The Viper Room
When I returned to 8852 Sunset to show my children this summer, the logo on the side of the building seemed to rustle and quiver with aching memories, and I longed to tell them but what could I say? What could I tell them of
When I returned to 8852 Sunset to show my children this summer, the logo on the side of the building seemed to rustle and quiver with aching memories, and I longed to tell them but what could I say? What could I tell them of
“Hold on, I didn’t meet him at Victoria’s Secret. I met him at 7-11. And that’s true about the broken ribs after being beaten up, but let me start at the beginning of my time as a betrunner for legendary director and screenwriter, James Toback.
It all began with my sugar plum dreams…
How did I end up dancing with Paul McCartney on his tour in Boston?
A few minutes later, I heard the sound of a saxophone and finger-snapping and saw the crowd of sweaty bodies parting to make way for two vastly different oddballs: a tall wild-haired saxophone player named Spyder Mittleman, and the very short Chuck E., who was hunched over, snapping his fingers like a Beatnik in a dark seedy poetry bar who has just heard “Howl” for the first time. They both wore sunglasses, and they took their time sauntering through the crowd, whipping them into a frenzy before they climbed onto the stage and launched into their witty-Louis Prima-New Orleans-style-rockabilly-blues. I slid off my barstool and started to dance and didn’t finish until they played their very last song, Goddamn Liar. Chuck E. would stand onstage, smoking his cigarette, wearing his sunglasses, and every time the band would pause, he would say, “Goddamn Liar.” Then he would usually shout, “Get the hell out of my gas station!” and exit the stage to exuberant screaming and applause.
As I drove home that night in my bug, my ear drums muted from the loud music, I rolled down my windows so that the warm gardenia-scented air could cool the glistening sweat off my arms. I thought my co-server was right: Chuck E. was God, and if not “the” God, he was “a” god, an insanely talented, mischievous version of Dionysus, reigning over Monday nights in Hollywood.
And even all these years later, when the world seems so sad, I love to think about that transcendent night: sitting under the stars with a beloved friend, a bottle of wine, and singing so exquisite that it took my breath away, filling me with irreplaceable treasures that money could never buy.
It probably wasn’t the greatest idea to practice my Spanish with the border patrol…
I played a Backpacker in a Commercial Before I Became One
I love to travel and my lack of funds led me to some very interesting places. First stop? The Dating Game in1988 where I won a trip to Hawaii!
I woke up this morning and memories of Kim, my soul mate, flooded in, wrapping me in a warm fuzzy blanket of love. I could write forever and not cover all the stories I have about our time together. And I never feel like I’m
My motto has always been: “Take care of the luxuries, the necessities will take care of themselves.” (Thank you Dorothy Parker, for writing this brilliant motto.) Whether this has served me well or not is a matter of opinion. I have yet to win any