The Watery Flame of L.A. Dayz

The Watery Flame of  L.A. Dayz

The L. A. music scene  in the mid-1970’s was in a flow to several genres of music, all from the same source and as it's artistic license and part of the process was interpreted some albeit considered themselves more so rebels than the others, some commercially blatant other not so much.

Attire was a de facto sign of your leanings, still shards of the 1960’s rebellious spirit lived loudly, but more in terms with some in anarchy as protest, realizing the establishment, the machine was never in the people’s interest. So the rivers of music in the rock genre went to disco, rock, heavy metal and punk and rockabilly. The blues and R&B and some country was always part of the influence as being the soul of rock music.

Although I do like all music and did go to a few disco bars and many varied punk clubs I will stay with the rock end of the scene. These will be different escapades of those days, seemingly disjointed by that was part of the tapestry of those days.

One evening I was with a couple and my femme fatale at the time and the couple I had known for years. We were at The Rainbow on Sunset having some appetizers and Glenn truly enjoyed his alcohol, no judgement here as I know I do not walk on water. Someone came by our table and said there was a party for some band up in Mount Olympus, (Laurel Canyon-a more upscale - with the moniker "hip"-progressive-artist area) and had an invitation with directions and gave us one after some banter about bands , music and the local scene. Usually, my drink of choice, apparently a candy substitute was usually anisette (I enjoyed licorice) and I had partaken several, with a low alcohol content, it was more relaxing than a personality changer which harder alcohol always managed to accomplish in the end. There was a feeling I get when I feel its gonna be one of those evenings that you couldn’t make up a plot to go along with the evening. Appetizers lasted for quite awhile, usually stuffed mushrooms with an Italian feel. Conversations went on and the oblong shape of the booths allowed a jaunt around 

 all the tables and more often than not you’d see someone you knew or an acquaintance make small talk and many times meet new people. On the idea of making the rounds….

Not or ever quite sure what brought this about, needless to say, this impromptu craziness was part of a twisted charm of the day or /or evening……Well Glenn had apparently made  either a bet or some macabre pact which entail these two vagabond’s going from Table to table and with the feigned voice of an English waiter or butler proudly exclaiming your appetizer is here, and placing down a plate proceeded to plop their member upon it…uncouth no doubt…but harmless even if an affront to your sensibilities. While chatting we noticed the two twisted individual’s  coming up the aisle of booths and stopping at every table not quite sure what was ensuing…..they reached our table and proceeded with their prank…my femme fatale was a bit embarrassed and glens wife shook her head and said glenn please…so the inebriated twosome  stopped the antics only to head around to the other side of booths.

I excused myself to use the restroom and made my way through the people talking to people at booths  or trying to transverse the crowd as I was….as always ran into a few friends, some you just acknowledged and others you would exchange a few words…always a few flirtations…but that was in any scene, always a few you’d rather not see, those were still the days of forgotten one –nite stands and some with dull regrets…some jovial, some with a simmering animosity. On the other side of the coin, guys whom you- nor they could care less about with a bubbling despise popping thru the surface with little sparks. Others who were maybe only acquaintances, but a good friendship even with not much quality time, maybe seen at the same parties –clubs and homes.

 Well, the night carried on  and sans too many more hijinks that were that noticeable, granted you can’t be everywhere, nonetheless there are always miss or mister 411 who seems to be self-elected to be the gossip-news source for those concerned or not. The last order of stuffed mushrooms, we did eat a bit more substantial at one point-while superb when hot or warms does have a tendency to take on a metamorphosis into something akin to spackle covered in some oozing glue once it has gotten colder which was a subtle omen that whatever festivities lie ahead would take place elsewhere.

Being in agreement that we should at the least, check the party out in Mount Olympias and it being about 2 a.m. we headed out the doorway, which seemed to spark the same idea in many others and it became a slow move out to the door, but that was also part of the ambience of it all as you said hello to those you missed-people came in and out and many times late just to catch some people or grab a late bite to eat. You could always catch up a bit on many you knew in quick passing or either be completely ignored or get a flirtatious glance or blatant stare.

Finally made it out to the parking lot, which had its own rituals, where was the party, meet at which coffee shop,  the meat market for boys and girls generally, always with exceptions. Many wanted to parade their vehicles from the valet others like us just wished to get to the car, I will admit, the Jensen-Interceptor always caught my eye in that or any parking area-Ferraris-Cobras-Porches-Lamborghinis-TR6-Vettes-Rolls-Bentleys and such are nice but the Interceptor was the mobile, to me.

After a few quick chats we had a voyage to a party next on the evening menu...it appeared Glenn had gotten something on his pants from his hijinx and his stained pants we now with that segue- the center of sarcasm from the three of us....hence, we had to go to let him get a clean pair of pants...they lived down the hill from sunset...considered West Hollywood...but not the popular artsy and gay community which was a bit further west, where the "Blue Whale" building located and loving called the "Swish Alps"-but that was the popular publicized area, that missed Silverlake, Hyperion, Hollywood at the least. 

