February 13, 1990 - Los Angeles - 1990

Another sunny day in LA the different Paradise coming tomorrow I pack my bags with my heavy winter clothing mail it off to Paris. At the saying goodbye to Cindy to LAX evening flight to Honolulu. From here on end go backward glances are allowed go only in the direction the Setting Sun.

My stay in LA I basically spoke with or saw everyone who I intended to contact although I wish Lisa Johnson or Ann Borchette were here, but both of them have vanished from my life without a foreign address or. telephone. I haven't seen either in over a decade. Those years must have touched them as they have touched me.

Yesterday Alice return my phone call have her sitcom and I said, " I saw you on TV the other night. You're pretty funny. Actually you were very good. But you always had a good hand at comedy."

"Which show was it?"

"I only kept it on long enough to see you, then I switched to a National Geographic special." I actually turned in the commercials came on. I hate the ads on the big channels NBC CBS ABC. There was nothing on them I wanted to buy.

Alice is breaking it big on TV. THe second lead in a sit-co. Her true Talent is the theater and her one woman shows. I don't understand 2001 and I MacArthur prize. She's a big hit in the Avant Garde in gay scenes, but even my mother has seen her on TV.

Television is sell out, like Holden Caufield in the catcher in the Rye saying that is older brother the Hollywood to be a w**** writing screenplays. I only wish I could sell out somehow, but no one wants to read my journals not even me.

No commercial value. No sellout. And I have plenty of no commercial value. Alice was always more ambitious than me then again who isn't. She always has been funny and on TV she didn't look different from 10 years ago hello I couldn't see cat scratch on her cheek I love her breasts Andy remark before I left New York," where her breasts always that big?"

"To tell you the truth I can't remember." I thought they were smaller.

We took a drive earlier in the week to see a side of Charles Manson murder. Something told me it wasn't the first time to the house the LA Bianca murders. She's wearing a dark suit sunglasses very androgynous. I don't understand the fascination with murder scenes some women have. Must be because they expect to be a victim sometime from some crazy male who wants to kill all women.

There is no sexual tension between us. Last year she showed up at Kathy Underhill and my birthday party happy Elms upstate. Until that day I had been the enemy of this all women Hood friendship with Kathy reprieve.

During that visit Alice didnt speak about much how's Susan Rowe I just asked her for 3,500 to pay for her rent. Her and her husband for 2 months late on their place in LA. They like many people who weren't from New York to seek a New Life without having a job in hand.

I detested her friend back in New York and I still don't like her I told Alice," the tough call will you give the money or not, but don't let her bully you with guilt. Especially if you don't want to pay the money I should have it to give."

"It's not the money. It's just that I'm constantly bailing her out," Alice replied and laughed a joke her friends dilemma and how they have sort of a blanche dubois- Morticia Addams relationship every Neurosis shared by the two is stepped on constantly. I let us speak without interruption and she batted the pros and cons of giving her the money until she finally reached a moment of silence and I asked," would you really be hurt if your friendship didn't exist?"

Like our love no longer existed, except as memories.

Not really she answered without much thought however the guilt of letting a friend go to hell not her face. I wanted to explain about how Bridget York bully me in Paris but it was too long a story and I just listen casted my vote with her father and boyfriend give the money.

Later when I got to Scotty's he told me how much a player in the sitcom gets per episode at least $30,000 per show. Dallas has to be getting at least six figures a year to sell out to TV.

I almost called right thing but I never got to the telephone.

I've lost my purple jersey which maybe I Hunter Paris and I can't so another day ends find my driver's license. Somehow my mother had a copy and she's going to afford to me in Bali.

June 29, 1995 - Los Angeles - Journal Entry

Only four more days until I leave Los Angeles. I made no friends. No one told a joke or a story. I'm more than ready to leave. I came with nothing. I leave with nothing. Scottie and I remain friends and I do withJoel Bernard.. Time to go. The tempeeature is rising and the cloudless skies permit a merciless sun to bake people alive. Oh, New England.

