a come on, transformed into their animal spirits.
The Killers were great, and having saw Audioslave the night before at the Wiltern, they were consistent in their outstanding performance. Tom Morello is thing of joy to watch. I remember seeing Yo Yo Ma for the first time, tears coming to my eyes at being able to witness someone whose soul was identical to his instrument, his music and his love for it. Tom Morello is no different. I could watch him play a Back Street Boys song on his guitar and weep with the beauty of it. If you haven’t seen him, you must. He also plays under the name of The Night Watchman. The stage spins after Audioslave wrecks me with their song "Like A Stone" and The Foo Fighters begin playing and don’t stop for at least an hour. I’m still trembling in awe. All Hail the Foo Fighters! It was the most spectacular musical/band performance I’ve seen since Prince, and if you saw the show, that was pretty hard to top. Dave Grohl is a herculean rock star.
The evening was capped by Motley Crue, Tommy Lee manning his drums with make up that rivaled Peter Criss and actual pyro! I was instantly transported to the 80s and scene from “Spinal Tap”. Indeed, I heard there was one too many Jaegermeisters thrown down back stage, but no matter. It was great – shout at the devil man!
Monday, May 23, 2005
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Fearless or Foolish?
When my friend Joanna invited me to join her Taos Habitat for Humanity build in May, I jumped at the chance. It being January, I couldn’t predict how long my melancholy would last, and besides, I had heard that Taos did wonders for the soul. I could have taken Amtrack direct from Union Station to Albuquerque, but I opted to test out the Benz’s abilities and on May 3rd, began my solo journey from Eagle Rock to New Mexico stopping in Flagstaff, Gallup, Santa Fe and finally Taos.
Was I being fearless or foolish? I didn’t think about it, I just got in the car and drove, not in the least bit worried to be traveling alone. The most dangerous place I could be was in my head, which, as irony would have it, I had no shortage of time to spend with. With camera in left hand, knees on steering wheel and pencil in right, I documented my random thoughts from the road. Enjoy…
First Impressions
America’s Favorite Highway, Route 66, transformed into Interstate 40 in 1984. Due to popular pilgrimages, signs along the way encourage drivers to get off and experience the once Main Street highway; roadside attractions include meteor craters, dinosaur remains, petrified wood, Indian-made blankets, and no shortage of slots. The expansion of casinos across the South West is the most noticeable difference in the landscape since I drove this route a decade past, having taken off in the middle of the night after quitting my job in rock radio, resolute that Graceland had the answers. Unlike historical markers, casinos have easy pull on/pull off ramps and many are attached to gas stations covered by heavy duty tenting with Port O’Sans conveniently located on the side. Everyone wants in on the money. I wonder if they pump in oxygen like they do in Vegas. Is poker keeping the truckers off crystal? Are they making their deliveries on time? I don’t see many free spaces in the parking lots.
Flagstaff, Arizona
When one is accustomed to traveling on a company that puts you up in four-star, soundproof rooms containing heavenly beds fitted with 1000 thread count sheets and room service, Travelodge can be a rude awakening. I don’t mind getting my own ice or the scratchy linen and dubious blankets, but the level of noise at 5:30 A.M. is a challenge. High pitched screams to unruly children, hundreds of Harley riders revving their engines in anticipation of Canyon roads or, if faithfully following Route 66, the railroad, which blows its whistle hourly. In fact, so many people had complained, that the Flagstaff Best Western posted a disclaimer stating that no; they could not control the train whistle. Flagstaff is cute little town, with vintage boutique hotels spread along the main street, 90% of which proudly display a color newspaper portrait of the new pope at the registry. Don’t be deceived by the geranium lined streets and brick faced shops, the teenager who checked me in told me that someone had been just murdered at the elementary school, confirming my belief that I’m safer in a large city.