 Of course there was only one pair of pants clean,  and Glenn magically found a bottle of Smirnoff 100 proof vodka and started drinking from the bottle-to be in the right frame for the party....i too a shot and knew that ended that, just never had a taste for hard booze, Glenn saw no end and we took the bottle with us and he keep trying to get his blood level 100 proof. 

Drove up Sunset to Laurel Canyon Blvd, made the left turn and then the co-pilot and I chimed in on directions...and I trying to trying to confuse him, but if you have ever been in Laurel Canyon and not a native of the area, you needed no help getting lost. We headed up according to directions and could not find the street, not too strange as some streets were only a block long back then.  You sometimes feel as if you are in a maze, many times ending up back where you were a few minutes before and getting to a target confusion rate....targeted or not. 

Onward up the hills which had areas of trees and brush before you'd see homes and if the homes were on hillsides, they tended to not be there, especially if their parking was a path that went down to their home, so you only have the home numbers on stenciled on the curb and usually not too well lit or barely at all. Hoping that wasn't the case now, we keep peering albeit squinting for any address numbers or street signs. About half an hour elapsed and what little sanity we clung to was ebbing away and Glenn was demolishing the 100 proof vodka. Then magically the street appeared and the party house was  several doors up at the top and was that lavish lot with an actual front yard with avant -garde  architecture and there were some cars parked on the street in from usually signaling the party spot.

Glenn was several sheets to the wind but he could hold his liquor, as an aside to show a case in point, Glenn was an accomplished roadie for bands and had at this time toured with Detective where Kiss was the opening act. This was for sound checks for the next evening. Well it seems that Kiss wanted to be the loudest band and as Glenn was plugging in the amps to a wall of Marshalls, one of the Kiss roadies, many were English told Glenn he couldn't plug in all the amps, so he went over and unplugged several, needless to say Glenn calmly tossed the Kiss roadie off the stage and plugged the amps back in. More Kiss roadies showed up and Glenn threw a few more off the stage, outnumbered Glenn said if they could drink him under the table, he'd limit the use of amps, and these were mainly Englishmen who, not to profile but as roadies and some of their homeland activities were capable of handling the challenge that Glenn presented. So they found a bar and the challenge began, no surprise that Glenn drank them all under the table and that's how the story was told to me, at least what I remember of it.

So off to the house and the door was open and a few of the band members who were renting it were by the door...a few we both knew from music circles or same friends shook hands and they said there was food, booze and goodies located around the house. It was one of the homes that had a lot of white, which we ribbed Glenn saying he had coordinated quite well for the home white rugs and chairs with white marble floors in between. A nice view- partially of Laurel Canyon and then of Sunset Strip and West Hollywood. It was a different crowd to a degree some we knew- many we didn't and Glenn had levitated to one of the wet bars and we three had found a few appetizers worth eating. There was some music on but at least not at a mind-numbing volume so we could converse without have to yell into each other's ears. So we were looking out at the view and people-watching. Once in awhile someone we knew would come over and say hi and give us their take on the party and the band and of course-the people here too. 

Well, seems that Glenn (he could have been sarcastic) decided to talk with some people and  from what we could hear, they made the mistake of being arrogant with him and that is always preceded by Glenn when he says " Well Mister" so a few more barbs went back and forth. Glenn, and remember he had nearly killed a bottle of 100 proof vodka and then was partaking of the drinks around the house and so he turns around and pokes his ass in their direction and lets loose a (fart) that was a cross between a foghorn, trombone and blubbering lips..... so the glenn turns around and there is a poop/fart stain on his pants, which was exaggerated by his white pants, my femme fatale with me , was in a bit of shock, but the broke into laughter along with us, noticing we were more matter-o-factly about Glenn's hijinx...I called him over and once he understood what we were talking about, he took off the sweater he was wearing and left and came back with it around his waist, I shuttered to think what he had done with the dirty underwear but was rest assured it was on display somewhere in the house.

