NO MORE DEAD CATS AND DOGS IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD Part Two of Cary Coatney's June Lazy Ass Weekend

Yeah, so yesterday I left off on a early Saturday afternoon. Having being reunited at TOWER Records with a long lost audio recorded friend in the remastered edition of Jethro Tull's 1980 A album which was the only Tull album to feature "special guest star " Eddie Jobson who used to play 'in his teens', electric violin and keyboards for UK, King Crimson, & Roxy Music. Eddie Jobson was one of my all time prog giant keyboard heroes when I was in high school and this album flooded back memories of how I s much I was a rebel against the punk/heavy metal movement that subjugated most of the minds of those I attended high school with in Parsippany, New Jersey. I was into complicated melodies, off-kilter time signatures, and thought provoking song lyrics that were recited with a plethora of integrity. So bands like Jethro Tull, Yes, Genesis, Styx(?) (if you're talking about the Grand Illusion and Pieces of Eight - everything else after that- GAAAAAKKKK!) & Emerson, Lake, & Palmer was stuff I would bring to appease class discussion with my Music Theory or Appreciation class instructors- because between all the loud guitars, bombastic synthesizers, and thunderous drums - there was technique worth debating about. But Eddie Jobson along with his magical multi timbre Yamaha CS 80 polyphonic synthesizer and his transparent electric violin were the most fond memories whilst in my hormonal scaled back years- so this was definitely a impulse buy for me- and another incentive that clinched my ATM to practically leap out of my wallet was the rare treat of adding a additional DVD of the 1980 A Tour which I believe has never seen the light of day on these American shores. HOWEVER - as usual, TOWER records prices have sky rocketed drastically pass the brink of infinity over the years (Best Buy and Fry's have pushed the once great chain into a corner of bankruptcy) - so I had to turn my back on the $26 dollar price because I know, I just know, I can get this wayyyyyy cheaper over at the.....oasis of every apprecative musical genre - where everything is represented in equality- AMOEBA Records - located over on Sunset in Hollywood. This is my very own special bazaar of where I know where I can drop $50 on two new releases @ Tower and can walk out with 3 or 4 at the very same price. Lo and behold, there it was... @ 17.00. Nine whole bucks difference right there. And in addition to that same $50, I picked up the latest Tomas Bodin (Flower Kings keyboard player and whose last album, Pinup Guru was the inspiration for the name of this blog- never got around to admitting that, didn't I?) and the brand new Tiles album, Window Dressing - both on that mighty prog rock record label from Germany, Insideout Music. Anyway before I get off in too much of a rant- Eddie's CS-80 and stabbing piano chords really shines on tracks such as Flyingdale Flyer and Black Sunday.

So approximately at 5 PM, I decided to hop back on the bus back to UCLA. I like going up and down on Sunset and checking out all the crazy billboards advertising the latest movie, tv, and fashion accessories - but as soon as we passed the Beverly Hills Hotel, we got caught into this insane late afternoon traffic mess just a few block before making a left turn on Hilgard Ave. When I finally got off the bus, I was baffled by the sight of helicopters hovering above all the Bel Air mansions and there was this uncanny sight of people running around waving flags at other people in cars - urging them to honk their horns. I thought they were merely refugees from the Federal Building which I believe of where I heard about a massive g anti-Bush protest was taking place- so I didn't think much to ask what was going on- I MERELY ASSUMED that I knew what was going on. Little did I know, that the next day my proverbial drawstring pants would once again be pulled down around my ankles in the face of anal retentive history.

So basically, I ended up finishing Saturday night with the DVD rentals of Veronica Guerrin and the House of Sand and Fog. The latter one, I cannot believe I passed up on in the theaters. It is an exquisite film - real involving characters and situations (especially with my recent move- something that I could really identify with) and some issues raised that wind up haunting you long after the movie is over. Here's the obligatory one sentence synopsis: Young girl (ivory soap beauty Jennifer Connolly) is kicked out by her inherited home by a property tax snafu and is taken over by auction by a Farsi speaking family who are out to profit on the property - much catastrophe and chaos ensue. Jennifer Connolly is luscious beyond compare - she so reminds of a current girl I'm currently infatuated with who writes club and restaurant reviews the whole country over via a website who springs to send her to these swinging spots. I've known her for over three years but we only get to see each other so very seldomly these days. The last time I saw her was when I invited her to see the Matrix: Revolutions movie on the lot- and that was last November. She has a lot of journalist friends, so I guess she has to socilize in their circles- because everytime I think I can get time to see her - she's always busy on assignment. Sometime during last week, she e-mailed me asking if we could get together and meet over at Jumbo's Clown room - but NOW I'm busy spending money trying to get the new Deposit Man book out.

So Sunday morning- I got up around 10:30 and I swore I was going to get busy typing some corrections on some story proposals and fix up some old scripts I have lying dormant on my old hard drive- but I opted instead to watch some Jonny Quest episodes on DVD and went up to the nearby 7/11 to pick up the Sunday paper and some donuts.

And there it was- the BIG ASS HEADLINES

Ronald Reagan dead - at 93.

Whoa- so it finally happened. Never thought I'd actually live to see the day. I mean, he's been dying for what- the last 10 years?

So where did this happen? Probably over at his Simi Valley Ranch, right?

No - the Los Angeles Times says: Bel Air. Around 1 PM .

Gotta be shittin' me.

And the Times also tells me: that they started to move his body to a Santa Monica Funeral home at approximately 5 PM.

Which jettisons everything into reverse flashback mode - the helicopters, the traffic jams, and the nutjobs waving the tiny little Japanese made flags. I was there all that time while history was flashing before my eyes- and I didn't find out what had happened until the very next day.

You know, this sort reminds me of a little conversation I had one time with Pulse! comics journalist, Heidi MacDonald and it was about what it's like to move from California to New York just for the sake of keeping her job - (she used to be a comics editor for the teen /young adults digest magazine, Disney Adventures that used to be produced in Burbank). I recall her telling me that she was so happy to migrate out of LA due to the riots and it was the earthquake of 94 that clinched the deal for her. All that mayhem- who needs it, huh? But then it's a bit of ironic - that she settles in New York and the biggest earth shattering catastrophe of all time - i.e; the terrorist attack of 9/11 just happens to occur within earshot of where she lives. And I'm thinking, wow- what a sense to be within close proximity of something that will go down throughout history - how can some be so fortunate (and dropping bricks in their pants at the same time)- to bear witness to such a historical event - and then, all of a sudden POOF! There I was, smack dab in the middle of a over blown, a all-conservative perpetual mind assimulating event! Ninety-three year old president drops dead- and the nation is shocked - SHOCKED that he's dead. What the fuck is the big surprise about all this? That a guy who's close to a hundred years old, who can't even remember where the last pee stain in his boxer shorts came from, keel over like a dead sparrow dropping off a branch of a tree?
I don't get it. Where where these so called mourning patriots when Nixon's body crumbled into dust?

And all I can do is scoff at these three to four hour long ass lines I see on the tv just waiting around to see and touch a flag drapped casket like as if we were all living in communist Russia.

Suckers.

And to conclude such a lovely weekend- Monday morning, out the starting gate of my apartment complex, I walk not more than half a block- and there's someone's lousy cat WITH A COLLAR AND NAME TAG , lying sprawled out on the sidewalk with it's skull crushed in- obviously landed there by the propulsion from whatever drunk slimeball swerving vehicle that had hit it.

Great. I must be cursed with living on Pet Cemetary Drive.

Why can't these people pick up after their pets?

~

Coat