Sir William Welles’ Nocturnal Diary

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

Now, while my “Romancing the Goth” blog posts are usually reserved for romantic tips and tid-bits to give those fortunate enough to be in a relationship ideas to heighten their romance level, I want to shift gears here to discuss, dissect, and delve, into an age old adage:

“It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

Now, everyone of us has heard this at one point in our lives…but have you ever sat down and truly thought about what it means? Sure, on the surface it’s an easy way to soothe someone that has just been a victim of a break-up or, even worse, death of a loved one. Basically stating: “Hey! At least you’ve been there/done that, than rather being some loser that still lives in their parents’ basement!” But, the other day, this quote popped into my head as I was sorting out some emotional issues, and I really, really, started to ponder over this adage. Soon, I realized that I was totally on the fence when it came to this statement! Let us dissect it, shall we?

O.K., first off the quote presents two general, yet distinctive, scenarios, and blatantly states that one is way better off than the other. It’s a pretty broad stroke of a paint brush, if you think about it. I mean, every relationship is different in their own merit…I don’t think you can appropriately group everything into two categories of the ‘have lost’ and the ‘never hads.’ There is way more to consider…but for now we’ll play the game and focus on these two scenarios. Two categories of people: Those who have loved someone (at least once), and those who, for some inexplicable reason, has never loved anyone in their entire very lonely lives. And let me make something abundantly clear right here and now…I’m talking about romantic love…not the family/friend/pet type of love…real passionate/”let’s get married” love! O.K.? Got it? Good! Moving on…

In the first instance, said individual is someone who, at a certain point in his or her life, has had the distinct opportunity to have met another individual and thus proceeded to successfully cultivate the relationship up to a point to which one (the individual in question), or both individuals profess their love to one another. Then, tragically, at that instant, or even years down the line, due to a gaz-illion reasons — most tragic of the bunch: death —  said individual has lost the particular love in question. Quelle tristesse. So now, the individual is left there heart-broken and in pain…and that’s a good thing, right? Hmm…

In the second instance we are introduced to another (albeit tragic in his or her own right) individual who, for some inexplicable, yet obviously horrible, reason has never, and will never, fully experience true and actual love from another living human being. Again, Quelle tristesse…but this type of individual hardly exists!!! Hell, I’ve known and seen severely handicapped (mental & physical) people find great love with others! It’s a basic human instinct to seek it! No…the ‘never have loved’ crowd must be some really fucked up social misfits for this adage to so easily put them down as the worse of the two evils!

And, ultimately, this is, essentially, a battle between ‘two evils,’ is it not? Which one is worse: having a taste of sweet love yet having it removed after only a few bites, or never being able to sit at the table due to some serious lack of social skills, or maybe being a leper?!? Now…don’t get me wrong…if it seems like I’m coming down a bit harsh on the ‘never hads’ set, let me confess that I once belonged to that group…and possibly still do!

Without getting into too much great detail, my past dating life and relationships with the opposite sex has either been non-existent (mostly throughout high-school and college) or at the very least somewhat bizarre. A Con-woman, a stalker, a “I don’t know what just happen for the past month, but did it really happen, and why did it stop?” situation, and Morning-After Pill incident (not in any particular order) is only a taste of the cursed state my social life finds itself in. I don’t even really know if I even experienced true love anyways…but what I do know is that I’ve experienced lots and lots of loss. However, even as I find myself at the age when most men are going through their first or even second second divorce, I pine for romance with someone special…it’s a strong part of my Gothy angst!

Back to the issue at hand…How is it possible that those who have never loved someone be worse off than those that have lost a loved one??? Technically, those who have never loved, or been loved by anyone, do not know (or have experienced) what love actually feels like. Maybe a facsimile might be achieved by what the mass media dictates what real love “should” feel/be like via song lyrics, soap operas, dramas, and reality t.v. shows…but let’s put that aside…that’s a whole other topic for another posting. If anything, the ‘never hads’ might pine for the thought of love…not for anyone specific…someone who, theoretically, they have yet to meet. 

