rudy, a message to you
Halloween,1982 and Rudy and I are trying to take the bus from the Santa Monica beach area (after I got off of work) out to West Hollywood, where we will be meeting up with the Todd and Sheila to go to Northridge to see the Cramps and enter the costume contest.
Rudy is dressed as a dead nun (nice habit) and I'm dead Buddy Holly (complete with damaged guitar).
We've been waiting a while. Rudy lights up a cigarette and says: "Light one and the bus'll come."
30 seconds later, the bus arrives.
He has a way about him.
So, on this night, Rudy and I easily blend in with the general populace. Everyone is a freak in various stages of drunkenness and costume it seems.
We make it to Sheila's (she that we all have a crush on) and join the Todd and a couple of other women to the 45 min drive north.
The Todd is dressed in drag and in black face (he's a white frat boy at UCLA, sympathetic to punks, not the "let's beat up punks" type of frat) and his companions are wearing matching dresses and black face. They are Diana Ross and the Supremes.
Sheila is Billy Idol.
Only Todd knows how to drive.
We arrive at the venue, and the crowd is crazy. Every state of toxic high or four sheets to the wind are well represented, as well as the most amazing outfits (and quite a few folks lacking clothes all together as well).
Rudy, as always, says something to the door person that gets us all in.
Rudy wins 1st place (of course) and gets to dance on stage with the Cramps, and even gets to sing a chorus of the 20 minute version of "Surfing Bird".
A wonderful time is had by all.
Especially the Todd. An hour after the show has ended, we search and search for Mr. Diana. We find him behind a dumpster, face down in a puddle of god-knows-what. Completely and totally unconscious. He with the only license.
20 miles from any of our homes. 3 a.m. We drag the Todd to his car, a'78 Mustang. Stick shift.
"Well, I guess we all take turns driving us home!" Rudy volunteers. Turns out NONE of us has a clue how to drive (oddly enough the others were all east coast transplants from big cities-ie: good public transport- here for college, 'cept for Rudy).
We pick up the Todd (imagine, two Supremes, a Billy Idol, a Buddy Holly and a drag dead nun lifting a former football player in green sequins, black face and wig), dump him in the back seat, and get in.
Sheila takes the first go. Much lurching and 20 Min's later we've made it a block.
We've got all night.
An hour later, lurching, stalling, stopping, we've gone 10 miles or so. On the freeway. Not a cop in sight.
We pull over to a 24 hour Denny's, pile out of the car (the Todd still passed out) and find that the staff has taken one look at us and put up a closed sign.
The magic of Halloween has passed.
My turn to drive.
Rudy rides shotgun. "Don't forget if we crash, I'll go at the same time as you, and will die knowing who killed me."
Gee.
Rudy is dressed as a dead nun (nice habit) and I'm dead Buddy Holly (complete with damaged guitar).
We've been waiting a while. Rudy lights up a cigarette and says: "Light one and the bus'll come."
30 seconds later, the bus arrives.
He has a way about him.
So, on this night, Rudy and I easily blend in with the general populace. Everyone is a freak in various stages of drunkenness and costume it seems.
We make it to Sheila's (she that we all have a crush on) and join the Todd and a couple of other women to the 45 min drive north.
The Todd is dressed in drag and in black face (he's a white frat boy at UCLA, sympathetic to punks, not the "let's beat up punks" type of frat) and his companions are wearing matching dresses and black face. They are Diana Ross and the Supremes.
Sheila is Billy Idol.
Only Todd knows how to drive.
We arrive at the venue, and the crowd is crazy. Every state of toxic high or four sheets to the wind are well represented, as well as the most amazing outfits (and quite a few folks lacking clothes all together as well).
Rudy, as always, says something to the door person that gets us all in.
Rudy wins 1st place (of course) and gets to dance on stage with the Cramps, and even gets to sing a chorus of the 20 minute version of "Surfing Bird".
A wonderful time is had by all.
Especially the Todd. An hour after the show has ended, we search and search for Mr. Diana. We find him behind a dumpster, face down in a puddle of god-knows-what. Completely and totally unconscious. He with the only license.
20 miles from any of our homes. 3 a.m. We drag the Todd to his car, a'78 Mustang. Stick shift.
"Well, I guess we all take turns driving us home!" Rudy volunteers. Turns out NONE of us has a clue how to drive (oddly enough the others were all east coast transplants from big cities-ie: good public transport- here for college, 'cept for Rudy).
We pick up the Todd (imagine, two Supremes, a Billy Idol, a Buddy Holly and a drag dead nun lifting a former football player in green sequins, black face and wig), dump him in the back seat, and get in.
Sheila takes the first go. Much lurching and 20 Min's later we've made it a block.
We've got all night.
An hour later, lurching, stalling, stopping, we've gone 10 miles or so. On the freeway. Not a cop in sight.
We pull over to a 24 hour Denny's, pile out of the car (the Todd still passed out) and find that the staff has taken one look at us and put up a closed sign.
The magic of Halloween has passed.
My turn to drive.
Rudy rides shotgun. "Don't forget if we crash, I'll go at the same time as you, and will die knowing who killed me."
Gee.
posted by mo figuls at 4:32 PM
1 Comments:
Sigh. And I still don't know hot to drive a stick shift.
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