My Best Pot Stories

...And Then Carebears Showed Up With Bells On

It's sort of like the closing a perfect circle.

I arrived in San Diego a few days ago to see my parents off to Peru for three weeks, take care of their house and dogs, and get together with a dear friend to record some rock and roll in the house I grew up in.

The start of summer vacations in high school meant I had completed a nine month sentence and could finally spend three months creating the world I fought to live in all the time. Until 3:30 every afternoon I was alone in the house, free to indulge my own little universe, limited only by my own curious and perverted imagination.

Summer vacation was where I learned how to search out for and make gay pen-pals across the US. It's where I made my first foray into public access broadcasting. It's where I bought my first bass guitar and learned the riff to “With Or Without You.” It's where I wrote my first song, “Horny Apple Pie,” on an acoustic guitar which I still use today. (You can tell I thought I was pretty clever for using the line “make me come again” in the song.)

But sharply at 3:30 every day, the white glare of my dad's pick-up would appear at the bottom of the hill, and I'd have roughly 45 seconds to put away the pot, porn, and pizza, effectively closing the door on RDtopia for the day.

I'd fantasize intensely about never having to worry about 3:30 again, and having free reign of the house to keep that special universe open for business day and night, crafting the most beautiful beacon to let others know of its existence on the universal map. I'd imagine an entire band set up in our living room; drums, guitars, amps, mics all left there to pick up and use whenever inspiration struck. I'd imagine smoking pot in every room in the house, and even having pipes set up with pot already in them in all rooms of the house. I'd imagine being able to leave the porn in the VCR just in case I wanted it in there for later.

It has been ten years since I've had a summer vacation.

This morning, the dawning of the day woke me up. I brought the dogs outside with me after making some tea, and together we sat on the balcony and watched the sun rise up from behind the mountains. After smoking a bowl and spending some time thinking about the gorgeous shirtless surfers I purposely gaged driving towards so I could be at the stop sign while they were crossing the street, I picked up my acoustic guitar and started strumming some tunes to compliment the chirping birds.

All this after spending the previous evening with Jason, who played the drums on my Madonna cover of “Burning Up”, doing our first run through of the songs we're recording to craft this great beacon with.

For at least the next three weeks the clock will never strike 3:30. During that time, everything I've discovered through all those summer vacations will come bubbling out, and I won't have to worry about putting it away for anybody.

It's funny to me, because sometimes it seems that all of this is just because I lost my job.

Mp3 of the Day: Sighs of Delight

I've been alone in this house for a week and a day, and finally have something to show for it:

The first mp3-of-the-day from the recording sessions here in Lakeside, California!

Click the polaroid to download SIGHS OF DELIGHT.

SIGHS OF DELIGHT only has a chorus in this take, the words of which are what's printed on the polaroid. The polaroid is a picture from the Unarian's parking lot in El Cajon, Ca.

That's Jason Nunez on the drums. Jason rocks.

In addition to mp3s from our recording sessions, I'll also post live tracks, acoustic demos and oddities from The Lakeside Project, my acid-rock band, 2000-2003.

More tomorrow!

Nothing Equals Nothing

This moring when I woke up, I decided to take the dogs for a walk to a long-standing El Cajon bakery, Howard's Bakery. I hadn't been in there since I was a kid, and was excited to feast my eyes on East County's freshest baked goods.

When I got there, however, I realized it was more of a glorified donut shop than a pasteria. My childhood vision of “bakery” was the ability to choose between glazed, chocolate, sprinkled and filled. They do make an amazing Boston Cream Pie, which is what I got.

On the way home, with two city-clueless dogs in tow, a white car with a heavy Latino guy driving pulled up beside me. There was another guy in the passenger seat, and a woman sleeping in the back seat. The guy in the passenger seat started going on about they just came from San Ysidro and were low on gas. I asked what it was they needed help with, and the guy whipped out an i-pod and said “I can sell you an i-pod.” Then they drove into a corner where I was supposed to meet them to buy this i-pod.