Sedona, Arizona
I make it a point to revisit Sedona. Several years ago, I accompanied the Tech Director of a theater company I had been involved with to deliver a set to the Sedona Shakespeare Company. Not only was I dumped off at a prep school, but then abandoned for eight hours with a bare light bulb for company, (I am not kidding. It was just the light bulb and I, the truck kicking up dust before I could grab my gear). I also discovered that my companionship was all part of a very willful lesbian seduction the T.D. had planned, asking me several times over the course of the drive whether or not I had sex with women in college. Angelina Jolie she definitely was not and when I got out of the truck, I got out of the truck, if you know what I mean. I needed to reverse the bad energy I felt about Sedona and drove into town searching for the vortexes I was confident would cure this negative vibe. One does feel a tingling sensation atop these monolithic mesas, a connection to the earth. Feeling full of nature, I threw on my boots and went for what I thought was a short loop. Not having bothered to unpack socks, I arrive almost three hours later, blistered, limping, and hoarse, discovering I had just walked seven miles. I climb back up the vortex. Shortly after, I am pulled over for crossing two lanes of traffic while making a beeline towards a coffee shop. For the first time in my life, I talk my way out of a ticket, pointing out that I was not speeding and had used my blinker. The spirits are with me. We chat about Sedona’s coffee houses, the officer giving a hard sell for Von’s Starbucks counter over any of the local java joints.
Gallup, New Mexico…
On my previous trip, I visited the beautiful Sky City Acoma Enchanted Pueblo outside of Gallup, now host to the Sky City “Big Rig” Casino where high rollers can actually win a custom rig. I return to the Historic El Rancho Hotel, home to the movie stars. Gallup is the perfect place to film westerns, and the walls of the hotel are adorned with publicity photos of Ronald Reagan, Joel McCrea, Jane Wyman, Kirk Douglas among others. I picture Bogart at the hotel’s bar, just a regular guy with a regular job, which is the way he saw his profession. I can’t imagine that any of the celebrities I’ve worked with would stay here. The Zuni Mountains encircle Gallup and have their own form of rainbow, the spectrum glowing from within, from green to reds, oranges, pinks and yellows. As you drive out of town, power plants choke the middle of this beauty, offsetting the vista with steel towers and smoking chimneys and not a person in sight.
Albuquerque, New Mexico
The Rio Grande lives up to it’s name and you can spot the delta and track the river’s course from the Cottonwood trees that spread out in a green belt from water’s edge. There are pyramidal mountains, perfect for UFO landings and lots of developments being built. Once ancient volcanoes are grown over and have spewed forth their rocks across the high desert floor, leading the way to petroglyphs, a form, I’m convinced, of ancient graffiti. Everyone has something to say. I walk up to the top and interrupt an impromptu service being given by the Light and Liberty Jail Ministry to a flock of one. The words “liberty” and “jail” together strike me as funny and I stifle a smirk, not lost on the young minister.
Santa Fe, New Mexico
The streets are filled with women bedecked in recent purchases of silver and turquoise and red coral. We women are such suckers for the glitter. I salivate over leather jackets. Santa Fe seems so elite, so expensive. Galleries and shops surround the Plaza while Native Americans sell their wares on the curb outside the Governor’s Palace. Oddly, a Kentucky Derby party is held at the Historic El Dorado Hotel. I realize I’ve never watched a horse race, let alone attended a Kentucky Derby Party. I wander around, have breakfast with an old friend and decide to spend my last day on the road in the healing waters of Ojo Caliente.
Ojo Caliente, New Mexcio
Not quite an oasis just south of the Colorado border. It is Mother’s Day and the spa is full. I desperately needed peace and quiet to quell the storm brewing inside my brain, but I entered into a world of illiterates wading around the arsenic and iron pools. Despite the numerous signs proclaiming "Quiet Zone. Please Maintain the Tranquility and Do Not Speak Above a Whisper”, people happily chat away about Hawaii, the oil business and the myth of skin cancer as they fry up in the hot desert sun. Two unruly boys leap from pool to pool, their parents ignoring more signs: “Children Under 12 Not Allowed.” A two and half year old repeats in a shout “I’m two and a half!” and a sixteen year old sighs wistfully “I can’t wait until Armando falls in love with me. I hope he’s not crazy”. Sister, I want to say, hold onto your hat, love is wild ride.
