Spike and Mike Part 1; Sacramento, SF
I had discovered the freedom to leave my own town, when I wanted. With the help of a V.W. Bus I would never need for a place to sleep. But there was only so far I could drive so long as I had to get back to work at some point. I’d done the nearby beachtowns, I’d been up to Oregon, I was jonesing for more.
Arlo Guthrie didn’t turn his “Volkswagen Micro-bus” around and head back to work at the coffee shop. Why should I.
Dan, Christine, Bryna and I began planning a long road trip and while we had plenty of enthusiasm, I was well aware that many other such dreams had evaporated,
Then Christine brought Doug and Homes into my life.
Christine showed up with a hippy-ish looking boy named Doug and a six foot two Vietnamese skater/raver boy named Homes. They were both open and friendly and they had the coolest job ever. Doug and Homes worked for Spike and Mike’s Festival of Animation (and Spike and Mike’s Sick and Twisted Festival of Animation as well). They were from San Diego where S&M’s home base was located. Spike and Mike sent them traveling around the country armed with flyers to promote the festivals shows at local independent theatres. They would stay in each town for a month or two. While they were there they were rented an apartment and a couple of rental cars per crew, a crew being made up of four or five people.
I knew immediately that I had to work for Spike and Mike. I grew up in Corona, right next to where the festival started in Riverside and I'd made my mom make my dad take me to see Spike and Mike's original festival on the UC Riverside campus when I was thirteen. It just felt right, like the circle completing itself that Spike and Mike should be my ticket to adventure.
I asked Doug and Homes if they could help me get a job and they said they probably could. Mike Gribble, the Mike of Spike and Mike was in town and all of the flyer guys would be meeting him that evening at his apartment. I called my night job and told them I wouldn’t be in. I had called in sick too many times and they were looking for a doozey of an exuse. I didn't give them one. I explained to Stacy that I had an opportunity I couldn't pass up and that if things went my way I'd not be coming back at all.
"And if things don't go my way I will totally understand if you're unable to have me back."
She didn't sound to impressed. "Okay Keith. I hope you know what you're doing."
I did.
I went to the meeting, which was really just Gribble getting all the guys together to take advantage of the free food that his hotel put out. Free cokes, chips, salsa, mini hot dogs and even beer were our for the taking. An older guy on the crew named Chip was filling a back pack with beers for later.
The manager came out to find out why this horde of locusts had descended upon his lobby. Gribble was 6’5” (though he’d only admit to 6”3”), lanky, and in possession of a long purple beard. He dressed in loud shirts, mostly purple and purple doc martin boots. He was Ronald McDonald and Grimace’s shameful offspring.
He responded to the managers whispered hostilities with a loud booming voice for all to enjoy. “Oh, I get it. Because my clients and partners are a bit younger they’re not entitled to your hospitality. Because my clients aren’t wearing Dockers they’re not welcome at your fine establishment. Well isn’t that interesting considering this young man with the skateboard just signed a multi-million dollar sponsorship this morning. I guess you salespeople and corporate reps know success when you see it.”
The apologies had begun the moment Gribble raised his voice, but the longer he kept everyone distracted the more we could get away with. Gribble then took us all to see a play that he’d gotten free tickets too, and the night ended with fooze ball at a local bar. Nobody beat Gribble at fooze ball, ever.
Doug and Homes gave me a ride home and ended up crashing at our pad after a night of drinking and exchanging stories. They loved our little scene, and Doug was particularly fond of a red headed girl named Darcy. I got up with Doug and Homes in the morning and after calling Wayne at The China Bakery to quite my job, I hopped in their car. We met the rest of the crew in front of Gribble’s apartment. The crew was made up of eight guys plus Mike, twice the size of your average crew. Two old flyer guys had started their own animation festival locally and Gribble wanted them buried.
We rang the doorbell and waited about four feet back. One did not enter Gribbles apartment if it could be helped. Gribble smelled terrible. He was always clean but he seemed opposed to deodorant of any kind. We were invited in as I was informed was ritual. When everyone refused to enter the apartment, Gribble stepped out and started everyone groaning as he announced that we would be doing a sunrise salutation. This crazy purple bearded freak had eight hung over skate punks doing yoga on the sidewalk next to a busy street. Yoga finished we started loading cars with flyers. At this point Gribble noticed me.
”What are you doing here?” He asked.
“I’m working for you now.” I answered, brushing past him to load a box of flyers.
“I’m not hiring.” He informed me.
“I don’t care.” Came my reply.
“Look, we’re not hiring, and if we were, we don’t hire outside of San Diego.”
"That’s fine. I’ll get a San Diego address. In fact I can uses Homes’. Yeah, I’m Homes’ roommate now.”
With that I left Gribble shaking his head as I hopped in the car. He shouted something about me not working for him as we drove off. I worked my ass off. I am by nature a loud and outgoing person and I got flyers in many hands. I cracked jokes, I sold people on the show. I ran from store to store hitting counter tops with stacks of flyers.
Doug and Homes gave the boss an account of my stellar performance and when I showed up again the next day Gribble told me I didn’t work for him only a couple of times. That afternoon, as we ate the free goodies in the lobby he handed me a stack of papers to fill out. I was now an employee of Spike and Mike’s Festival of Animation.
I worked the first couple of weeks in Sacramento and got to know the job. We flyered on campus at the university and at the community colleges. We hit all the shows and other live events. We left stacks of flyers at every record store, comic book shop, video store, liquor store and head shop (Sacramento had a shortage of these.)
At night we all did the bars. We’d flyer from bar to bar staying longer at the one where we found some fun people. And we’d go back to the apartment that the company rented for the crew and get tanked. Homes invented a game the object of which was to get from the balcony to his bed without touching the floor. He jumped from the balcony onto the couch, from the couch to the dining table and off the table into the hallway, where, in a show of super human strength Homes threw his arms and legs out against each wall and caught himself. I’d climbed up a hallway spider man style but to jump such a distance and just catch oneself, I hardly believed what I was seeing. Then he shimmied his way down the hallway hands and feet against the walls moving faster than I could run and finally, grabbing the hallway he swung into the bedroom and landed on his bed. The rest of us put on a skate video and settled in for the night.
A few nights later we were all drinking at Old Ironsides, a bar where my short lived band had played and where I knew most of the folks despite being barely 21. I was pretty tossed when I notice Charlie Coyne, my boss from The Delta King sitting at the bar with a big haired bleach blonde in a tight dress that looked straight out of an eighties episode of Married With Children.
"Hey. You see that guy at the bar. He’s an asshole.” I slurred to Hoang, one of my new coworkers. Hoang headed straight for Charlie.
“Hi.” Hoang greeted him, before ordering himself a beer. “I hear you’re an asshole.” He said politely as he took his drink and walked away. I was delighted. So, I made sure everyone else in the bar knew that Charlie was an asshole. It didn’t take long for Charlie to notice where his unwelcome was coming from. He approached me.