Behind The Beverly Hills Hotel 1977

Life was different then. We had fun. And we were fun. Behind The Beverly Hills Hotel: Photograph by Brad Elterman see https://missrosen.wordpress.com/2013/07/08/brad-elterman-like-it-was-yesterday/

LOS ANGELES by X

To view LOS ANGELES by X, please go to the following URL http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kAiQiz_XDs

EL TEN ELEVEN by I Like Van Halen

In 2004 my cousin Sherri called before my planned departure from Bangkok. She was living in LA with her fiance. Michael seemed like a nice man. Anyone was an improvement after her last husband, a speed freak bank robber.

“I want you to meet him.” Sherri considered me her closest cousin. We weren’t family, but saying that we were cousins saved time otherwise wasted on explaining our serpentine connection. “We’re thinking about getting married, I want your opinion.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” LA was off my usual route of Bangkok-Narita-JFK. My trips to the States lasted no longer than two weeks. I had a business to run in Pattaya.

“We’re living up in the Hills and he’ll pick you up at the airport.” Sherri was playing a siren’s song with finesse. “You haven’t been out here in years. We’ll make it nice for you.”

“I’ll come out.” I had met her beau the previous year on their visit to Thailand. Michael managed rock bands. Most of them were household names. He had contacts with Hollywood. I had finished a screenplay about a diamond heist on 47th Street. This was a good shot at making the big time. At my age shots at the big time were rare. “I’ll detour for you

“We look forward to seeing you.” Sherri added the ‘we’ to accent her commitment to Michael.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

My travel agency PanExpress re-routed my ticket to Bangkok-LAX-JFK at no extra cost.

The flight to LAX lasted 13 hours. My only upgrade available was to oblivion class through a bootleg roofie.

Michael met me at the LAX in a 1967 Corvette. The light metallic blue convertible was an impressive ride even for LA. The engine sounded in tune. The speedometer went up to 140. The traffic on the freeway was rolling at 40.

“How was your flight?” Michael looked tanned and important behind the wheel of his ride. Other motorists stared with admiration. He certainly was a deserved departure from Sherri’s usual bad boy fixation.

“Brutal.” I lay back my head, feeling like I was in a re-make of the 60s TV show ROUTE 66. “Two drunk sex tourists relived their exploits the entire way.”

“Did you get to sleep?” Michael flew 1st Class.

“A few minutes. The only available upgrade to economy passengers is oblivion with a bootleg roofie from a Thai pharmacy. I forgot mine.” My eyes were heavy from exhaustion.

“Sherri is looking forward to see you.” Michael was older than me by a good ten years. The bearded manager had been successful for more than thirty. He was smart.

“You know I went to visit Sherri’s mom in Jersey.”

“Really?” His line of questioning was headed to one destination.

“You don’t look anything like the rest of the family.” His suspicion was well-founded if based on facial features, because we had been lovers back in the 70s and 80s and some of the 90s. Nowadays if someone asked how we knew each other, we said we were family. It saved a lot of time.

“That’s because Sherri was adopted from Italy.” Sherri and I had our story down and a lie was best backed up with the truth, especially since my mind was operating on about one hour’s sleep in the last 30 hours .”I’m from the New England side of the family. Irish Wasp. You knew that, right?”

“That’s what Sherri says.” Michael hid his frustration and blew his horn at a SUV straying into our lane. “You don’t mind, if we stop at the Sony Soundstage for a while?”

My driver didn’t give me time to say no.

“Sherri’s at work in the Valley.” She ran a health clinic for sex workers. “We’ll be meeting her later for dinner.

“Oh.” I had been dreaming of bed more than food or Sherri.

“Van Halen’s getting ready for their summer tour.”

“Van Halen.” I loved ATOMIC PUNK. “Will they be playing?”