It's as though the sanctuary I’m struggling to find in my head has been usurped by abundant noise in the middle of nowhere. Women parade around in bikinis with bodies reminiscent of an R. Crumb strip. Nobody preens or stares at themselves in the mirror like they do at Burke Williams. Women are women here and proudly shake their bountiful asses. I feel at home among them, a tribal member of the Large Ass. I vow to buy a bikini when I get home. That night, having opted for a room with a TV, I locate a cable, but no TV. The night clerk informs me that there is no Television, Internet or cell service at Ojo Caliente. It is 9:PM, dark and very, very quiet. Having wanted the silence, I find myself strangely uncomfortable in it. I paint my toes a brilliant shade of “I’m Not Really A Waitress Red” and listen to nothing. I arrive in Taos the next afternoon.
visit ojo caliente
Was I being fearless or foolish? I didn’t think about it, I just got in the car and drove, not in the least bit worried to be traveling alone. The most dangerous place I could be was in my head, which, as irony would have it, I had no shortage of time to spend with. With camera in left hand, knees on steering wheel and pencil in right, I documented my random thoughts from the road. Enjoy…
First Impressions
America’s Favorite Highway, Route 66, transformed into Interstate 40 in 1984. Due to popular pilgrimages, signs along the way encourage drivers to get off and experience the once Main Street highway; roadside attractions include meteor craters, dinosaur remains, petrified wood, Indian-made blankets, and no shortage of slots. The expansion of casinos across the South West is the most noticeable difference in the landscape since I drove this route a decade past, having taken off in the middle of the night after quitting my job in rock radio, resolute that Graceland had the answers. Unlike historical markers, casinos have easy pull on/pull off ramps and many are attached to gas stations covered by heavy duty tenting with Port O’Sans conveniently located on the side. Everyone wants in on the money. I wonder if they pump in oxygen like they do in Vegas. Is poker keeping the truckers off crystal? Are they making their deliveries on time? I don’t see many free spaces in the parking lots.
Flagstaff, Arizona
When one is accustomed to traveling on a company that puts you up in four-star, soundproof rooms containing heavenly beds fitted with 1000 thread count sheets and room service, Travelodge can be a rude awakening. I don’t mind getting my own ice or the scratchy linen and dubious blankets, but the level of noise at 5:30 A.M. is a challenge. High pitched screams to unruly children, hundreds of Harley riders revving their engines in anticipation of Canyon roads or, if faithfully following Route 66, the railroad, which blows its whistle hourly. In fact, so many people had complained, that the Flagstaff Best Western posted a disclaimer stating that no; they could not control the train whistle. Flagstaff is cute little town, with vintage boutique hotels spread along the main street, 90% of which proudly display a color newspaper portrait of the new pope at the registry. Don’t be deceived by the geranium lined streets and brick faced shops, the teenager who checked me in told me that someone had been just murdered at the elementary school, confirming my belief that I’m safer in a large city.
Sedona, Arizona
I make it a point to revisit Sedona. Several years ago, I accompanied the Tech Director of a theater company I had been involved with to deliver a set to the Sedona Shakespeare Company. Not only was I dumped off at a prep school, but then abandoned for eight hours with a bare light bulb for company, (I am not kidding. It was just the light bulb and I, the truck kicking up dust before I could grab my gear). I also discovered that my companionship was all part of a very willful lesbian seduction the T.D. had planned, asking me several times over the course of the drive whether or not I had sex with women in college. Angelina Jolie she definitely was not and when I got out of the truck, I got out of the truck, if you know what I mean. I needed to reverse the bad energy I felt about Sedona and drove into town searching for the vortexes I was confident would cure this negative vibe. One does feel a tingling sensation atop these monolithic mesas, a connection to the earth. Feeling full of nature, I threw on my boots and went for what I thought was a short loop. Not having bothered to unpack socks, I arrive almost three hours later, blistered, limping, and hoarse, discovering I had just walked seven miles. I climb back up the vortex. Shortly after, I am pulled over for crossing two lanes of traffic while making a beeline towards a coffee shop. For the first time in my life, I talk my way out of a ticket, pointing out that I was not speeding and had used my blinker. The spirits are with me. We chat about Sedona’s coffee houses, the officer giving a hard sell for Von’s Starbucks counter over any of the local java joints.