No. I think that I have to argue that it is “worse to have loved and lost than to to have never loved at all!” The pain of heartbreak is intense and very palpable. It cuts through you to the core. It’s almost as if that heavy and fluttering feeling you experience in your head, chest, abdomen, and loins when you are falling in love with someone is suddenly reversed. It feels almost the same, but it’s stronger, darker, and much more hurtful. I’ve had the misfortune of experiencing both within a month’s worth of time…not pleasant. But again…every relationship is different…

Which brings me to a third (unthought of) scenario: the long distance relationship. Why doesn’t the adage cover this set-up? Although highly romantic, the long-distance relationship is in a sort of ‘purgatory’ between the two scenarios of ‘have lost’ and ‘never hads.’ Those who find themselves here are in a committed relationship while having lost said relationship to distance…so technically it’s better than both the ‘have losts’ and the ‘never hads,’ right? Sure, there is hope involved with this situation…however, the long distance relationship is always plagued with problems, namely jealousy, and the inevitable separation of commonality…slowly taking a path toward being a ‘have lost’ when the end-all statement of “I think we should see other people,” is uttered by one of the participants.

Actually, after pondering over this entire subject, I’ve concluded that whomever created this old, and somewhat seemingly wise, saying belonged to the fourth scenario, also missing from said saying, of romance categories: ‘the haves!’ These individuals have it best, don’t they? They found love at least once and still have it…they have no idea what the other ‘never had’ or ‘have lost’ scenarios feel like…but I’m sure they know someone who just went through a gut-wrenching break-up and will smugly advise:

“It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

BULLSHIT!!! The saying should read something like:“It is better to love and hold on to it then to be in a long distance relationship which will more than likely result in a lost love, but if you’ve never loved at all…ignorance is bliss!”

No…I’m not bitter… 

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

As some of you have heard via my Facebook profile, some fucked up Day-Crawler stole my black tuxedo jacket the other night! Oh…I got it back all right…but let me tell you the bizarre series of events to you to prove once and for all that 95% of Day-Crawlers are absolutely and completely brain fractured!!!

After leaving Absoloution’s Walpurgisnacht celebration down on Ludlow Street, I went to a familiar Irish pub found very close (stumbling distance, I like to call it) to my apartment, to say hello to the owner, who is an old friend of mine. I will withhold the name of the establishment here because they were in no shape or form responsible for what happened.

Now, as I walked into the place, I noticed a sizable crowd of Day-Crawlers at the bar and booths…it was a Friday night, I’ll admit, but, again, I know the owner and the staff very well and always feel comfortable there. They actually all light up when I arrive…I am their breathe of ‘putrid’ air!

Being that the warm summertime climate was thwarted upon us like a vengeful tsunami, I naturally decided to peel off my jacket and place it on the back of a stool by my glass of wine. Then, I thought it a good idea to go to the jukebox and play something “different” to liven up this mundane crowd…Harry Belafonte’s “Jump in the Line,” best remembered from the last scene in Beetlejuice, always seems to be a great crowd pleaser…when I return to my stool –very close to where the owner of the bar is standing, mind you — I find some drunken, pudgy, little Day-Crawling girl, not more than 25 orbits around the sun in existence, sitting at my stool, on which my jacket is perched. I think nothing of it and, being quite the gentleman that I am, I relinquish the stool to her and politely move my jacket to the next available one directly to her right.

Soon enough, a few more songs pop into my head and I hurried back to the jukebox to educate all of these Day-Crawlers that there is indeed music that exists outside of the Lady Gaga and Jay Z realm. To tell you the truth, I don’t even remember what I played. The moment I turned back around, I immediately noticed something amiss…namely my jacket!

I instinctively ran out of the bar in a panic only to find the street perfectly barren as I scanned the horizons. I ran back in to ask the security guard/bouncer if he’d seen anyone leave with a black jacket. He informed me that only a small group of girls just left. I wasn’t so much concerned for my jacket as much as for the invaluable New Goth City Matrix cell phone kidnapped in its pocket!!!! Then it hit me…I’ll call the Matrix phone from my personal cell phone, which I keep in my vest pocket! As I speed dialed the NGC Matrix phone, I thought to myself that the ‘perp’ wouldn’t be foolish enough to answer it so soon after the crime, right? It rang twice…

“Hello?” a girl’s slurred voice answered.
“Hey! You’ve got my jacket,” I snapped back.
“Yeah…”
“Well come back here and give it back to me!” I ordered.
“No…”
“What do you mean no, you crazy bitch?!?”
“I’m not going back…you can come meet me,” she replies right before hanging up on me!