With a donut and a shady encounter under my belt before nine a.m., it's nice to know that all the Borders Books and Starbucks haven't totally wiped out the east county I know and love.

Back home and in the yard with my acoustic guitar and the birds chirping all around me, I attempted to learn another Madonna cover. Today's mp3 of the day is me learning (and singing two verses and a chorus of) Madonna's GONE, the closing number to her album, Music.

You can hear the dogs wrestling around in the grass and the bushes.

Click the polaroid to download the song.

In A UFO Over The Sea

"This basket we've made, a perfect parade, that marches to your name."

In honor of my sweetheart, who's arrived in San Diego for the weekend, an mp3 in his name.

Click on the picture to download "Come Into My Basket, We'll Float Across The Sky." This song usually has words (whenever I get to the line "Until you break my heart again..." Ben always says to me, "Is the YOU in this song ME?"), but in this rehearsal sketch, I opted for some awesome wah-guitar instead.

I Have Six Pills Of Ecstasy In My Pocket

Today's mp3 of the day, "Apologetic Bananas," is a grunge rock number from when I started writing songs around the age 15, armed with Nirvana, Pearl Jam and Smashing Pumpkins albums. You can hear the direct rip off influence. Click the polaroid to download the m-f'er.

Better than grunge-rock influences, however, is a story from a fellow reader that arrived in my inbox today. It's a story about drugs and sex written by a teenager in college coming down from both and questioning all sorts of ideas about life.

"Apologetic Bananas" comes from the exact same place.

With the kind permission of the anonymous author, here is that story:

I smell like menthol cigarettes, silicone, Armani cologne, and methamphetamine resin. Telegraph Avenue, Berkeley, California. It is 12:40 AM, and I am not going to sleep tonight. I am walking home to North Berkeley from Oakland. I think I needed the walk. The Scissor Sisters have reaffirmed themselves as my favorite band as I am listening to their first album on my iPod. We’re gonna take your mama out all night. I hope my bike is still there, where I left it on campus. I am 18 years old, and I have had sex with four different men in the past week. In the same week, I have been drunk three times, smoked more pot than most stoners do in a month, done 8 lines of coke, smoked opium, and now meth twice. I have six pills of ecstasy in my pocket, and soon I will start selling acid, shrooms, and opium. Plus coke if I can get it. Get it, get it. Despite all the weed, I’ve lost weight this week. No, I don’t have a scale, I just know. I made it to Dwight Way already. Am I writing slowly, or just walking really fast? I am neither cold nor hungry. You’re filthy, and I’m gorgeous. Or is it the other way around? You know what though? I’m so happy with my life. I live in the best city in the world. I have amazing friends. I love my mother so much, and she loves me. I wish I could talk to her right now, and tell her all this. She might freak out, but she’d understand. But, alas, she is asleep. She has to wake up at 5:15 AM tomorrow. Like four hours from now. I’ve stopped now, sitting on the front steps of Sproul Hall, the administration building at UC Berkeley. Second Scissor Sisters album is on. I’m safe now, but I was invincible before. No one would attack me, because I’m too much like them. I’m still tweaking pretty hard. So close to my house, only 15 more minutes. But I’m home. I’m enrolled in 16 units, and loving every moment of each class. At least I’m still smart. I got in here after all. I said “God Bless” to each homeless person I passed on this walk. I do think that it was the first time in my life I’ve said that in earnest. I thought I didn’t believe in God. At least not the Jewish one. Berkeley is so beautiful. If you’ve never been here, it’s worth a visit. I can’t even see the bay from here, just our beautiful campus. And Telegraph Avenue is a must in the shopping world. The sky is almost red, approaching the witching hour. My ex used belladonna. Twice actually. It makes up the real witches’ brew of legend. Makes you think you’re in a completely different world. The temperature is amazingly high considering the time of day and that it’s February. In the teens and snowing everywhere else in the country. From my origin of tonight – after my first meeting as a board member of a theater group, I took BART to Oakland to have the most amazing hook-up of my life. Met online of course. This man is beautiful, perfect. Nice face, perfectly shaped, toned, and muscular rock hard body. The biggest dick I’ve ever seen. I had sworn to never do meth in my life. My number one no-no. Now I’ll have to try PCP and heroin too. Heroin’s root is from the German word “heroisch” – heroic. I feel pretty damn heroic right now, but as the savior of the underworld. I gave a twenty dollar bill to a woman and her uncle sleeping on the street. I told her to use it only for good things, and she agreed. God only knows how old she was. Anywhere between 15 and 40. Scared. She was hesitant to let me approach, but I held out the bill and she accepted. Of course she thanked me vigorously. Sleeping tonight is not going to happen. But God knows I can focus on this drug. I guess that’s why people use it as speed to study for finals. I can do my readings that I’m behind on tonight. I should bring this to my new “foster mother.” Sine I no longer live with my mom, and although we talk a lot, I need a female to be my confidante. As a good Jewish boy, I’m required to love my mother unconditionally. And I do. Last semester’s mom went back to the south, so I somewhat replaced her. The new mom and I have the same sexual age limit: 42. Interesting number to choose I think. I’ve never read The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams, or seen the movie, but I know the reference. I know pop culture really well. I am fascinated by how shallow life an be, and I hate Southern California, but sometimes I want to be a coke-using LA clubber mingling with Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, and Christina Aguilera. The new gay sexpot that the girls adore. Or I could even be a porn star. Maybe I’m delirious. Who knows? Not me. I also want to be a politician. That’s why this story has to remain anonymous. The sky is so bright. Even in dark paths I can see clearly. I’m still sitting at Sproul Hall. So many people walking by still, even though it’s almost 1:30 AM, I’ve stopped trying to think about how and why my life as it is came to be. It’s not worth the thought. I’m moving now, in the general direction of my home. I’m quite a schmooze too – very social, even without drugs. But really, the biggest goal in my life is to do research on drugs. As they are my passion, I want to learn more about them. I’ve read about how DMT is responsible for near-death experiences and alien abductions. I’ve done it, and I understand why. Salvia is a similar drug to DMT at least effect-wise. They open your mind. Salvia is used by Mazatec shamans in Oaxaca, Mexico. To study what they do and why. That’s what I want to do and know. Travel the world. I speak four languages. It’s feasible. Someday, I’ll find my prince, who will sweep me off my feet every time I see him. I’ll do every drug imaginable with him. He’ll be beautiful, just lie I know I am. The perfect life is attainable, it’s just different for each person. Or, even something else, variations are always possible. I wrote to my mother once, something like I want to get on a plane with you, and just go, and never return. We could see Grandma and my brother and sister occasionally. But it would just be me and her, until one of us dies. Life is so incredible. And so beautiful. Like a rose petal falling onto a mountain lake in the spring. And suddenly, it all makes sense. Life is individually designed for each of us. We can affect the course of our lives. But God loves us all equally, and wants us to be happy. One needn’t believe in God for this to happen. Oh yeah, I study anthropology. It all goes back t my confirmation speech in tenth grade, when I spoke about potential conflicts between science and religion. God did not create the world in seven days, but he did allow the universe to form,on its own will. Astronomy and evolution are still completely true. As are microbiology, chemistry, and physics. The world is just so perfect, in its own unique way. There is no other life in the universe, although it is infinite, we’re just being teased to think about the possibility. And it all makes sense. But enough about what I think. What do you think about all this? That’s what really matters.

This version of "Apologetic Bananas" was recorded live at the Velo Rouge Cafe in San Francisco last month.

All The Leaves Are Brown, And The Sky Is Gray

On a stormy winter's day in Boston, my dear friend Joe said to me, "I have a Mammas and the Pappas song stuck in my head."

" Is it 'California Dreaming' ?"

"No, it's the one that goes, 'all the leaves are brown...'"

"Yeah, keep singing it Joe..."