“Hey. I want to talk to you.” He said.
“Well, I don’t want to talk to you. I’ve heard from a reliable witness that you’re an asshole.” I told him. With this he grabbed my arm, pushed me through the door and once outside he popped me on in the mouth. I was way too drunk to fight, even an old man like Charlie Coyne. He threw another punch which I managed to dodge and I made my way to the bar door just as two bouncer types were heading out. I slid past the big guys and turned around them just in time to see them catch Hoang midair as he attempted to attack Charlie. Charlie headed back towards me and was thrown on his ass by the bouncers who told him to get the hell out out and never come back. I waved bye bye.
“I remember you!” Aw shucks, he remembered me. “What’s your name again.”
“Dylan” I answered, thinking of the Beverly Hills 90210 character, “Dylan McNeil.”
“That’s Right.” See, he remembered me well. “You’ll never work in this town again.”
My eyes grew big. I couldn’t believe he actually said it. I never thought I’d hear that line in real life, delivered with out irony or sarcasm.
“Yeah, okay Charlie. Tell your wife I said hello.” I responded for the benefit of his date, who was most certainly not his wife. I had no idea if he had a wife, but I figured it was worth a shot.
We had one final harah and farewell to Sacramento. The whole sacramento gang, plus Doug and Homes headed to the river. Darcy who had grown up in Sacramento brought us to a great spot that I'd never been to before. Here I was ready to leave Sacramento, and still discovering new surprises.
We hung our feet in the water, and had some wine. And then we found a big floating plank. So, Doug, Darcy and I climbed on it. We brought a bottle of wine and a pack of smokes and shoved off. We were now floating down the river with no way to stear. This seemed quite adventuras for about five minutes. Then it seemed a bit stupid as we hadn't brought any water. We tried to relax and enjoy the gorgeous scenery but when a few boats passed we started trying to wave them down. A nice lady in a boat that was like a floating motor home threw us a line. She towed us close and helped us aboard. Then she circled around and dropped us off. Big brother had been watching. The local news had a helicopter overhead and they caught up with her. Footage of our "rescue" played on the tube that night and they let her explain the events. She told of how we were crying and needed help and she just couldn't pass us up. Ha. We were glad that she got such a good story out of it. She did help us out after all.
As we prepared to leave Sacramento I had Christine shave my head leaving just the bangs, which hung down to my chin. It was the hair style I’d gotten rid of to work as a video tech. I said my goodbyes, and we headed to San Diego for a few days where I slept on Doug’s floor and waited to see what town I’d be assigned to next. I assumed, and hoped that they’d send me to San Francisco with my new friends Doug and Homes. Unfortunately the word amoungst the flyer boys was that my name had been seen on the Arizona list, where the crew would be lead by a horses ass named Scott.
The day of the big meeting at The Spike and Mike office I showed up with my bangs in braids, a different colored rubber band on the tip of each. I walked in the office where Spike, a monster of a man, sat with a Scottish Terrier, their heads panning back and forth as they watched the varied folks walking by the La Jolla, beach front office. I took in the office, first noticing the wall that was decorated top to bottom in scribbles from famous animators like Nick Park (Wallace and Grommet) Marv Newland (Bambi Meets Godzilla, Duck Man) and John Lasseter (Luxo Junior and years later, Toy Story). The rest of the office was full of painted cells, reels of films and boxes of merchandise; t-shirts, videos, etc.
Spike looked up and seeing my braids and rubber bands he bellowed “Who the hell is this guy.”
Doug told him I was Keith Jensen and without a word Spike walked to the board where my name was indeed listed under Arizona. He erased my name and rewrote it under San Francisco. I heard him mutter under his breath, “Arizona. They’d eat him alive in Arizona.”
I had been driving my bus for months but I had no license and so Doug and Homes took turns doing the driving as we headed north to San Francisco. We were hooting and hollering as we crossed the Bay Bridge. Then through town to Sausalito. Sausalito is prime real estate and we were staying on a gorgeous house boat. I could not believe that this was my life. Chip was already there when we got there. He’d ridden up with Mike Sharp (not Mike of Spike and Mike) who would be our crew leader. Chip, a drummer, broke out the chop sticks and began tapping the pots and pans in the kitchen, rearranging them and tapping them some more. He’d already claimed the upstairs bedroom, Homes grabbed the ground floor bedroom and so Doug and I would share the room downstairs. The festival worked on the teenage boys of he who calls it first gets it. We'd carefully outlined the rules, and we went about calling the best room first. calling shot gun in the car, and calling who got first shot at cute girls we met, (none of us honored the last one.)
The water of the bay came up to just below our window. I sat there, staring at the water, and trying to really grasp what I'd suddenly turned my life into. We checked out our floating patio and we went about putting up some posters and making the place our own.
Mike Sharp came over to say hello and told us all to be ready to go by 8am the next morning. He was staying on his own boat on the next dock. Chip played us some amazing drum solos on the pots and pans and we headed out to check out San Francisco. I love the city by the bay. We went to Haight Ashbury first where we scored some weed and had some food. After we’d gotten good and high a homeless black man stuck his head in our car and asked if we’d care to contribute to the United Negro Cheeseburger Fund. We all laughed up a lung and he must have walked away with thirty bucks. We all got along great. We took turns playing music. Chip drank nonstop without ever seeming to get drunk and around midnight we headed for the boat.
Sometime in the night I rolled over and planted a kiss on Doug’s cheek in my sleep. I now had my own room.
I got up around 7:30am to find Chip in the kitchen, fresh as a daisy, downing his first beer. At 8 Mike showed up as promised but not as expected. He was on our floating porch banging on our back door. We let him in, catching that he’d rowed over on a small kayak from his boat. He grabbed two beers, told us to divide up and hit Berkley and Haight Ashburry.
Doug and I took Berkely. It felt so exciting to be crossing the bridges and it was exhilarating to pull into Berkley, the downtown full of street venders and artists and panhandlers and pot smoke and Asian Christian evangelists and militant lesbians and future rock music bloggers. We got Dumped flyers everywhere, had some lunch, stayed stoned most of the day and headed back to SF to hook up with the other two.
Homes and Chip had discovered a great restaurant called Kanzaman. We sat on rugs and ordered falafels and hummus and dolmas and spiced wine. After dinner we ordered a big water pipe called a hooka with apple honey tobacco. Chip dropped a nugget of weed on the top of the hooka and immediately we all felt a panic. The wet tobacco sits on hot rocks which began burning up the weed. We were not so concerned with wasting weed as we were with the restaurant filling with pot smoke and us getting busted. So, we grabbed the mouth piece and began passing it, each of hitting it hard and then thrusting it in the direction of the next stupid stoner. No one noticed, okay no possible, no one cared. The waitresses here were all beautiful and we overtipped.