I was seething by now. I have no clue in which direction to head in. I started toward 3rd Avenue since the subways were in that direction as I dialed MY phone back. She picks up again:

“What?” she smugly answers.
“Where the fuck are you?”
“60th and 2nd…”
“Come back to the *** bar this instant,” I barked.
“No…”
“Fine…just stay at 60th and 2nd…I’ll find YOU!!!”

The next few seconds were a blur as I dashed back toward 2nd Avenue where I should find her at a speed that even impressed myself while I was trying to keep her on the line.

Then, as I rounded the corner, I saw, in the distance, the same pudgy drunk Day-Crawler from before…holding my jacket. My eyes and mind locked onto her like an Eagle on its unsuspecting prey. In an instant I found myself snatching back my jacket and phone from her clutches. To add insult to injury, she starts giving ME attitude via a snide look! 

“What the fuck is your malfunction?” I snap at her.
She stumbled a bit as her eyes tried to focus on the both of me and added, “Whatever, dude…”
“Whatever? You fuckin’ stole my jacket! What the fuck do you mean: ‘Whatever, dude?’”

She stumbled around a bit more trying to get her footing on obviously a sidewalk that was moving way too much under her feet for her taste. At this point I just took pity on her drunken stupidity.

“Go home, you stupid Day-Crawler,” I finally state as I slip on my jacket, feeling its welcomed familiarity over my shoulders, and turned back toward the bar…leaving her to find her way home without getting raped or killed. Good luck with that, I thought to myself as she stumbled in the opposite direction.

As I returned toward the original scene of the crime, I notice a small Aqua-Green box of Listerine breath strips lying on the sidewalk before me. This reminds me that I had a small pack of these in my jacket pocket. I check said pocket and indeed…they were gone! I pick up the fallen breathe strips and, sure enough, they were full…these were mine!!! What else is missing, my mind raced once again. In a flash, I took a mental inventory of my belongings while conducting a full upper torso search of myself. Result: Only one thing missing, a pair of very cool, and fragile, purple sunglasses that, fortunately, I just bought two extra pairs of, from the Gothic Renaissance store for only $8.99 each, just three days prior to the incident. Evidently, she was going through my pockets and dumping out stuff she deemed not worthy or uninteresting…fucking KLEPTO!!!

But the lesson in all of this is thus: Even though to most Day-Crawlers I look strange and evil — Hell! Some of these morons think I’m actually Satan walking the Earth! — I am, again, a proper gentleman that has vowed never to hit or strike a woman…except in maybe extreme self-defence…especially not a pathetic drunk one such as this one. This girl will never, ever realize how lucky she was that she picked my jacket to steal and to have been stupid enough to answer my Matrix phone…there a plenty of idiotic misogynists men out there, running loose, who would have gladly beat the shit out of this girl (or worse) for far less than what she did to me!!! And one day, for she is still young and dumb, sadly for her, it shall happen…

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles

=)

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

While strolling to work yesterday I passed by the church of Scientology. Now, you and I know perfectly well those religious nut-jobs are confused at it is…but check out how they chose to decorate their church:

QUE? Why do they decorate for Xmas? Isn’t Xmas for the Xtians (tee hee) and Catholics?
Great! Now I’m confused!

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

While I’ve been posting all of this romantic stuff on my blog, I was thinking of pet names people in a relationship call each other, like sweetie, darling, smoochums, lovey, and honey. HONEY! EWWWW!!!!! If there is something you should know about me is that I detest honey and find it to be the sickest thing on Earth humans eat! Andrew Zimmern on Bizarre Foods can do an entire show on the disgusting ooze that is honey!

Don’t you realize what honey is?!?! It’s bee vomit!!!! Did you know that from the moment a bee slurps up nectar from a flower to the final point when honey is…well…honey, it is ingested and regurgitated and then ingested again (mouth to mouth!!!) between 23 different bees!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! UGH!!! I’m getting nauseous just thinking about it. I need a bucket!

