A funny thing happened on the way to this blog: a long and very strange trip through life. I was living in Dallas, TX around the time that David Byrne was filming what would become the movie True Stories. I did not audition because, well, all I had to ride was a bicycle and I was pretty busy between my full-time minimum wage job at Bookstop and my volunteer work at KNON-FM. Besides, I was not exactly photogenic—in my mind, anyway—so it would have been kind of a waste of my time to show up. However, I did appreciate the fact that it was going on at the time.
I knew of some of the locals who were in it—Brave Combo, a great little band that never quite reached the fame that I felt they deserved, had their 15 minutes in that movie. It sticks out in my mind because I remember the drummer for that band hogging the snare drum when Todd Rundgren came through a second time through town on his A Capella tour. I was up there singing back-up vocal during the audience participation portion when Todd sang, “Bang on the Drum All Day,” and I was wearing my KNON t-shirt. It was important in a rather daisy-chain way because I was playing lots of Todd on my show, Remedy for Radio.
But back to this story. I went off to join the Great Peace March after my own 15-minutes moment (which, since it involved being the face of the Pro-Choice Movement in Dallas, may have saved my own life). But before I went off to the GPM, I was tying up loose ends and received a rather strange phone call while I was on the air. Something about David Byrne speaking at a special screening of Stop Making Sense at the Inwood Theater. I think I was supposed to share that information on the air, but something inside of me did not. I wasn’t sure if it was true or rumor, and I had been burned before when sharing information on the air (for example, when I promoted Black Flag and was given a comp ticket for the event—spent my whole evening in the Ladies room because it was not exactly my favorite band after I heard them perform).
I did get two tickets: one for me, and one for a ‘fan’ of mine who was going off to Swarthmore College very soon. I wonder what happened to that guy, anyway? Even so, it was a very interesting Evening with David Byrne. While I did not get to meet the man, I felt sorry when some schmuck shouted out the question, “Why the big suit?” Obviously, that person did not have much of a life or a sense of humor. Even through Byrne’s deadpan expression, I could kind of tell that he was getting tired of it in a ‘Freebird’ sort of way—you know, when some idiot shouts “Freebird!!!!” at every single fucking concert. It was one of those moments.
Watching the movie afterwards—Stop Making Sense, that is—was an act of culture clash between film students and fans of the Talking Heads. The fans wanted to sing and dance, but the ever-too-serious film students wanted nothing of that around them. I was not exactly a film student, so I thought it was even more fun to notice that pockets of resistance would emerge with people dancing for about five seconds before being told to sit down by their neighboring filmgoers. That, and all the shusshing. It was as if the film students were parents and the fans were boisterous children. Well, in a way, we were children—in the very good way. It was our culture we were bringing to the screening, and I have no doubt that David Byrne was enjoying the anarchy from a very safe distance.
If this were a movie instead of a blog, the script would say “flash forward’ to 1992. I was in San Francisco at the time, though not in the way I had ever wanted to imagine. I had been homeless for about six months or so, and had just gotten back to SF after spending way too much time in Santa Monica and surrounding areas. After working in a place where I felt my soul was endangered and where I was bullied for various reasons, I had a manic episode and got on a plane to LAX. It was an interesting ‘vacation’ in that I had no lodging or money. I only got back to SF after they sent my last paycheck to Step Up on Second (please donate through eScrip if you can). When I got back, it was harsh. I was hanging around Haight Street for the most part because, well, that was what you did when you were homeless: hang out on Haight, get health care from the Haight Ashbury Free Clinic (another fine recipient for donations, BTW).
Enter David Byrne, riding in the back of a cab down Haight Street. I was sitting on the sidewalk,and it was late one night. He had someplace he had to go, and I was pretty much nowhere. For some weird reason, our eyes met. I think he recognized me—after all, my face had been plastered on the front page of the Dallas Times Herald back in 1985. Also, I was working at the Granada Cinema and Drafthouse after returning from the Great Peace March and the assistant manager, a woman named Pan, invited me to stay after work to sit up in the Crying Room of the theater to watch True Stories. I don’t know if I was the only one who was given this opportunity, and we weren’t exactly scheduled to show this movie anytime soon. But I had just made a friend from The Church of the Subgenius (hi, Ken!) and there is a very strong connection between that for-profit religion and True Stories (the song “Puzzling Evidence” is a meme right out of the COS).
But seeing David Byrne in that context—me being homeless and him being a wealthy musician and artist—was just a bit too surreal. Of course, now I am no longer homeless but I am far from wealthy. Oh, and I now drive a car (which sadly you have to do where I live because the transit sucks) even though I’ve known how to drive a stick since I was 18. Anyway, last night I was watching TV out of the corner of my eye and out of curiosity I wondered what was on the cable. Encore Family was showing (drumroll, please) True Stories. I had forgotten the details of the past, but everything came flooding out in my mind and memory that night. I was still watching with my subconscious mind, but it really did distract me from playing DC Universe Online (Level 7 player, character’s name is Boreales—and yes, that is how you spell it even though the spellcheck is going nuts with the red underline).
Although I really doubt that David Byrne reads my blog—yeah, that would be a major conceit on my part if I thought that—it would be kind of cool if he did. I screen all my comments through Captcha, so I don’t want to have a “Sparticus” moment where I get a hundred emails claiming to come from David Byrne. Settle, people. Even if he did read this, I doubt he would write to me anyway. He has a life, and it is far removed from mine. Still, I do understand why he did not stop the cab, and I cannot blame him at all. I did recognize the expression in his eyes: compassion mixed with regret. All in all, it is a very human combination of feelings that we all feel from time to time. Mixed emotions are what make us human, after all.
Anyway, I have miles to go before I stop. I’ll be doing what I can to rise above even my own circumstances. I will be dealing with my life and challenges, but I will not let a lack of wealth keep me down. I say this because I know that being wealthy is not the answer to life’s problems. It’s just something that happens if you are lucky in this world either through birth or random circumstances, such as winning the Lottery. Then again, if you’ve read anything by Shirley Jackson, you will not exactly think that the latter is a good thing. And there isn’t exactly a certain degree of separation between myself and David Byrne. Just a series of unfortunate coincidences.
Oh, and no video or photos in this blog. I really do not want the MPAA or the RIAA on my ass shutting me down. Those guys are evil fuckers.