We met a bunch of homeless kids who spent their days busking or just begging from tourists. We scored some acid and then shared it with the kids we’d scored it from. We all ended up in the park sitting in a circle telling stories and getting to know each other. Brent was a black kid who was living out his hobo dreams for one summer before going to school. His hobo-ing would be interrupted for a few weeks when a professor took him to some island off of mexico for a conference. This was believable not only because we were three kinds of wasted, but because Brent was brilliant. He could tell a story, he could converse on any subject, he was well read and here he was living on the streets of SF and getting by well. With no money in his pocket he ate well and enjoyed the comforts of drink and drugs and good company every day because he was fascinating to be around.
I fell fast for Jill. She too was getting by well. She’d simply decided to drop out. To learn about life by letting go of all security and seeing how she did. She was from Chicago but had hitchhiked and camped out all over the country. Then there was Pierre. Pierre was from France. We named him Pierre. He didn’t speak a word of English. He just smiled, accepted whatever food, drink, drugs or affection was offered.
I wanted to spend the night in the park, but I was convinced to head back to the boat. Remembering that we lived on a boat was pretty convincing in itself. Chip drove, and I let myself not thing about what state he may have been in. He certainly seemed fine.
The next morning I worked with Mike and we covered an amazing territory with flyers. Mike was cool. He’d been a theatre major, and was working with Spike and Mike while he looked to start a career in theatre management. He came across as a John Wayne loving tough guy type but he was a nice guy and only slightly judgmental of our partying ways. He understood that we were there to create the image that the festival needed.
That was a mellow night. Chip and I "borrowed" a neighbor's rowboat and rowed out to the middle of the bay. We were floating in this tiny boat with the Richmond, bay and golden gate bridge all within view. We drank a few beers and smoked cigarettes, and for once didn't talk much. When we put the boat back Chip let a few beers in it for the owner.
We started working the Berkely campus and the showman in me came out. We’d set out wind up cows to draw attention as we flyered. I put a cow in a hamburger bun and got bitched out by some vegans. I explained that I was vegan too and that I used a FAKE cow for that reason but they figured I was just teasing them. So, too get more attention we got a bloody apron and began slaughtering cows. We’d fill their head with strawberrys and ketchup for a good bloody mess. The school paper took my picture with the cows and ran it on the front page. Doug and Homes found me a bit annoying on campus I think. I started the day loud and stayed that way.
We tried to work around rush hour, but ended up in bumber to bumber traffic on the bridge regardless. Homes was quiet and smiled to himself a lot. He seemed to always be dancing even as he sat in the car. He was dancing more than usual as we waited to get across the bridge. He had to take a piss and finally, when traffic had sat perfectly still for a good minute in a half he stepped out of the car. Using the door as a privacy screen he started letting it flow right there on the Bay Bridge, and of course, traffic began to move, slowly, and then more. Home had held it for too long. There was to be no stopping, so he started walking next to the car. He was giggling and as the cars around us began honking and waving he started laughing. The cheers built, our speed continued to increase and homes was jogging, laughing his head off and peeing, peeing, peeing. It’s yet another testament to his unique grace that he didn’t seem to get any on him. He hopped back in the car and we all laughed our way over the bridge.
We continued hanging out with our homeless friends at night. We stumbled across a wedding in the park one night and Chip, tripping on three hits of acid approached the doorman. “Hey, can I get a bottle of champagne? I’m trippin’ hard and it would really help me get grounded.”
“Can I get a couple of hits.” The doorman bargained.
Chip happily handed him two hits and walked away with what the doorman told him, and he claimed to recognize was a very nice bottle of good champagne. We each took a plug and when a quarter of the bottle was left a witchy looking woman asked if she could get a pull. Chip took one more sip and handed her the bottle. She finished it of in one swallow and said “Gack!”
“Gack” Chip repeated. “What the hell is Gack? You just had some very fine champagne. You don’t Gack good champagne.”
She put her face inches from Chips and as I prepared to receive a curse she repeated herself. “GACK!”
“Oh, GACK!” He repeated yet again, this time jubilantly. “GACK!” And with this he hugged her.
Friends from Sacramento visited. Christine came up and spent the night with me, as did Bryna, and Ursula. Darcy came up, and the magic with her and Doug seemed to have faded. She stayed in my room and we made out a bit. I wasn’t the player that I was appearing to be, at least I didn’t think I was. But I didn’t say much to downplay the way it looked to the guys.
Bryna's visit was strained. We listened to Chip's story of what he did on his twenty first birthday. He got drunk, passed out in a field and woke up with David Lee Roth pissing on his head. Roth apologized and invited him to party at a Van Halen concert. Chip had a ton of stories like this, and everyone of them started with, "On my twenty first birthday..." On father's day Chip would send his dad a card reading "Happy Mother's Fucker's Day Mother Fucker!" Bryna got a kick out of Chip and out of the whole crazy scene. She was enjoying herself but she seemed distant. I asked her what was up and she said she'd write me a letter. My guess was that Bryna was tired of the games. She loved me, and it was time for me to do something about it or move on, to shit or get off the pot. She was movin' on.
She told me that she sent the letter, but it never found me as I continued my nomadic life.
Jay and Steph, A homeless couple that used to sleep in our living room in Sacramento from time to time came to visit. Little did I know they had moved into my room when I left and then stiffed Dan on the rent. Coincidentally Dan was visiting the same night. Jay was insane, with paranoid delusions that seemed to be getting worse. I told Dan that, while I understood why he was pissed, he wasn’t likely to get his money back and there was no point fighting with Jay here. Dan kept quiet but Jay’s conscience or his craziness or both got to him and he started denouncing the red haired Dan as the devil.
”Hey Jay, you gotta go man.” I told him bluntly.
He continued ranting and raving.
“Jay! I’m counting to five and then removing you physically which I really don’t want to do.”
The rant got louder.
“One… Two… Three… Four… Five!”
I walked towards Jay, everyone in the house ready to back me. He ran out the door. I turned back to the porch when he ran back in the door.
“I’m leaving!” He shouted. “But not without my milk!”With this he grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge and left.
We all stood there for a minute, not sure if he was really done. Finally Chip relieved the tension. “He took my milk!”
I was more and more enamored of Jill. She had such a gentleness to her. Such a relaxed easy going manner. I was tempted to give up having a job altogether and see what it was like to live her lifestyle. Of course we couldn’t resist brining a gaggle of homeless kids to a house boat in Sausalito and so we put together a little Cinco De Mayo party for them. We picked them all up and we actually had a pretty mellow evening of drinking and smoking and listening to music. Jill slept in my bed, but other than staring at her for most of the night nothing happened. I had the next day off and her and eye spent the day having lunch by the water and walking around Sausalito. I never got up the nerve to make any kind of move. She seemed to pure to screw it up with my need for something more.