Don’t Eat Honey!!!

See you in the Dark!
Sir William (retching) Welles

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

The craziest shit keeps happening to me…WHY?!? Just last night (Tuesday), after a small stint at Otto’s Shrunken Head for Father Vincent’s Dark Water, I sauntered up to my local neighborhood bar, the Blue Room, to say hello to a few non-Goth friends, including the Manager/Bartender, Bob, who is undergoing chemotherapy, and call it an early night. Actually, another one of these friends was M.C.ing a karaoke night there which was always very painful to hear due to drunken idiots who think that they sound like a top-grade singer when belting out a Guns ‘n Roses tune.

I sit down at my usual stool at the end of the bar and quietly sip on my habitual glass of white wine with a glass of ice on the side, while jotting down a few words in my notebook. Hogging the karaoke was this English “bloke” that was rather dweebish and definitely drunk. I paid no mind to any of it. Soon enough my friend wrapped up the karaoke session at about 1:15AM. Whew! But, sure enough, a moment later, I felt this drunk guy’s eyeballs pointing my way. Oh Crap, I thought to myself, he’s going to want to talk to me, isn’t he? Just as he tried to sit down on the stool next to me, I got up and headed to the bathroom to avoid any conversation with this Elvis Costello looking idiot.

As I exited the bathroom, this guy then asks me if I want to play a game of pool with him. “Uh…no, I don’t play pool,” I stated to avoid, yet again, any conversation with this fool and walked off to regain my stool and glass of wine at the head of the bar. The next thing I know this guy sits next to me again! I had to double-check that I didn’t wander into a gay bar by mistake, but nope, same ol’ Blue Room (maybe the name threw him for a loop). Suddenly, I am having the following surreal interaction with this guy that went exactly like this (he starts):

“Let me ask you an obvious question,” he says. Now, I’m thinking he is going to ask me if I was a Vampire, a devil worshipper, in a cult…you know the usual nonsense. No.
“What question,” I ask naively.
“How much do you charge?”
“How much do I…huh?” I exclaim. “Charge for what?”
“You will probably think I am a fucking idiot for asking…”
I quickly return, “Yes, I do think you are a fucking idiot,” but I press on, “but how much I charge for what?”
He blushes a bit, I scowl, he continues, “You know. How much do you charge?”
WTF?!?!?!?! “Charge FOR WHAT?!?!?!” I yell. Now in my mind I’m having a debate with myself. Should I just crack my fist across this guy’s face (the manly, barroom brawly way) and possibly get the cops involved — there was a squad car parked directly across the street — and possibly be charged with assault, not to mention possibly breaking a nail (LOL!)? Should I simply walk away? Should I tell this guy to “bugger off” (which what he was possibly looking for in the first place)? Or what?
At that point, Bob, the Manager/Bartender, sensing a commotion at the end of the bar, instructs this “bugger” to move to the opposite end of the bar by stating, “He doesn’t want to talk to you, buddy! C’mon! Go to your beer at the other end!”
This guy turns to me, sways a bit and asks me, “You don’t want to talk to me?”
“FUCK NO!” is what I responded in an instant. All eyes are on this scene now. Then, after taking the biggest hint known to mankind, he moved down to the other end of the bar, and thus leaving me alone to ridicule the entire situation with my group of friends. Bonus: Within the next 20 minutes finishing a sloppy game of pool, this idiot was promptly thrown out of the establishment for being…well…a fucking annoying freak!!!

And, of course, he tries to protest and attempts to come back in for one last beer. “GET OUT!!!!” we all scream at him. It always amazes me how when every time some really shitfaced guy gets thrown out of a bar, any bar, they fight tooth and nail to get back in, as if it is the only bar in town! Why would you want to go back into a place where everyone thinks you’re an absolute tool for further humiliation? I Just don’t get it!

Back to the issue at hand: Let me get one thing straight with everyone right now: often, due to the length of my hair, the occasional eye make-up (Guy-Liner!), my black nail polish covered claws, and meticulous fashion style, as well as my disinterest of cars, sports, and other testosterone related activities (other than acourtin’ the ladies), I do get prejudged as a homosexual…which I am not. Comedian Russell Brand says it best:

There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with being gay, and, in case you haven’t realized it yet but, the Goth culture has quite a lot in common with the Gay community, along with some overlaps from time to time. So, calling or assuming I am gay is not an insult to me. Point black.
BUT A GAY PROSTITUE?!?!?!?!?!?!?  WHERE THE FUCK DID THAT COME FROM?!?!?!?!?!!?

