Ronnie James Dio Was the First
Wednesday:
Ahhh. Acupuncture high…. Mmmmm…..
Suffering lately from insomnia — not the falling asleep end, but the staying asleep. The brain, she is addled methinks… I like sleep. Sleep is good. I went many years without it, all hopped up on the graveyard shift at Sparky’s, the studio, at shows or just plain having fun.
Sleep = good; insomnia = gr.
Many years ago I was an extra in a movie called Dream for an Insomniac, which involved hanging around all night in an evening dress waiting to sit in the background and, in the end product, turning out to be just a human-esque blur of speck over someone’s shoulder.
The chick who used to date Anthony Keidis was the star, and I remember watching her, thinking she was dumb, but feeling jealous none-the-less: he was but one of the objects of my grunge-years hair farmer fantasies.
A few years later I was sitting on the ground at school, tired, much like right now, drinking wine pilfered from an opening and smoking Marlboros on break from the printing studio. The opening was for a magazine called Juxtapoz, and as I sat, oblivious to the all the lowbrow testosterone gods, I couldn’t help but stare at the dude standing right next to me who looked like a cross between a drag queen, Cher and a monkey. He wasn’t cute, but the 14-year-old girl in miniskirt and fake boobs seemed to think otherwise.
It was Anthony Kiedis.
My rock star fantasy was dashed to bits, snuffed like the films my roommate liked to watch on the living room wide-screen TV at all hours of the day.
Until a few days, weeks, months — who knows — later when, at another opening downtown, Dave Navarro brushed past me.
The rock god, I realized, is alive and well, as I stood panting. Unfortunately, some, like Anthony (and itty-bitty Eddie Vedder is a super nice guy so I just can’t dis him) look better on TV.
Which is exactly where I’m headed. I’m tired. Too tired. I need an influx of Sex … and the City!
Ahhh. Acupuncture high…. Mmmmm…..
Suffering lately from insomnia — not the falling asleep end, but the staying asleep. The brain, she is addled methinks… I like sleep. Sleep is good. I went many years without it, all hopped up on the graveyard shift at Sparky’s, the studio, at shows or just plain having fun.
Sleep = good; insomnia = gr.
Many years ago I was an extra in a movie called Dream for an Insomniac, which involved hanging around all night in an evening dress waiting to sit in the background and, in the end product, turning out to be just a human-esque blur of speck over someone’s shoulder.
The chick who used to date Anthony Keidis was the star, and I remember watching her, thinking she was dumb, but feeling jealous none-the-less: he was but one of the objects of my grunge-years hair farmer fantasies.
A few years later I was sitting on the ground at school, tired, much like right now, drinking wine pilfered from an opening and smoking Marlboros on break from the printing studio. The opening was for a magazine called Juxtapoz, and as I sat, oblivious to the all the lowbrow testosterone gods, I couldn’t help but stare at the dude standing right next to me who looked like a cross between a drag queen, Cher and a monkey. He wasn’t cute, but the 14-year-old girl in miniskirt and fake boobs seemed to think otherwise.
It was Anthony Kiedis.
My rock star fantasy was dashed to bits, snuffed like the films my roommate liked to watch on the living room wide-screen TV at all hours of the day.
Until a few days, weeks, months — who knows — later when, at another opening downtown, Dave Navarro brushed past me.
The rock god, I realized, is alive and well, as I stood panting. Unfortunately, some, like Anthony (and itty-bitty Eddie Vedder is a super nice guy so I just can’t dis him) look better on TV.
Which is exactly where I’m headed. I’m tired. Too tired. I need an influx of Sex … and the City!
posted by The Overeducated Beggar at Wednesday, March 29, 2006
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