The kids crashed on the boat with us again the next night and as we all got ready for work in the morning we noticed Pierre with his hands down his pants jerking himself off on the couch.
“Dude, knock it off.” Homes commanded. We realized Pieree was sleeping. “Someone’s got to wake him up.” Homes was giggling.
Nobody wanted the job of waking up the masterbating frenchman. I'm sure if you listed "waking up masterbating frenchman" in the classifieds you'd get plenty applicants, but on this boat, on this morning nobody wanted to touch the masterbating frenchman at all.
We all started throwing pillows at him. He opened his eyes but his hand kept working away. We remembered his lack of English and so, there we all stood playing charades, trying to find the universal gesture for “Dude, quit jerking off on our couch.”
He stopped, either cuz he got the message or because he finished. Mike showed up at our back door and was not pleased with our choice of house guests. We promised him we’d have no more guests.
The shows started at The Palace of Fine arts. Spike and Mike both came up for the kick off and it was then the gossip mill let me know that the two did not get along. Supposedly they'd even had a shoving match or two. Most of the flyering crew prefered Mike. Spike seemed like a miserable old miser and it was hard to even imagine how they became partners. Spike didn't stay long.
Mike stayed through the first couple of weekends of shows. We'd throw beach balls out into the audience letting the crowd bounce them around before the show. If it was the Sick and Twisted show we'd also throw out a couple of inflatable sheep or blow up dolls. Once the auditiorium was filled to the brim Mike would take the stage.
Watching Mike MC was a delight. He spoke to the adult audience with a tone of voice that would normally be reserved for children, but he did so with a respect for his audience's intelligence. This was most flattering as his own intelligence came across full strength. At the end of his speech Mike would put lead the audience in raising the hands, wiggling the fingers and seeing the movie magically begin. He gave these adults and inellectually acceptable means to become kids again and enjoy some cartoons.
Then, come midnight, Mike worked the younger rowdier crowd drawn by the Sick and Twisted Festival with equal grace. The same delivery with a few "syphellitc squirell fuckers, of a non-Disneyesque variety". That he was so crass while still so damn slick just thrilled people, and the same man that delighted in exposing hung over ravers to yoga, would lead this stoned, obnoxious crowd in a raising of the hands, a wiggling of the fingers, and magical conjuring of some mighty crass cartoons. I watched his introduction every chance I got.
The cartoons included the year's academy award nominees at the origianal classic fest, with Wallace and Gromit headlining. The sick and twisted show featured a wide range of fart jokes and studies in excessive violence; Lupo The Butcher, Peformance art starring Chainsaw Bob, Quiet Please. Most notable were four cartoons by a man in Texas: Duh, Inbred Jed, Frog Baseball starring Beavis and Butthead and one more Beavis and Butthead cartoon. The man from Texas was of course Mike Judge who would go onto do lots more Beavis and Butthead, the live action film Office Space and King of The Hill.
At this time Mike Judges was an unpleasant subject for Spike and Mike. M-TV's Liquid Television had arranged to swap artist with S&M, a seemingly win, win situation. M-TV then signed several of the better artists to restrictive contracts and screwed my employers. Mind you this is only said employer's version of the story.
Spike worked with Judge on those early films and claims have given Butthead his name. For now Judge was to be regarded as a sellout who forgot where he came from. I sure did love his cartoons, crass enough to please the drunkest of frat boys but when you actually paid attention you found brilliant character studies and some amazing writing.
Chip and I were sent to spend a day in San Jose scoping things out for the crew that would soon be heading there. I decided that as long as I was spending the day with him I'd see if I could keep up with Chip drink for drink. We'd given him grief about drinking before he even had breakfast so he began the day with Oatmeal Stout, and so then, did I. We sang "Look ma, I'm drinking my oatmeal." and we headed to S.J.
Once there we got down to flyering and searching out the free papers and the college radiostations. We stopped at every other bar and had a beer, a snake bite, a cider. We met a salesman type guy at one of the bars and as I was starting to feel the alcohol I didn't understand how we ended up having dinner with him at a steakhouse. We were drinking wine, in understood that. The salesman was intense and kept yammering on and on about money. I didn't retain the details. I never do when people talk about money. I like money. All I can say about it Yay I have money, or Crap I have no money. People collect it, trade it, do magic tricks to make it grow. They have interest rates and stocks and bonds and angles and systems. None of it makes a lick of sense to me. These money people never seem to have any, otherwise I might have made an effort to learn their language. I caught that there was tension toward the end of dinner. Apparently the salesman was hoping Chip was paying for dinner. This guy was just like the kids on Haight only more clever and less honest. Chip was happy to buy dinner for the kids on Haight but he was matching wits with the salesman. He was actually trying to get the scam artist to buy ours. Salesman said he had no money, Chip said neither did we, I said nothing and I was increasing drunk. Finally Chip excused himself to use the restroom and left me stare at the salesman as he told me why we were lucky to have met. I just stared at him, drank my wine and tried not to puke. Chip found the waitress and had her split the bill. He paid our share tipped her and returned to the table. She was moments behind him and as she dropped the salesman bill on the table we excused ourselves and left. The Salesman had lost but he wouldn't spoil the chance of going another round at a later date. He thanked Chip for the company and muttered something about opportunities, shook both our hands and we were off.
We grabbed a couple of beers to drink in the car. I was barely staying awake as I sipped a big bottle of Heinekin. Chip was driving, showing no signs of being intoxicated. He wasn't talking about his 21st birthday or anything.
We got home, holding our breath and making wishes as we went through the rainbow tunnel. Chip bought another couple of bottles of beer at the little store by our dock. We got to the boat, I went to bed, Chip drank both bottles and god knows what else.
The shows went great, that is to say they were well attended, so the big bosses were kept happy. We took boxes of flyers and ditched them in dumpsters around town, one box per dumpsters. You could not tell Spike or Mike that they ordered more flyers than we could possibly use or they'd insist that we weren't working enough. So, we dumped flyers and wasted money. As long as we were selling out shows we couldn't feel bad.
We had one last dinner with our homeless friends. We bought one of just about everything on the menu at Kanzaman. Pierre shared with us, and then started sharing with the people sitting next to us. They turned out to be some really cool German tourists and they were great sports about it. Then Pierre turns to me and says, "This is great. You guys are so great."
"Ahh, thanks Pierre... HOLY SHIT! Pierre you're speaking English."
"Oh. Yes."
"Have you been able to speak English all this time?"
"I'm not sure. I think maybe I just learn from when you are speak to me."
My own theory is that Pierre ate more acid than anyone I've ever met. I'm not sure he'd even been speaking French. We said goodbye to the kids. I was sad to say goodbye to Jill. She gave me her mother's number and I promised to keep in touch.
Doug and I were sent to San Jose. Chip and Homes would be eslewhere. Being the new guy I felt emotional. I felt like we'd shared and amazing experience and I was sad to be going our seperate ways. The rest of the guys were a bit less emotional about it. Their reaction let me believe that this was just the beginning.