See you in the dark!
Sir William Welles

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

Q: What is the difference between Los Angeles and a petri dish?
A: The petri dish actually has Culture in it!

The other night, at The Court of Lazarus, if you were present, you might have been privy to me having a rather heated debate-slash-disagreement between myself and a friend of mine who has decided to make a “life choice” to “Go West” to Los Angeles to pursue “Artistic Opportunities.” During that conversation (turned somewhat ugly) I stirred something up from the back of my brain that I managed to tuck away in recent years due to my concentration of the scene here in N.Y.C.; and that certain something was my deep seeded loathing of that cesspool of a city and everything it represents (L.A., that is)! I got so worked up and upset in my mind the next day that I wrote (only in my notebook/man-purse) a blog draft that ended up being nothing more than a scathing, juvenile, and uninformative rant. I am better than that, so I am currently attempting to have a second, more high-brow, go at explaining why I feel Los Angeles, as a whole, should immediately sink into the Pacific Ocean (I didn’t say I was going to be all smiles and giggles in this second take, now did I?) 

To start off on the right note here, I want to offer you a visual to demonstrate clearly my feelings toward L.A.: Do you remember the scene they’ve kept repeating in the Terminator movies in which Sarah Conner (played by Linda Hamilton) has that vision/dream where she is at the playground trying to warn the children and their families fruitlessly about the upcoming doom and then the city of Los Angeles, in the distance behind them, suddenly gets nuked? Yeah…well…every time I see that scene I get a bit of a tingling sensation “down there.” I’m not for any city getting A-Bombed, mind you…but one can fantasize, no?

My loathing of this city in question started in the early 1920’s when “independent” film companies/studios, based here in New York, where seeking to break away from the stifling and tyrannical studio system established here, namely led by Thomas Edison’s hold on patents for shooting and projecting film at his movie houses (read: Monopoly). Young “Independent” companies such as “Warner Bros.,” “Universal,” “Metro Goldwyn Mayer,” et al, decided to pack up and head on West to greener pastures like any and all pioneers before them did many years prior, with the sole purpose of “raping” the land they sought. Once these producers and studio-heads set up shop in their new-found Los Angeles, they immediately began operating in the same manner from which they fled! Soon enough, with the invention of “talking” pictures and Technicolor, L.A. was a boom-town basking in the glow of the Golden Age of Hollywood within ten years of its inception, while New York, and especially the rest of the country, suffered through the Great Depression during the 1930’s.

While Europe was feeling the tension and eventual onslaught of the Nazi party’s control, and before America’s involvement in World War II, the Hollywood studios took it upon themselves to create propaganda films (Wait!…I want to make a very important side note here: what I am about to state next IS in no way anti-Semitic, pro-Nazi, or anything stupid like that…UNDERSTOOD?!?!?! This is historical FACT, I don’t want any hate mail/comments due to something that has been proven true over 60 years ago!) that were clearly anti-Nazi to create awareness of what was going on overseas. This was done largely in part because the majority of the studio-heads were Jewish (WAIT!!!!!! Don’t group me with that fool Mel Gibson! I am not one of those idiots that rant that all of Media is run by some sort of Zion conspiracy! I am merely stating that the majority of the film moguls at the time were Jewish, and thus, rightfully so, concerned about their distant relatives suffering a fate worse than hell in Europe, utilized their craft and medium to do something about it)…case in point (a film I even worked on): Casablanca (1942, ok, the U.S. was involved in the war by that time) — arguably the most well known film around the World besides The Wizard of Oz (1942) and Star Wars (1977) , all of which, interestingly enough, the villains have strong Nazi undertones to them…especially Darth Vader!