"'...Califo...' oh shit!"

In honor of the rain today (yes, even sunny-sandy-eggo gets rain), here's my California song, "California Baby." Click the polaroid to wow your ears.

Happy Birthday, Lincoln!

There was no mp3-of-the-day yesterday in light of Lincoln's birthday. Ben and I ate birthday eclairs, I dropped him off at the airport for his return back to Berkeley, and then I sang "happy birthday" to Lincoln, as the honorary George Washington of LeStat's open mic night.

So today you're in for a real treat, with TWO mp3s-of-the-days. "California Baby" is below, and here on the posters of Hendrix, and what I was duped into thinking was James Dean, is another song from the time period that bore "Apologetic Bananas," "Horny Apple Pie." Apparently I had a fruit thing going on.

Hmmm.

The story behind "Horny Apple Pie" can be read in my post "Jet Fighter Helmet".

Happy V-Day!

Lonely heart or no, click the picture above to download a Valentine's song that will warm your heart, even if you're in Somerville, Massachusetts (where, as I write this, is an awesome 23F degrees!), the birthplace of Fairlee and Josephine.

And to my valentine:
I found a million ways
To say I love you endlessly
So let's write children's books
About the witch that lost her looks
She's only mean 'cause she forgot
Her youthful heart still beats inside her chest

Why This Project In Lakeside Is Different Than The Lakeside Project

It's a matter of opening up gates for me.

The Lakeside Project was my Boston band, 2000-2002. The whole idea behind the band was basically an F-off to my hometown, Lakeside, CA. With my arsenal of dreary and angry songs, I wanted the band to stand as some kind of Roger Waters type search for peace inside alienation and suffering, ala The Wall or Dark Side Of The Moon, where I could transcend the demons of growing up a cherub among the white trash. I needed it to prove to the people that wouldn't talk to me in high school, that I was worth talking to. Secretly, however, I knew I was really just trying to prove that to myself.

It's as if there was this giant gate I was trying to hold open, hoping that others would walk through, to find a slice of humanity that breaks the boundaries of our normal lives. The only problem was I didn't know how to guide people to this gate, and when I saw people flocking through other people's gates, it made me question the worth of trying so hard to keep it open. Like Sloth from The Goonies, trying to hold open a collapsing cave door with his back, I was crumbling in the wreckage of everything around me. Where Sloth found his inner strength and became the hero of the story, I stopped short and pulled the plug on the project, swearing off rock and roll for good.

One of my earliest childhood memories is from 1982. I was three. It was the year I saw Olivia Newton-John live on her Physical Tour. I don't remember much about the actual concert, I just remember seeing her name in huge letters on the Sports Arena marquee, and staring up in wonder. Ever since then, I have been fueled with nothing but the desire to create. By the time the Lakeside Project began, I had had a lifetime to dream it up, and used all of my favorite rock and roll stories as guidelines for how everything would work: U2's connection to their hometown, Pearl Jam's shunning of the spotlight, Pink Floyd's Syd Barrett, and Nirvana's nirvana. I knew what songs we were going to do, I knew the names of the albums, and even how the tell-all interview with Kurt Loader would go.

The main reason the Lakeside Project imploded was because I tried to integrate all those premeditated ideas into something that was fundamentally unpremeditated. It was just like throwing a giant rock on your back and saying, “Hey guys, come check this out, look what I can do!”

So here I am. In Lakeside. Recording rock and roll.

The funny thing is that none of this was planned, but I'm here doing exactly what I've been wanting to forever. This time, however, I'm not using my back to hold this gate open.

It's been open the whole time. I found the key in 1982, and I walked right on through. Lakeside, and most people's youths shape people into believing that there is no gate, and that the peace you seek is somewhere other than where you are. I've spent the years since the Lakeside Project refocusing my sites to be able to see that I've already stepped through the gate, and it's beautiful here. All I have to do now is continue to honor this beauty, and keep working to make it the most beautiful thing imaginable. All I have is time, and with that, all that can come is more beauty, and the people who are looking for that beauty will find it. That's all.