This was fun to listen to the two ladies talk about what the other's were wearing interspersed with my kind jibes about someone who was there they didn't know I knew and told what little of their story i knew. The femme fatale I was with was considering moving to New York as she had had a few offers to join a few modeling agencies there and that was the mecca, and too in the days of Warhol, GBGB and at that juncture in time, a mecca for artists, designers and the modeling capital for fashion. I thought it a good idea, said we'd all miss her but if that was her calling, a move there would make sense.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught Glenn running to the front door....and they with his usual gusto was throwing up in the street in front of the house as i followed him out the door and a small audience was watching behind us....it seemed he had eaten something that had fish in it and it turned his stomach, oddly the alcohol on a level to cause alcohol poisoning to many didn't bother him.. Seems he tried to get into several bathrooms but to no avail. To his credit, he didn't kick the door down, probably restrained by the vortex of fish and whatever else was swirling in his stomach.
And so a grand entrance had been made and a grand exit had too been accomplished, culminating with someone in the middle of the street throwing up on Mount Olympus gave the party a highlight, possibly surpassed by someone staining his pants in a physical salute to some arrogant shits.
Glenn made it back into the house and magically a bathroom was unoccupied and he cleaned himself up a bit. It was time to go, we assumed Glenn would pass out in the back of the car and we'd go to Canter's...n Fairfax ...

...best deli ever...for some coffee and a bite to eat and get something to go for Glenn whenever he did wake up, which if he passed out would be much later. We got out of the car and as we got to the doorway, there was a gentleman lighting up a cigar and it took a second before we realized it was Buddy Hackett and as we entered you had two different superb food smells....one one side there was a bakery still baking with their goodies in a long glass case and on the other sides was all the making of sandwiches and the salads and goodies that go with them, this was the to-go area we'd hit on the way out and we headed in and found a table as Glenn no doubt dreamed of Sugar plum fairies...  

Back in the mid-60's in San Francisco, there were some social activities

Back in the mid-60's in San Francisco, there were some social activities that became a mainstay, at least as thing s got the flavor of that period of time that it isn't somewhat hijacked by another venue-person or thing.


 
There were times when you had seen a band so many times that it didn't upset you to, in this case there was a small dining room at the carousel ballroom-Fillmore west, which allowed you a sit down and usually ran into a friend(s) or acquaintance and you could hear the band, but not as loud as the concert floor area.
 Sitting in said lounge area, i was surprised by Dogman, (who had cleaned up his act) and another friend who had a classic Desoto, a true tank, but a true classic and in well maintained shape. anyhow we had shared the basic niceties and the lowdown on the drug scene but more so on pot. We began comparing kilos (2.2 pound pressed bricks of pot-packaged usually in shrink wrapped plastic).
Different growers and then the distributors had their various trademarks , some had pesos in the top middle on one side of the brick (some bitched the weight loss wasn't worth the peso)and others had a wax seal from animals to a trademark stamp and actually sometimes had funny comic newspapers wrapped around them. The conversation slowly drifted to the colors of pot we had encountered, such as panama red, Oaxaca  bright green was the rage at the time and rumors of Jamaican ganja about but sadly at that time never came to fruition
 

Some people had a map of the wold and then pull out a bag and roll a joint and point the the area , then region it was from and then get into hashish or kief hence more than just the two Americas. This could take a bit because you usually had your stash with you for the occasion and more regions were looked upon and enjoyed, needless to say you'd happily be three sheets to the winds as you said your good byes. As the conversation continued we broached the subject of of how much pot could one smoke in a sitting? Some said several hours to an evening. I began the story of how a friendly bet of whom could out smoke whom. And the tale begins. I had known this gentleman from high school and we had always got along, he was a loner to a degree...but i was too..and Bart was my road dog but we were more so outside of school or if we ended up in the same class. So a loner by who's ever standards. Well, I ran into Brad at a concert, he offered me a joint and I then gave him several in return and talked about which pot they were, he then said he could smoke pot for hours and soon we ended up with a gentleman's bet of whom could out-smoke whom  he and he gave me his home phone number and I remembered he lived in pacific heights as I think I had been to his pad once after school and smoked a joint as I was on my way home. He was living at home and we were smoking and his mom knocked on the door of his room and had a tray of drinks and munchies and seemed fine with us smoking and looked like a fashion model or very chic dressed businesswoman to me as I thought about Brad and they seemed physically polar opposites and it wasn't his step-mom-but i think her acceptance of us smoking and being so nice and thoughtful was what really "bowled me over, no pun intended.
So I told him I'd give him a call and we could set up the smoke-a-thon. Not sure how much time elapsed but we got the day set. I then remembered that he actually had his own entrance that was a set of stairs on the side of the house that led to his room as i got there.
I had been there once before during my high school days and vaguely remember the layout. Brad welcomed me and led me to a table in the middle of the room.  Asked if I was hungry and said, as I had noticed water, juices and soda on the table, I was good for now. Told me there was a bathroom where the door on the left was and a couch and chairs if i wanted to pull any over, trying to be funny he said I could pass out if it got too much for me and i told, he may wanna us it, although there was his bedroom in the next adjoining room.
 
There was a box of Zig-Zag papers
 
 for us to us and a bowl with  (were popular at the time) several dozen different brands of rolling papers some from other countries, some were with designs and colors. Although Zig-Zag was the paper of choice.
 