>>>>> Go to the next story, Spike and Mike Part 2, San Jose >>>>
Arlo Guthrie didn’t turn his “Volkswagen Micro-bus” around and head back to work at the coffee shop. Why should I.
Dan, Christine, Bryna and I began planning a long road trip and while we had plenty of enthusiasm, I was well aware that many other such dreams had evaporated,
Then Christine brought Doug and Homes into my life.
Christine showed up with a hippy-ish looking boy named Doug and a six foot two Vietnamese skater/raver boy named Homes. They were both open and friendly and they had the coolest job ever. Doug and Homes worked for Spike and Mike’s Festival of Animation (and Spike and Mike’s Sick and Twisted Festival of Animation as well). They were from San Diego where S&M’s home base was located. Spike and Mike sent them traveling around the country armed with flyers to promote the festivals shows at local independent theatres. They would stay in each town for a month or two. While they were there they were rented an apartment and a couple of rental cars per crew, a crew being made up of four or five people.
I knew immediately that I had to work for Spike and Mike. I grew up in Corona, right next to where the festival started in Riverside and I'd made my mom make my dad take me to see Spike and Mike's original festival on the UC Riverside campus when I was thirteen. It just felt right, like the circle completing itself that Spike and Mike should be my ticket to adventure.
I asked Doug and Homes if they could help me get a job and they said they probably could. Mike Gribble, the Mike of Spike and Mike was in town and all of the flyer guys would be meeting him that evening at his apartment. I called my night job and told them I wouldn’t be in. I had called in sick too many times and they were looking for a doozey of an exuse. I didn't give them one. I explained to Stacy that I had an opportunity I couldn't pass up and that if things went my way I'd not be coming back at all.
"And if things don't go my way I will totally understand if you're unable to have me back."
She didn't sound to impressed. "Okay Keith. I hope you know what you're doing."
I did.
I went to the meeting, which was really just Gribble getting all the guys together to take advantage of the free food that his hotel put out. Free cokes, chips, salsa, mini hot dogs and even beer were our for the taking. An older guy on the crew named Chip was filling a back pack with beers for later.
The manager came out to find out why this horde of locusts had descended upon his lobby. Gribble was 6’5” (though he’d only admit to 6”3”), lanky, and in possession of a long purple beard. He dressed in loud shirts, mostly purple and purple doc martin boots. He was Ronald McDonald and Grimace’s shameful offspring.
He responded to the managers whispered hostilities with a loud booming voice for all to enjoy. “Oh, I get it. Because my clients and partners are a bit younger they’re not entitled to your hospitality. Because my clients aren’t wearing Dockers they’re not welcome at your fine establishment. Well isn’t that interesting considering this young man with the skateboard just signed a multi-million dollar sponsorship this morning. I guess you salespeople and corporate reps know success when you see it.”
The apologies had begun the moment Gribble raised his voice, but the longer he kept everyone distracted the more we could get away with. Gribble then took us all to see a play that he’d gotten free tickets too, and the night ended with fooze ball at a local bar. Nobody beat Gribble at fooze ball, ever.
Doug and Homes gave me a ride home and ended up crashing at our pad after a night of drinking and exchanging stories. They loved our little scene, and Doug was particularly fond of a red headed girl named Darcy. I got up with Doug and Homes in the morning and after calling Wayne at The China Bakery to quite my job, I hopped in their car. We met the rest of the crew in front of Gribble’s apartment. The crew was made up of eight guys plus Mike, twice the size of your average crew. Two old flyer guys had started their own animation festival locally and Gribble wanted them buried.
We rang the doorbell and waited about four feet back. One did not enter Gribbles apartment if it could be helped. Gribble smelled terrible. He was always clean but he seemed opposed to deodorant of any kind. We were invited in as I was informed was ritual. When everyone refused to enter the apartment, Gribble stepped out and started everyone groaning as he announced that we would be doing a sunrise salutation. This crazy purple bearded freak had eight hung over skate punks doing yoga on the sidewalk next to a busy street. Yoga finished we started loading cars with flyers. At this point Gribble noticed me.
”What are you doing here?” He asked.
“I’m working for you now.” I answered, brushing past him to load a box of flyers.
“I’m not hiring.” He informed me.
“I don’t care.” Came my reply.
“Look, we’re not hiring, and if we were, we don’t hire outside of San Diego.”
"That’s fine. I’ll get a San Diego address. In fact I can uses Homes’. Yeah, I’m Homes’ roommate now.”
With that I left Gribble shaking his head as I hopped in the car. He shouted something about me not working for him as we drove off. I worked my ass off. I am by nature a loud and outgoing person and I got flyers in many hands. I cracked jokes, I sold people on the show. I ran from store to store hitting counter tops with stacks of flyers.
Doug and Homes gave the boss an account of my stellar performance and when I showed up again the next day Gribble told me I didn’t work for him only a couple of times. That afternoon, as we ate the free goodies in the lobby he handed me a stack of papers to fill out. I was now an employee of Spike and Mike’s Festival of Animation.
I worked the first couple of weeks in Sacramento and got to know the job. We flyered on campus at the university and at the community colleges. We hit all the shows and other live events. We left stacks of flyers at every record store, comic book shop, video store, liquor store and head shop (Sacramento had a shortage of these.)
At night we all did the bars. We’d flyer from bar to bar staying longer at the one where we found some fun people. And we’d go back to the apartment that the company rented for the crew and get tanked. Homes invented a game the object of which was to get from the balcony to his bed without touching the floor. He jumped from the balcony onto the couch, from the couch to the dining table and off the table into the hallway, where, in a show of super human strength Homes threw his arms and legs out against each wall and caught himself. I’d climbed up a hallway spider man style but to jump such a distance and just catch oneself, I hardly believed what I was seeing. Then he shimmied his way down the hallway hands and feet against the walls moving faster than I could run and finally, grabbing the hallway he swung into the bedroom and landed on his bed. The rest of us put on a skate video and settled in for the night.
A few nights later we were all drinking at Old Ironsides, a bar where my short lived band had played and where I knew most of the folks despite being barely 21. I was pretty tossed when I notice Charlie Coyne, my boss from The Delta King sitting at the bar with a big haired bleach blonde in a tight dress that looked straight out of an eighties episode of Married With Children.
"Hey. You see that guy at the bar. He’s an asshole.” I slurred to Hoang, one of my new coworkers. Hoang headed straight for Charlie.
“Hi.” Hoang greeted him, before ordering himself a beer. “I hear you’re an asshole.” He said politely as he took his drink and walked away. I was delighted. So, I made sure everyone else in the bar knew that Charlie was an asshole. It didn’t take long for Charlie to notice where his unwelcome was coming from. He approached me.
“Hey. I want to talk to you.” He said.