Gallup, New Mexico…
On my previous trip, I visited the beautiful Sky City Acoma Enchanted Pueblo outside of Gallup, now host to the Sky City “Big Rig” Casino where high rollers can actually win a custom rig. I return to the Historic El Rancho Hotel, home to the movie stars. Gallup is the perfect place to film westerns, and the walls of the hotel are adorned with publicity photos of Ronald Reagan, Joel McCrea, Jane Wyman, Kirk Douglas among others. I picture Bogart at the hotel’s bar, just a regular guy with a regular job, which is the way he saw his profession. I can’t imagine that any of the celebrities I’ve worked with would stay here. The Zuni Mountains encircle Gallup and have their own form of rainbow, the spectrum glowing from within, from green to reds, oranges, pinks and yellows. As you drive out of town, power plants choke the middle of this beauty, offsetting the vista with steel towers and smoking chimneys and not a person in sight.
Albuquerque, New Mexico
The Rio Grande lives up to it’s name and you can spot the delta and track the river’s course from the Cottonwood trees that spread out in a green belt from water’s edge. There are pyramidal mountains, perfect for UFO landings and lots of developments being built. Once ancient volcanoes are grown over and have spewed forth their rocks across the high desert floor, leading the way to petroglyphs, a form, I’m convinced, of ancient graffiti. Everyone has something to say. I walk up to the top and interrupt an impromptu service being given by the Light and Liberty Jail Ministry to a flock of one. The words “liberty” and “jail” together strike me as funny and I stifle a smirk, not lost on the young minister.
Santa Fe, New Mexico
The streets are filled with women bedecked in recent purchases of silver and turquoise and red coral. We women are such suckers for the glitter. I salivate over leather jackets. Santa Fe seems so elite, so expensive. Galleries and shops surround the Plaza while Native Americans sell their wares on the curb outside the Governor’s Palace. Oddly, a Kentucky Derby party is held at the Historic El Dorado Hotel. I realize I’ve never watched a horse race, let alone attended a Kentucky Derby Party. I wander around, have breakfast with an old friend and decide to spend my last day on the road in the healing waters of Ojo Caliente.
Ojo Caliente, New Mexcio
Not quite an oasis just south of the Colorado border. It is Mother’s Day and the spa is full. I desperately needed peace and quiet to quell the storm brewing inside my brain, but I entered into a world of illiterates wading around the arsenic and iron pools. Despite the numerous signs proclaiming "Quiet Zone. Please Maintain the Tranquility and Do Not Speak Above a Whisper”, people happily chat away about Hawaii, the oil business and the myth of skin cancer as they fry up in the hot desert sun. Two unruly boys leap from pool to pool, their parents ignoring more signs: “Children Under 12 Not Allowed.” A two and half year old repeats in a shout “I’m two and a half!” and a sixteen year old sighs wistfully “I can’t wait until Armando falls in love with me. I hope he’s not crazy”. Sister, I want to say, hold onto your hat, love is wild ride.
It's as though the sanctuary I’m struggling to find in my head has been usurped by abundant noise in the middle of nowhere. Women parade around in bikinis with bodies reminiscent of an R. Crumb strip. Nobody preens or stares at themselves in the mirror like they do at Burke Williams. Women are women here and proudly shake their bountiful asses. I feel at home among them, a tribal member of the Large Ass. I vow to buy a bikini when I get home. That night, having opted for a room with a TV, I locate a cable, but no TV. The night clerk informs me that there is no Television, Internet or cell service at Ojo Caliente. It is 9:PM, dark and very, very quiet. Having wanted the silence, I find myself strangely uncomfortable in it. I paint my toes a brilliant shade of “I’m Not Really A Waitress Red” and listen to nothing. I arrive in Taos the next afternoon.
visit ojo caliente
Monday, May 02, 2005
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