Excerpt from last evening
Followed the directions, 101, vineland, moorpark, see the taco stand and park. V shaped parking lot, holds about 6 cars, could add a motorcycle or two in there, judging by the sign out front, I'm surprised there aren't a few, one scooter though, probably Matt. Pull open the first door, almost walk nose first into another set of double doors, about two feet back. They were reminiscent of an old western, except covered in carpet, Clint Eastwood would have been confused for sure.
Walk in, look around and scratch my head, place couldn't hold 30 people if it wanted to, and I didn't see Matt. I need rent money, I need matt. Take a seat at the bar, the bartender, a middle aged woman looking for attention, is busy flirting with some young guy she will never get anywhere with. Personally I would have put 10 on the fact he is gay, I don't really know, but it just added to the fact she was barkin up the wrong tree, probably does that a lot. While continuing this train of thought, put my phone to my ear as I feel a hand on my shoulder,
hey man, thanks for meeting me
No worries, car is easier than a scooter
What do you want to drink?
Beer
Matt orders a Stella and a Rusty Nail, scotch with a splash of somethin or other, don't remember, I don't taint scotch. As he puts his wallet away, he throws 100 on my lap, I scoop it up, and throw him a present. Only one sixth the way to rent, and its already the 5th, thats bullshit, but at least I'm on my way, and I got a free beer sitting right in front of me. First sip forgot about rent and dove into a conversation, ended up being about work, thats where they alway lead. Actors keepin productions halted, the ones that pay better than Jack in the Box anyway, exchange stories of $100 14 hr days and other production gripe.
As the conversation dies down I feel yet another firm grip on my shoulder, but I'm facing everyone I know at the bar, kinda startled me. A voice booms out behind me
I see you like stripes, boy
It could have just been the scene in front of me: small dive bar, 1 pool table, with 2 guys in leather jackets, excessive amounts hair product leaning on the pool tab some way, at all times, 5 or 6 others wandering and socializing, all lit entirely with neon and ropelighs, but when I heard that I swear it sounded like a mafia hitman from the Godfather, or any other old movie. I spin around on the barstool to see, what I come to find out, is a 77 year old man, whos sweater boasted similar horizontal stripes, similar but much more colorful.
Whats with you kids and stripes? Stealin my thunder, see?
I stare, wide eyed in amazement
I'm Wes, whats your name young fella?
By far, the easiest way to describe Wes is a little of something from every decade between 1940-1977, including coke, still soaking into his nostrils.
Jordan
Without skipping a beat and simultaneously reaching to shake my hand, he replied, in a slightly softer tone
Jordan, I'm 77 years old, I've spent 42 of it working in the film industry, I've lived a great life with a lot of women and done a lot of drugs Jordan. Have you ever been to Bangkok?
Stumbling for an answer, I can't believe this guy really exists, finally I'm able to get out the word, no
Oh, Jordan, you have to go! All the major hotels advertise these "opium pipe baths" absolutely tremendous! You go in a hot tub, smoke the best opium you have ever had!
Wes just assumed I have smoked opium before, that made me smile. He became increasingly animated, the farther into his story we got. Continuing, he bellowed,
gorgeous Tai girls rub you down, for hours, and feed you fruit! The girls can't compare to Spain but the opium is the best in the world
As he threw up his hands, to emphasize the joy that the memory alone brought him, I noticed he was missing his 2 smallest fingers on the left hand, my eyebrows turned up and a smile creped in, I don't think he noticed at all. Few minutes his rambles subsided, Matt and myself fell silent, unable to start a conversation that could top, or even compare to a 77 year old man's stories, beefed up by stimulants, like roids for the ego.
Debating on leaving I went outside, with Matt, to have a cig, 2 drags in and a 1982 toyota pickup, red, kinda, pulls in. It was full of crap, literally: mufflers, air cleaners, pizza boxes, soda cans, ect. It looked more like a souped up, motorized shopping cart on its way to the recycle yard with treasure found after a productive day dumpster divin. A man, well dressed, better that you would expect: tie, coat and slacks, cleaned recently, not lookin like they have any business in that truck, slightly chubby, probably late 20's, gets out of the car and adjusts his bowtie. Turning back into the car he pulls out a stack of about 12 framed 16x20 pictures and walks toward the door. The parking lot was full, with 6 cars and a scooter arranged in a V and he just stopped in the middle of the parking V, grabbed these pictures and strolled on over with a smile, either not aware, or didn't care, no one else could leave the parking lot.
Hey, you interested in buyin some pictures?
He starts to thumb through them, as if they are two inch thick pages from the biggest book you have ever seen, supporting it with one knee as he hoped up and down. I stopped trying to come up with responses to these events, they were too many coming at me too fast, awestruck my normal smart ass responses lay and wait long after comedic timing has passed.
There not all of bears you know
At this point I knew, even if I wasn't blocked in, I had no business leaving. A smile turned turned to a chuckle, I couldn't help it. Matt stepped in,
Nah were good, both poor, no work you know
Un-phased he regained composure and walked inside.
We followed him in a minute later, he was engaged in conversation with the bartender, doing her best to seem interested. Wes must have thought of everything he forgot to say, or just got back from the mens room because I had a novel read to me in about 20 minutes. I couldn't process it all especially because during the conversation, I was trying to listen in on the suit and truck guy talk to the bartender. I couldnt grab much, it had something to do with aliens though. Wes told me all about interesting topics such as Barbados not having insects, Red Fox sharing cocaine and hookers in hotel rooms, he threw in the occasional corny, old joke and finished up with which actresses and singers put notches in his belt. Poor, old man, made me as happy as he was trying to make himself, I took his gift and ran with it til 8 AM.