“Well, I don’t want to talk to you. I’ve heard from a reliable witness that you’re an asshole.” I told him. With this he grabbed my arm, pushed me through the door and once outside he popped me on in the mouth. I was way too drunk to fight, even an old man like Charlie Coyne. He threw another punch which I managed to dodge and I made my way to the bar door just as two bouncer types were heading out. I slid past the big guys and turned around them just in time to see them catch Hoang midair as he attempted to attack Charlie. Charlie headed back towards me and was thrown on his ass by the bouncers who told him to get the hell out out and never come back. I waved bye bye.
“I remember you!” Aw shucks, he remembered me. “What’s your name again.”
“Dylan” I answered, thinking of the Beverly Hills 90210 character, “Dylan McNeil.”
“That’s Right.” See, he remembered me well. “You’ll never work in this town again.”
My eyes grew big. I couldn’t believe he actually said it. I never thought I’d hear that line in real life, delivered with out irony or sarcasm.
“Yeah, okay Charlie. Tell your wife I said hello.” I responded for the benefit of his date, who was most certainly not his wife. I had no idea if he had a wife, but I figured it was worth a shot.
We had one final harah and farewell to Sacramento. The whole sacramento gang, plus Doug and Homes headed to the river. Darcy who had grown up in Sacramento brought us to a great spot that I'd never been to before. Here I was ready to leave Sacramento, and still discovering new surprises.
We hung our feet in the water, and had some wine. And then we found a big floating plank. So, Doug, Darcy and I climbed on it. We brought a bottle of wine and a pack of smokes and shoved off. We were now floating down the river with no way to stear. This seemed quite adventuras for about five minutes. Then it seemed a bit stupid as we hadn't brought any water. We tried to relax and enjoy the gorgeous scenery but when a few boats passed we started trying to wave them down. A nice lady in a boat that was like a floating motor home threw us a line. She towed us close and helped us aboard. Then she circled around and dropped us off. Big brother had been watching. The local news had a helicopter overhead and they caught up with her. Footage of our "rescue" played on the tube that night and they let her explain the events. She told of how we were crying and needed help and she just couldn't pass us up. Ha. We were glad that she got such a good story out of it. She did help us out after all.
As we prepared to leave Sacramento I had Christine shave my head leaving just the bangs, which hung down to my chin. It was the hair style I’d gotten rid of to work as a video tech. I said my goodbyes, and we headed to San Diego for a few days where I slept on Doug’s floor and waited to see what town I’d be assigned to next. I assumed, and hoped that they’d send me to San Francisco with my new friends Doug and Homes. Unfortunately the word amoungst the flyer boys was that my name had been seen on the Arizona list, where the crew would be lead by a horses ass named Scott.
The day of the big meeting at The Spike and Mike office I showed up with my bangs in braids, a different colored rubber band on the tip of each. I walked in the office where Spike, a monster of a man, sat with a Scottish Terrier, their heads panning back and forth as they watched the varied folks walking by the La Jolla, beach front office. I took in the office, first noticing the wall that was decorated top to bottom in scribbles from famous animators like Nick Park (Wallace and Grommet) Marv Newland (Bambi Meets Godzilla, Duck Man) and John Lasseter (Luxo Junior and years later, Toy Story). The rest of the office was full of painted cells, reels of films and boxes of merchandise; t-shirts, videos, etc.
Spike looked up and seeing my braids and rubber bands he bellowed “Who the hell is this guy.”
Doug told him I was Keith Jensen and without a word Spike walked to the board where my name was indeed listed under Arizona. He erased my name and rewrote it under San Francisco. I heard him mutter under his breath, “Arizona. They’d eat him alive in Arizona.”
I had been driving my bus for months but I had no license and so Doug and Homes took turns doing the driving as we headed north to San Francisco. We were hooting and hollering as we crossed the Bay Bridge. Then through town to Sausalito. Sausalito is prime real estate and we were staying on a gorgeous house boat. I could not believe that this was my life. Chip was already there when we got there. He’d ridden up with Mike Sharp (not Mike of Spike and Mike) who would be our crew leader. Chip, a drummer, broke out the chop sticks and began tapping the pots and pans in the kitchen, rearranging them and tapping them some more. He’d already claimed the upstairs bedroom, Homes grabbed the ground floor bedroom and so Doug and I would share the room downstairs. The festival worked on the teenage boys of he who calls it first gets it. We'd carefully outlined the rules, and we went about calling the best room first. calling shot gun in the car, and calling who got first shot at cute girls we met, (none of us honored the last one.)
The water of the bay came up to just below our window. I sat there, staring at the water, and trying to really grasp what I'd suddenly turned my life into. We checked out our floating patio and we went about putting up some posters and making the place our own.
Mike Sharp came over to say hello and told us all to be ready to go by 8am the next morning. He was staying on his own boat on the next dock. Chip played us some amazing drum solos on the pots and pans and we headed out to check out San Francisco. I love the city by the bay. We went to Haight Ashbury first where we scored some weed and had some food. After we’d gotten good and high a homeless black man stuck his head in our car and asked if we’d care to contribute to the United Negro Cheeseburger Fund. We all laughed up a lung and he must have walked away with thirty bucks. We all got along great. We took turns playing music. Chip drank nonstop without ever seeming to get drunk and around midnight we headed for the boat.
Sometime in the night I rolled over and planted a kiss on Doug’s cheek in my sleep. I now had my own room.
I got up around 7:30am to find Chip in the kitchen, fresh as a daisy, downing his first beer. At 8 Mike showed up as promised but not as expected. He was on our floating porch banging on our back door. We let him in, catching that he’d rowed over on a small kayak from his boat. He grabbed two beers, told us to divide up and hit Berkley and Haight Ashburry.
Doug and I took Berkely. It felt so exciting to be crossing the bridges and it was exhilarating to pull into Berkley, the downtown full of street venders and artists and panhandlers and pot smoke and Asian Christian evangelists and militant lesbians and future rock music bloggers. We got Dumped flyers everywhere, had some lunch, stayed stoned most of the day and headed back to SF to hook up with the other two.
Homes and Chip had discovered a great restaurant called Kanzaman. We sat on rugs and ordered falafels and hummus and dolmas and spiced wine. After dinner we ordered a big water pipe called a hooka with apple honey tobacco. Chip dropped a nugget of weed on the top of the hooka and immediately we all felt a panic. The wet tobacco sits on hot rocks which began burning up the weed. We were not so concerned with wasting weed as we were with the restaurant filling with pot smoke and us getting busted. So, we grabbed the mouth piece and began passing it, each of hitting it hard and then thrusting it in the direction of the next stupid stoner. No one noticed, okay no possible, no one cared. The waitresses here were all beautiful and we overtipped.