So here's some beauty, in the form of a lost cherub trying to find his way back home: The Lakeside Project, “Bike Spokes pt 1.” Click on the polaroid to begin the journey.

The Final Weekend

Oh no.

The parents are coming home soon. This is my last weekend to turn everything up to eleven and make the devil-rock-n-roll hand gesture harder than I've ever done it before.

In preparation for all the rock still left to roll, let's chill out for a minute and listen to this cute little number, Exordia, recorded live at the Velo Rouge Cafe in San Francisco. Alec Chumbley (pictured) joins in on guitar, and Kate Ming (not pictured) joins in on accordion. Click the picture of Alec and I looking like a happy little couple to download the song.

Sorry, Alec. I'm taken.

I, Eye, Aye

Jason Nunez = drum god. Click on the polaroid to hear us running through an instrumental version of "I Corona" on Rattlesnake Mountain.

Honeycut

(I know I promised an mp3-per-day while I was here in Lakeside recording music. Today is Wednesday, and my previous mp3-of-the-day was on Saturday. Sunday, Monday and Tueday have all been one long day for me, putting in a couple last sessions, packing up all the gear, putting my parent’s house back together, getting the parents at the airport, and watching them resettle into American life. I have one more story/mp3 to give you guys after this one, and then it's back to Berkeley for me. Hopefully I can write it in less than a day. Today's mp3 is live from the Velo Rouge, and you can hear the espresso machine clinking in the background.)

“I didn't realize I was poor until I moved out of Lakeside.”

This sentence has been ringing in my head all week.

Soon after meeting Matthew at a coffee shop in the hip North Park community of San Diego, we discovered we shared a profound connection; having had the experience of growing up in Lakeside and narrowly escaping its trappings, but only after a lot of unnecessary drama.

We also shared another very profound connection. We shared the love of a man who touched many lives, a man known to fans of “Honeycut” as “my friend from Saturn,” and “Creekbomb Winger.” We both found our lives completely changed from knowing him. We both still find solace and enlightenment in the memories of his smile, and the warmth of his presence.

But we also discovered that even the brightest lights can still be captured by the darkness of Lakeside. The darkness is crystal meth. Since the age of 15, I've watched it take over the lives of almost every kid I knew growing up. I wish I could hear a story about someone I loved growing up and not hear the word “crystal” as the benchmark of what happened to them. I wish I could hear that my friend from Saturn, the one who showed me life's infinite possibilities, took a space ship on a 2001 style journey far far away from the exploding meth garages of East County and back to the beautiful place he came from.

Matthew shared his morsel about growing up poor as we drove through Lakeside, noticing the new array of orange stucco condos going up between all the trailer parks.

It was at this point I realized that my epiphany came from the opposite end of the spectrum:

I didn't realize I was upper class until I moved out of Lakeside.

Actually, I started to pick up the clues when I was 15 and my parents had the kitchen remodeled. My parents apparently used “kitchen remodeling time” as a time to also pick up a new washer and dryer, to go with the new counter top in a room 35 feet away, and in fact, completely detached from the house. My dear friend Jamie from down the street was over at my house, and she saw the old washer and dryer headed for the curb.

“Are you guys getting a new washer and dryer?”

“Yeah.”

“Did your old one break?”

She gave me a look of slight sadness and empathy, imagining herself having to carry the laundry down to the river with a washboard and some rocks if her family might suffer the same fate.

“No, they're just old.”

Her look of empathy quickly turned to one of confusion, and perhaps a little disgust.

“Your family buys NEW things just because your OLD things are OLD?”

Jamie's family was the kind of family that definitely held onto things until there was absolutely no way they could be used any longer, and even then, they'd still find a way to squeeze a little more life out of them. One of my favorite play places with Jamie was the discarded bathtub in the backyard with overgrown ivy all over it. We'd sit in it while eating picnics of butter sandwiches prepared by her mom.