I could write more, it was an amazing night for sure, but I've already spent too much time on this entry, gotta find work!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Walk in, look around and scratch my head, place couldn't hold 30 people if it wanted to, and I didn't see Matt. I need rent money, I need matt. Take a seat at the bar, the bartender, a middle aged woman looking for attention, is busy flirting with some young guy she will never get anywhere with. Personally I would have put 10 on the fact he is gay, I don't really know, but it just added to the fact she was barkin up the wrong tree, probably does that a lot. While continuing this train of thought, put my phone to my ear as I feel a hand on my shoulder,
hey man, thanks for meeting me
No worries, car is easier than a scooter
What do you want to drink?
Beer
Matt orders a Stella and a Rusty Nail, scotch with a splash of somethin or other, don't remember, I don't taint scotch. As he puts his wallet away, he throws 100 on my lap, I scoop it up, and throw him a present. Only one sixth the way to rent, and its already the 5th, thats bullshit, but at least I'm on my way, and I got a free beer sitting right in front of me. First sip forgot about rent and dove into a conversation, ended up being about work, thats where they alway lead. Actors keepin productions halted, the ones that pay better than Jack in the Box anyway, exchange stories of $100 14 hr days and other production gripe.
As the conversation dies down I feel yet another firm grip on my shoulder, but I'm facing everyone I know at the bar, kinda startled me. A voice booms out behind me
I see you like stripes, boy
It could have just been the scene in front of me: small dive bar, 1 pool table, with 2 guys in leather jackets, excessive amounts hair product leaning on the pool tab some way, at all times, 5 or 6 others wandering and socializing, all lit entirely with neon and ropelighs, but when I heard that I swear it sounded like a mafia hitman from the Godfather, or any other old movie. I spin around on the barstool to see, what I come to find out, is a 77 year old man, whos sweater boasted similar horizontal stripes, similar but much more colorful.
Whats with you kids and stripes? Stealin my thunder, see?
I stare, wide eyed in amazement
I'm Wes, whats your name young fella?
By far, the easiest way to describe Wes is a little of something from every decade between 1940-1977, including coke, still soaking into his nostrils.
Jordan
Without skipping a beat and simultaneously reaching to shake my hand, he replied, in a slightly softer tone
Jordan, I'm 77 years old, I've spent 42 of it working in the film industry, I've lived a great life with a lot of women and done a lot of drugs Jordan. Have you ever been to Bangkok?
Stumbling for an answer, I can't believe this guy really exists, finally I'm able to get out the word, no
Oh, Jordan, you have to go! All the major hotels advertise these "opium pipe baths" absolutely tremendous! You go in a hot tub, smoke the best opium you have ever had!
Wes just assumed I have smoked opium before, that made me smile. He became increasingly animated, the farther into his story we got. Continuing, he bellowed,
gorgeous Tai girls rub you down, for hours, and feed you fruit! The girls can't compare to Spain but the opium is the best in the world
As he threw up his hands, to emphasize the joy that the memory alone brought him, I noticed he was missing his 2 smallest fingers on the left hand, my eyebrows turned up and a smile creped in, I don't think he noticed at all. Few minutes his rambles subsided, Matt and myself fell silent, unable to start a conversation that could top, or even compare to a 77 year old man's stories, beefed up by stimulants, like roids for the ego.
Debating on leaving I went outside, with Matt, to have a cig, 2 drags in and a 1982 toyota pickup, red, kinda, pulls in. It was full of crap, literally: mufflers, air cleaners, pizza boxes, soda cans, ect. It looked more like a souped up, motorized shopping cart on its way to the recycle yard with treasure found after a productive day dumpster divin. A man, well dressed, better that you would expect: tie, coat and slacks, cleaned recently, not lookin like they have any business in that truck, slightly chubby, probably late 20's, gets out of the car and adjusts his bowtie. Turning back into the car he pulls out a stack of about 12 framed 16x20 pictures and walks toward the door. The parking lot was full, with 6 cars and a scooter arranged in a V and he just stopped in the middle of the parking V, grabbed these pictures and strolled on over with a smile, either not aware, or didn't care, no one else could leave the parking lot.
Hey, you interested in buyin some pictures?
He starts to thumb through them, as if they are two inch thick pages from the biggest book you have ever seen, supporting it with one knee as he hoped up and down. I stopped trying to come up with responses to these events, they were too many coming at me too fast, awestruck my normal smart ass responses lay and wait long after comedic timing has passed.
There not all of bears you know
At this point I knew, even if I wasn't blocked in, I had no business leaving. A smile turned turned to a chuckle, I couldn't help it. Matt stepped in,
Nah were good, both poor, no work you know
Un-phased he regained composure and walked inside.
We followed him in a minute later, he was engaged in conversation with the bartender, doing her best to seem interested. Wes must have thought of everything he forgot to say, or just got back from the mens room because I had a novel read to me in about 20 minutes. I couldn't process it all especially because during the conversation, I was trying to listen in on the suit and truck guy talk to the bartender. I couldnt grab much, it had something to do with aliens though. Wes told me all about interesting topics such as Barbados not having insects, Red Fox sharing cocaine and hookers in hotel rooms, he threw in the occasional corny, old joke and finished up with which actresses and singers put notches in his belt. Poor, old man, made me as happy as he was trying to make himself, I took his gift and ran with it til 8 AM.
I could write more, it was an amazing night for sure, but I've already spent too much time on this entry, gotta find work!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!