“They’re rehearsed the summer concert. I’ll ask if they can play that song for you.” Michael wasn’t promising this 100%, but the way he said it made me believe Van Halen owed him. Bands loved anyone who made them look better than good

“Great.” A small adrenalin surge charged through my veins. The buzz died within seconds. I suppressed a yawn. “I’m all yours.”

LA hadn’t changed in my absence. The palm trees waved under a cloudless sky. Traffic off the freeway was tolerable. People on the sidewalk were exercising rather than walking. Michael drove to 10202 West Washington Boulevard in Culver City. The Sony guards waved in Michael like he was Steven Spielberg. They shared a likeness, however Sherri’s beau had his own clout.

“You ever been here before?” He parked at a numbered slot.

“No.” I got out of the car. My legs were wobbly from the trip.

“These studios had belonged to MGM. This was the birthplace of GONE WITH THE WIND, THE WIZARD OF OZ, and SINGIN IN THE RAIN. Now it’s better known for WHEEL OF FORTUNE and JEOPARDY.”

“My father likes both shows.” He wouldn’t miss WHEEL OF FORTUNE for all the tea in England.

“If he ever comes out here, I can get you tickets.” It wasn’t an idle offer. Michael had pull. Two technicians waved to him, as if he paid their salary. “You ever have any business out here?”

“Never.” I had been waiting for a call from Hollywood for decades. Only my cousin Sherri ever contacted me, although right now I didn’t care if I was sitting with the head of a studio. My body was collapsing into a black hole of sleep deprivation. “I’m too well-unknown.”

“Your cousin says you’re a good writer.”

“Nothing special.” I had written a script about International Write Off Day, where everyone in the world blows off their debts. It was a comedy. No one had read the screenplay. I admired the size of the sound stages. They built them big back in the 20s.

“Nothing sometimes is a good story.”

Sherri had informed me that Michael knew agents. A phone call could get my script read. We walked through a door. Feedback blasted from gigantic amps. Van Halen was on stage. A few techies stood behind the sound board. No audience but me. I suppressed a yawn.

“Tired?” Michael waved to Eddie Van Halen. The guitar god returned the gesture with a scorching lick from a red and white guitar. A signature major 3rd ramped for distortion.

“It was a long flight.” My limbs were as powerful as a zombie’s outstretched arms. A long couch was behind the sound booth. I sat on it. Several seconds later I lay down. The decibel level rivaled the take-off of the space shuttle. My ears were blind.

I heard Michael suggest ATOMIC PUNK to the sound engineer. I gave him ‘thumbs up’.

Then I faded to black fast.

Michael woke me with a violent shake.

There was smoke.

At first I thought the sound stage was burning down.

“Pyrotechnics for the show.” Michael explained, as I sat up ready to run for the exit.

The stage was empty. No one stood the sound board.

“Everyone has left.”

“Was I asleep long?” I hoped so.

“Out cold. Eddie finished the set and looked at you. He couldn’t believe you had slept through his set.”

“Sorry.” I wished that I was still in my jetlag coma.

“He was hurt a little.”

“Why?” We had never met in this life.

“Because they put you to sleep.”

“It was jetlag.” I hoped Eddie didn’t think it was drugs. I had stopped them years ago,unless they were available. Michael wasn’t the type. Reefer maybe, but then reefer is a herb, not a drug. “Fuck. I missed Van Halen.”

“Sherri’s waiting.” Michael looked at his cellphone.

They were a luxury in Thailand.

“Let’s go meet her then.” I noticed a stagehand talking on one. Everyone else seemed to have one. For a second I thought everyone was talking about the man who slept through Van Halen, but I was too big a nobody for anyone to care what I did.

And being a nobody was a luxury too, especially in LA when all you want to do is sleep.

To listen to El Ten Eleven’s I LIKE VAN HALEN go to this url. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKnYtjUBT_4&feature=related