We met a bunch of homeless kids who spent their days busking or just begging from tourists. We scored some acid and then shared it with the kids we’d scored it from. We all ended up in the park sitting in a circle telling stories and getting to know each other. Brent was a black kid who was living out his hobo dreams for one summer before going to school. His hobo-ing would be interrupted for a few weeks when a professor took him to some island off of mexico for a conference. This was believable not only because we were three kinds of wasted, but because Brent was brilliant. He could tell a story, he could converse on any subject, he was well read and here he was living on the streets of SF and getting by well. With no money in his pocket he ate well and enjoyed the comforts of drink and drugs and good company every day because he was fascinating to be around.
I fell fast for Jill. She too was getting by well. She’d simply decided to drop out. To learn about life by letting go of all security and seeing how she did. She was from Chicago but had hitchhiked and camped out all over the country. Then there was Pierre. Pierre was from France. We named him Pierre. He didn’t speak a word of English. He just smiled, accepted whatever food, drink, drugs or affection was offered.
I wanted to spend the night in the park, but I was convinced to head back to the boat. Remembering that we lived on a boat was pretty convincing in itself. Chip drove, and I let myself not thing about what state he may have been in. He certainly seemed fine.
The next morning I worked with Mike and we covered an amazing territory with flyers. Mike was cool. He’d been a theatre major, and was working with Spike and Mike while he looked to start a career in theatre management. He came across as a John Wayne loving tough guy type but he was a nice guy and only slightly judgmental of our partying ways. He understood that we were there to create the image that the festival needed.
That was a mellow night. Chip and I "borrowed" a neighbor's rowboat and rowed out to the middle of the bay. We were floating in this tiny boat with the Richmond, bay and golden gate bridge all within view. We drank a few beers and smoked cigarettes, and for once didn't talk much. When we put the boat back Chip let a few beers in it for the owner.
We started working the Berkely campus and the showman in me came out. We’d set out wind up cows to draw attention as we flyered. I put a cow in a hamburger bun and got bitched out by some vegans. I explained that I was vegan too and that I used a FAKE cow for that reason but they figured I was just teasing them. So, too get more attention we got a bloody apron and began slaughtering cows. We’d fill their head with strawberrys and ketchup for a good bloody mess. The school paper took my picture with the cows and ran it on the front page. Doug and Homes found me a bit annoying on campus I think. I started the day loud and stayed that way.
We tried to work around rush hour, but ended up in bumber to bumber traffic on the bridge regardless. Homes was quiet and smiled to himself a lot. He seemed to always be dancing even as he sat in the car. He was dancing more than usual as we waited to get across the bridge. He had to take a piss and finally, when traffic had sat perfectly still for a good minute in a half he stepped out of the car. Using the door as a privacy screen he started letting it flow right there on the Bay Bridge, and of course, traffic began to move, slowly, and then more. Home had held it for too long. There was to be no stopping, so he started walking next to the car. He was giggling and as the cars around us began honking and waving he started laughing. The cheers built, our speed continued to increase and homes was jogging, laughing his head off and peeing, peeing, peeing. It’s yet another testament to his unique grace that he didn’t seem to get any on him. He hopped back in the car and we all laughed our way over the bridge.
We continued hanging out with our homeless friends at night. We stumbled across a wedding in the park one night and Chip, tripping on three hits of acid approached the doorman. “Hey, can I get a bottle of champagne? I’m trippin’ hard and it would really help me get grounded.”
“Can I get a couple of hits.” The doorman bargained.
Chip happily handed him two hits and walked away with what the doorman told him, and he claimed to recognize was a very nice bottle of good champagne. We each took a plug and when a quarter of the bottle was left a witchy looking woman asked if she could get a pull. Chip took one more sip and handed her the bottle. She finished it of in one swallow and said “Gack!”
“Gack” Chip repeated. “What the hell is Gack? You just had some very fine champagne. You don’t Gack good champagne.”
She put her face inches from Chips and as I prepared to receive a curse she repeated herself. “GACK!”
“Oh, GACK!” He repeated yet again, this time jubilantly. “GACK!” And with this he hugged her.
Friends from Sacramento visited. Christine came up and spent the night with me, as did Bryna, and Ursula. Darcy came up, and the magic with her and Doug seemed to have faded. She stayed in my room and we made out a bit. I wasn’t the player that I was appearing to be, at least I didn’t think I was. But I didn’t say much to downplay the way it looked to the guys.
Bryna's visit was strained. We listened to Chip's story of what he did on his twenty first birthday. He got drunk, passed out in a field and woke up with David Lee Roth pissing on his head. Roth apologized and invited him to party at a Van Halen concert. Chip had a ton of stories like this, and everyone of them started with, "On my twenty first birthday..." On father's day Chip would send his dad a card reading "Happy Mother's Fucker's Day Mother Fucker!" Bryna got a kick out of Chip and out of the whole crazy scene. She was enjoying herself but she seemed distant. I asked her what was up and she said she'd write me a letter. My guess was that Bryna was tired of the games. She loved me, and it was time for me to do something about it or move on, to shit or get off the pot. She was movin' on.
She told me that she sent the letter, but it never found me as I continued my nomadic life.
Jay and Steph, A homeless couple that used to sleep in our living room in Sacramento from time to time came to visit. Little did I know they had moved into my room when I left and then stiffed Dan on the rent. Coincidentally Dan was visiting the same night. Jay was insane, with paranoid delusions that seemed to be getting worse. I told Dan that, while I understood why he was pissed, he wasn’t likely to get his money back and there was no point fighting with Jay here. Dan kept quiet but Jay’s conscience or his craziness or both got to him and he started denouncing the red haired Dan as the devil.
”Hey Jay, you gotta go man.” I told him bluntly.
He continued ranting and raving.
“Jay! I’m counting to five and then removing you physically which I really don’t want to do.”
The rant got louder.
“One… Two… Three… Four… Five!”
I walked towards Jay, everyone in the house ready to back me. He ran out the door. I turned back to the porch when he ran back in the door.
“I’m leaving!” He shouted. “But not without my milk!”With this he grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge and left.
We all stood there for a minute, not sure if he was really done. Finally Chip relieved the tension. “He took my milk!”
I was more and more enamored of Jill. She had such a gentleness to her. Such a relaxed easy going manner. I was tempted to give up having a job altogether and see what it was like to live her lifestyle. Of course we couldn’t resist brining a gaggle of homeless kids to a house boat in Sausalito and so we put together a little Cinco De Mayo party for them. We picked them all up and we actually had a pretty mellow evening of drinking and smoking and listening to music. Jill slept in my bed, but other than staring at her for most of the night nothing happened. I had the next day off and her and eye spent the day having lunch by the water and walking around Sausalito. I never got up the nerve to make any kind of move. She seemed to pure to screw it up with my need for something more.
The kids crashed on the boat with us again the next night and as we all got ready for work in the morning we noticed Pierre with his hands down his pants jerking himself off on the couch.
“Dude, knock it off.” Homes commanded. We realized Pieree was sleeping. “Someone’s got to wake him up.” Homes was giggling.
