The first two years..... part 1

I have always been way to detached to actually have a real feeling, unless I'm about to get my ass kicked or something... anything having to do with physical pain always scares the shit out of me. Emotional? emotional pain is overrated. Unless it's good old fashion rage. If my girlfriend is coming home with a load of some other dudes curdled up cum in her mouth every night and kissing me with it, that would make my entire body turn red, but when family members or close friends die, I usually have to either pretend to cry, or just look bummed. When honestly I really just don't feel any different. I mean yeah I'm sad that people in my life are gone, but I don't get people that get so emotional that they cry hysterically at funerals and hug each other and whatnot. I'm always there consoling someone, and pretending i'm really sad. I'm surprised I didn't grow up skinning cats and burying them alive in the woods half the time....

So when we pulled up in front of the Onyx cafe on Vermont st. in Loz Feliz California, two days before Christmas, with two guitars, and two dollars to our names.... there wasn't an ounce of fear in my bloodstream. I knew we were doing the right thing, no matter how ridiculous everyone thought it was. Driving across the entire country on nothing but blind faith and a whim of boredom to "look for a drummer" and be rich and famous rock stars should have taken a little more planning than a 30 second conversation on the New York State Thruway, then turning onto Rt. 80 west and going for it. It was a real "Welcome to the Jungle" kind of moment for us. Thank God we didn't really think it through, who knows where we would be today.

Even though we had no money, nowhere to go, and no friends in town because everyone was elsewhere for the holidays, I had this unbelievable amount of faith that I never had before, about anything in my life... I dreamt about this moment for years while I sat on my Mother's couch, smoking her Virginia Slim 120's, drinking my Stepfathers vodka and smoking his roaches. I watched the news about the earthquakes, the riots, the famous people dying on the strip... I wanted it all. I remember watching those two bank robbers in North Hollywood in the armored suits, walking down the street shooting at cops, and all I could think was, "man it's fucking February and it looks so warm out there!"
The whole drive cross country I just kept cracking my window to see if it was getting warmer, the closer we got to California. I literally pictured this place like the Europeans probably do... I pictured myself walking barefoot in the sand down Hollywood Blvd, with a hollowed out pineapple full of rum and heroin, while I watched Tom Cruise blow James Cagney on the corner of Hollywood and Vine. The air would be warm, breezy, and salty. Then God would drop a record contract out of the sky while I stood in front of The Whiskey and I would sign it, and never have to work again.....