a year ago...A buddy of mine brought a Whiskeytown
CD into Magic Gardens and asked me to strip
to it. Usually I say "no fuckin' way," but he
compared it to Bob Dylan and I was feeling generous.
I didn't like it. It sounded like limp-dick indie
2001, NYC...A cutie-pie with a Southern accent
ambled into the bar I was tending. I had just
opened, and he and I were alone for a couple hours
and got to know each other. He was in town with
his girlfriend, Lucinda Williams, who was on The
Late Show With David Letterman that night.
He told me how much he luhhhved her and that he
was the bass player for Ryan Adams and Whiskeytown.
And that I was pretty darn cute.
2001...I'm back in Pornland on a working vacation,
and some broad I'm stripping with is dancing to
limp-dick indie rock. After hearing it a couple
times, I think, "Saaay, this is kinda like Bob
Dylan!" I peek at her CD and see that it's Ryan
2001...I move back to town and buy Heartbreaker
and decide that me 'n' Ryan Adams are destined
to marry. I ask around a bit among bands and New
York acquaintances, and everyone says he's a prima-donna
dick. But no one's a dick to me! Except Zeke.
2001...Ryan's coming to town! So naturally
I want to interview him, marry him, or at least
get into the show for free. But for the first
time in my life I get "NO" for an answer. In abject
desperation, I BUY A TICKET. Five hours later,
I'm takin' it off, and Ryan Adams and his band
walk into Magic Gardens. Jeezuss! I stumble over
and flirt and fawn and try not to propose. But
Mr. Adams just broods and sneers and then scampers
off to play Playstation. He generously leaves
the rest of the band to me.
that evening...I'm wasted on whiskey and high
on life. I take my new friends over to Mary's
for last call where we hook up with one of my
slutty stripper gal-pals. We all go over to the
Benson and hang out on the beds and drink straight
vodka and admire the upholstery. Then I start
making out with my guy, and my stripper friend,
feeling a mean competitive streak, asks for a
day...The usual flurry of gossipy phone calls
ensues. In between squeals of "giant bulbous cock"
and "adorable Southern drawl," the guys call and
put me on the Guest List plus three. The topic
of conversation quickly switches from ass-sex
night...The show's a show. Ryan plays a Telecaster.
Eventually we're all cozily settled in on the
tour bus. My girl's playin' fawning groupie slut
and I'm doing my usual "So, what's Bob Dylan really
like?" shtick when all of a sudden Ryan Adams
blows in like a tornado! He's mad and has his
arms full of Doritos. He wants to play Playstation
in the back room where everyone's hangin' out
and says to the roadie, "Get them out of here
now! Tell them the guy who's paying for this bus
wants to use it!"
party's over. The guys just shrug their shoulders
and ask me if I want to go with 'em to Lincoln,
Nebraska. They're celebrating a birthday on the
way with a bit of locally harvested opium, and
do I have an I Dream of Jeannie
outfit? A tempting offer, but I wasn't gonna hang
around Ryan's bitchy aura
for one more heartbeat. The guy's a prima-donna
dick! Sure it's hard to be
so heartbroken all the time, plus he's short and
people always get him mixed
up with Bryan Adams, but you'd think he could've
managed one tiny little
hopelessly smitten glance in my direction.
the end I gotta give it to the guy for providing
me with my first-ever genu-whine "Rock Star" experience.
Plus I think that stripper I took with me might
have fallen in love. How nauseatingly cute. Somebody
has to, I guess.