 Brad opened up a wooden box and laid out about 8 lids (about and ounce each)


 and grinned then said he had some hash too. I had worn my leather jacket, where there was a lining and actually came with an opening to stash stuff. I began to reach in and get my goodies and that comprised about 6 lids and an assortment of hash and keif. We then found out we had two crops of Panama red, Oaxaca , and purple buds from southern Mexico-the other lids were various Mexican crops and areas. To take the hassle out of choosing we just went down the line of baggies, alternating between mine and Brads. There were several water pipes (now called bongs) but maybe on the smoke-a-thon was over we check out the pipes (which we did) know our throat would be parched and we made our rules only joints for the duration, until said and done.
 
Both, actually at that time most everyone was adept as rolling and us were pros....now we were also the type who did not smoke the seeds, generally they would pop and the smoke was harsher from them and only with really pollen laden buds did we not remove  what we called lumber, the stems from the buds or leaves and loose stems.
 
Now ground rules were laid down, drink and food available upon request-when we wanted, a kinda little break, but then not really as we smoke and drank and ate.
So we were off we rolled ten out of each bag, the both of us rolling five each-there was a color t.v. to the right of us and those were the days of LPs, the 45's and 33 rpm. so we'd put one on once in a while.
 
The first bag was a bright green with green-yellow buds above average but so good, but not noteworthy. When we got to the Oaxaca, we had gone through about 30 joint each and notably high, we in no way ready to stop.
 
 The one Oaxaca was green with most buds of the same color. The other i had brought was a similar green but the buds were pollen laden and the hairs of the buds were several color, hence the name

Oaxaca rainbow,
 
now this was in the realm of potent pot. And the munchies had set in, the drinks kept our throats from getting parched by didn't allay our hunger. This time we had the choice of going down to the kitchen.Whereas the first time i had been over and i think Bart and a few other had come over (back in high school dayz) we were smoking and there was a know on the door and his mother, who was dressed like a model and wasn't quite our image of one's mother had a tray of food and drinks and put it down on the table for us and Brad introduced us. I think the other aspect was she seemed to have no problem we were all smoking pot in her kids room and even brought us food. Then she leaf and we continued to smoke. There was a stairway down  that led to a hallway with different large photos of people, it seemed from around the world said his mom had taken the pictures and that was kind of a job she did from time to time and said his dad traveled a lot on business.
We got to the end of the hallway and it broke off to the kitchen living room, an office and in the distance the door entryway. We ambled into the kitchen with glazed eyes and the appetite of a starved grisly bear. Big kitchen, first time I had ever seen an island it even had a little sink and what look like a small stove with venting over it. then a big stove and next to that the biggest refrigerator I had ever seen. We open it an get some chocolate milk and two huge slices of cake. There's a tray we are loading up. We open some of the cabinets and grab a couple bags of chips, a package of red licorice a bag of cookies.....so with the substance of munchies we tarried back upstairs.
The evening went on and at the 18 hour mark we noticed our voices we a bit rough and our throats a bit parched....but both out of fun and the challenge of saying we could out-smoke one another...we carried on...after our four round thru the various lids of smoke,,,we took a break by smoking several types of hash...Lebanese being the best at the time compared to the others, but there was some Nepalese I had forgot about in my top pocket and we indulged and that was infinitely the cream of the crop. Smooth but with the strong strong yet delicate taste of well nurtured mature buds.
 

We carried on and hit about the 30 hour mark-no sleep-and called it a truce as our throats were happily hammered from the various strains of buds and hashish and oh yes some kief -(a collection of the loose resinous pieces and pollen that are gathered  after sifting and made into a kinda bar or block) , always a high green color good, but to us not quite the kick of potent hashish (The name hashish comes from "hassassins", members of an Arab medieval Islamic sect, famous for their assassinations, and who were heavy cannabis consumers. (the name "cannabis" is the Latin word for common hemp, taken from the Semitic languages). In fact, in the Islamic world, its consume was common, and the stories of "The thousand and one nights" abound with hashish consuming characters.  or well grown pot from various regions of other countries and hashish is a paste made of the resinous secretions which store in the female flowers (so only the female individuals can deliver hashish), of an intense coffee color).

The resin contains much higher levels of THC, thus the hashish is more powerful than marijuana, containing 40 % THC compared to 10 % in marijuana. The THC is soluble in fat, so it tends to accumulate in fatty tissues (especially in the brain). It resists for about 7 days, that's why one week after the cannabis consume, your body has eliminated just 50 % of the compound.

 
We ate some more as the finishing touch to 30 hours straight of smoking bliss...
Said lets do this again and I headed on down the road.....
Back to the table at the Fillmore -West-the carousel ballroom....Dog -man said he'd had a similar story and then we heard the next adventure...
and just to show you how history goes in circles...


this is updated from the ole days of the 1960's.....


newer rolling paper variations....