Nobody wanted the job of waking up the masterbating frenchman. I'm sure if you listed "waking up masterbating frenchman" in the classifieds you'd get plenty applicants, but on this boat, on this morning nobody wanted to touch the masterbating frenchman at all.
We all started throwing pillows at him. He opened his eyes but his hand kept working away. We remembered his lack of English and so, there we all stood playing charades, trying to find the universal gesture for “Dude, quit jerking off on our couch.”
He stopped, either cuz he got the message or because he finished. Mike showed up at our back door and was not pleased with our choice of house guests. We promised him we’d have no more guests.
The shows started at The Palace of Fine arts. Spike and Mike both came up for the kick off and it was then the gossip mill let me know that the two did not get along. Supposedly they'd even had a shoving match or two. Most of the flyering crew prefered Mike. Spike seemed like a miserable old miser and it was hard to even imagine how they became partners. Spike didn't stay long.
Mike stayed through the first couple of weekends of shows. We'd throw beach balls out into the audience letting the crowd bounce them around before the show. If it was the Sick and Twisted show we'd also throw out a couple of inflatable sheep or blow up dolls. Once the auditiorium was filled to the brim Mike would take the stage.
Watching Mike MC was a delight. He spoke to the adult audience with a tone of voice that would normally be reserved for children, but he did so with a respect for his audience's intelligence. This was most flattering as his own intelligence came across full strength. At the end of his speech Mike would put lead the audience in raising the hands, wiggling the fingers and seeing the movie magically begin. He gave these adults and inellectually acceptable means to become kids again and enjoy some cartoons.
Then, come midnight, Mike worked the younger rowdier crowd drawn by the Sick and Twisted Festival with equal grace. The same delivery with a few "syphellitc squirell fuckers, of a non-Disneyesque variety". That he was so crass while still so damn slick just thrilled people, and the same man that delighted in exposing hung over ravers to yoga, would lead this stoned, obnoxious crowd in a raising of the hands, a wiggling of the fingers, and magical conjuring of some mighty crass cartoons. I watched his introduction every chance I got.
The cartoons included the year's academy award nominees at the origianal classic fest, with Wallace and Gromit headlining. The sick and twisted show featured a wide range of fart jokes and studies in excessive violence; Lupo The Butcher, Peformance art starring Chainsaw Bob, Quiet Please. Most notable were four cartoons by a man in Texas: Duh, Inbred Jed, Frog Baseball starring Beavis and Butthead and one more Beavis and Butthead cartoon. The man from Texas was of course Mike Judge who would go onto do lots more Beavis and Butthead, the live action film Office Space and King of The Hill.
At this time Mike Judges was an unpleasant subject for Spike and Mike. M-TV's Liquid Television had arranged to swap artist with S&M, a seemingly win, win situation. M-TV then signed several of the better artists to restrictive contracts and screwed my employers. Mind you this is only said employer's version of the story.
Spike worked with Judge on those early films and claims have given Butthead his name. For now Judge was to be regarded as a sellout who forgot where he came from. I sure did love his cartoons, crass enough to please the drunkest of frat boys but when you actually paid attention you found brilliant character studies and some amazing writing.
Chip and I were sent to spend a day in San Jose scoping things out for the crew that would soon be heading there. I decided that as long as I was spending the day with him I'd see if I could keep up with Chip drink for drink. We'd given him grief about drinking before he even had breakfast so he began the day with Oatmeal Stout, and so then, did I. We sang "Look ma, I'm drinking my oatmeal." and we headed to S.J.
Once there we got down to flyering and searching out the free papers and the college radiostations. We stopped at every other bar and had a beer, a snake bite, a cider. We met a salesman type guy at one of the bars and as I was starting to feel the alcohol I didn't understand how we ended up having dinner with him at a steakhouse. We were drinking wine, in understood that. The salesman was intense and kept yammering on and on about money. I didn't retain the details. I never do when people talk about money. I like money. All I can say about it Yay I have money, or Crap I have no money. People collect it, trade it, do magic tricks to make it grow. They have interest rates and stocks and bonds and angles and systems. None of it makes a lick of sense to me. These money people never seem to have any, otherwise I might have made an effort to learn their language. I caught that there was tension toward the end of dinner. Apparently the salesman was hoping Chip was paying for dinner. This guy was just like the kids on Haight only more clever and less honest. Chip was happy to buy dinner for the kids on Haight but he was matching wits with the salesman. He was actually trying to get the scam artist to buy ours. Salesman said he had no money, Chip said neither did we, I said nothing and I was increasing drunk. Finally Chip excused himself to use the restroom and left me stare at the salesman as he told me why we were lucky to have met. I just stared at him, drank my wine and tried not to puke. Chip found the waitress and had her split the bill. He paid our share tipped her and returned to the table. She was moments behind him and as she dropped the salesman bill on the table we excused ourselves and left. The Salesman had lost but he wouldn't spoil the chance of going another round at a later date. He thanked Chip for the company and muttered something about opportunities, shook both our hands and we were off.
We grabbed a couple of beers to drink in the car. I was barely staying awake as I sipped a big bottle of Heinekin. Chip was driving, showing no signs of being intoxicated. He wasn't talking about his 21st birthday or anything.
We got home, holding our breath and making wishes as we went through the rainbow tunnel. Chip bought another couple of bottles of beer at the little store by our dock. We got to the boat, I went to bed, Chip drank both bottles and god knows what else.
The shows went great, that is to say they were well attended, so the big bosses were kept happy. We took boxes of flyers and ditched them in dumpsters around town, one box per dumpsters. You could not tell Spike or Mike that they ordered more flyers than we could possibly use or they'd insist that we weren't working enough. So, we dumped flyers and wasted money. As long as we were selling out shows we couldn't feel bad.
We had one last dinner with our homeless friends. We bought one of just about everything on the menu at Kanzaman. Pierre shared with us, and then started sharing with the people sitting next to us. They turned out to be some really cool German tourists and they were great sports about it. Then Pierre turns to me and says, "This is great. You guys are so great."
"Ahh, thanks Pierre... HOLY SHIT! Pierre you're speaking English."
"Oh. Yes."
"Have you been able to speak English all this time?"
"I'm not sure. I think maybe I just learn from when you are speak to me."
My own theory is that Pierre ate more acid than anyone I've ever met. I'm not sure he'd even been speaking French. We said goodbye to the kids. I was sad to say goodbye to Jill. She gave me her mother's number and I promised to keep in touch.
Doug and I were sent to San Jose. Chip and Homes would be eslewhere. Being the new guy I felt emotional. I felt like we'd shared and amazing experience and I was sad to be going our seperate ways. The rest of the guys were a bit less emotional about it. Their reaction let me believe that this was just the beginning.
>>>>> Go to the next story, Spike and Mike Part 2, San Jose >>>>
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