O.K….enough historical babble. For years thousands of people have done the whole clichéd “L.A. or Bust” trek to “Lah-Lah-Land” (they call that for a reason, you know) in search for fame and fortune…naturally…it is the American Dream of getting paid and being well known for it (*cough*Paris*cough*Hilton*cough*) for doing ab-sol-ut-ly nothing! Fine…we’ll call it “Artistic Opportunity” for the time being, just to be nice. I, too, when I was a Vice President of Creative Affairs (what a stupid “throw away” title is that, huh?) at a young N.Y.C. based entertainment company, that I helped formulate some ten years ago, was slapped across the face by the power of the “Glitz” that hovers over that City like their beloved smog!!!

[TRIVIA: Los Angeles was founded September 4, 1781, by Spanish governor Felipe de Neve as “El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Angeles del Río de Porciúncula” meaning: The Village of Our Lady, the Queen of the Angels of the river of Porziuncola.]

Back to BIZ-NIZ at hand.

When I first went to Los Angeles for a business trip in “The Industry,” I was, like everyone else who shows up there with stars in their eyes, given what I like to call, “The Wind-Up.” This involves the following: Whether you arrive via L.A.X. International Airport, or via a Greyhound bus from bum-fuck Nebraska (sorry Nebraska), you are going to be first treated to either driving or being driven down a palm tree lined Boulevard with the top or windows down, accentuated by the perpetual summer-like sun and heat (*cringe*), with a smidgen of “will I catch a glimpse of a star walking his/her dog down the street?”-itis. For further enhancement, at some point that Goth-awful song I Love L.A. by Randy Newman, (actually the video is a very good example of what I’m talking about…let’s watch, hopefully your eyes won’t bleed)

or California Girls by either David Lee Roth or the Beach Boys…or actually anything by the Beach Boys, now that I think of it…will be playing. This draws you in by creating the illusion of prosperity, tropical climate, and fun times (*two thumbs up
á la Fonzi*)! WHOOOOOHOOOOOO! This place RAWKS!!! “I feel like a movie star already” you will be thinking to yourself, and this will be further propelled by the star-striking iconography of constant images of Marilyn Monroe, John Wayne, James Dean, etc., not to mention the bombardment of billboard advertising of movies and television shows being crammed down your optical nerves. This is (you must trust me on this my dear Gothlings, I worked in the “Biz” for over ten years) all very deliberate and calculated to suck you in!

Now, the few times I was there, for several weeks at a time, it wasn’t the “A” list treatment, granted…maybe “B” list; however, I did go to several posh restaurants, attended exclusive events presented by the Academy of Motion Picture Art & Sciences (not the Oscars, but the same people), and met quite a few prominent actors, agents (scum of the earth, those people), producers, directors, etc., especially in the classic film realm in which I worked in. I even got to meet and befriend Robert Stack and Charlton Heston (I’ll save a great story about them for another blog post). “Wow! This is the life! Everything is awesome here,” I almost thought. After several meetings with “The Powers That Be” over the roster of projects that we were trying to get off the ground, it soon became apparent to me (maybe because of my New York bred cynicism and skepticism) that everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, in this city from the hotel maid to the twenty-two year old “Executive” who feels forced to shake your hand and offer a fake smile because his/her job depends on it, is trying some how to, not only take advantage of you, but to fuck you over!

Joke time!!! One of my favorite jokes I used to tell on the set of film shoots while we were waiting for a set-up change: Two Hollywood Producers are standing around a film set when a beautiful and sexy Production Assistant walks past them and offers a smile. As she walks away, one Producer turns to the other and says, “Wow! I sure would love to fuck her!” The other producer turns and asks, “Oh yeah? Out of what?”

IT’S FUNNY ‘CAUSE IT’S TRUE!!!

Where was I? Oh yeah! After a while, if you are a bright and observant person (as I know you are) you should notice that all of those around you that reside in Los Angeles are rather “Plastique” and/or have a phony edge to them. Between the fake breast implants, the artificial or real tans that turn them an unhealthy and leathery shade of orange, the overpriced fashions, the overuse of cell phones, the snooty pretension, or the racially divided angst, this putrid city indeed generates a strange vibe that creates more nightmares than dreams for those who are naïve enough to fall for its lure of “artistic opportunity.” You’ve heard of “Dog Eat Dog,” right? Well the denizens of this city will eat the dog that ate the dog and consider it a career move! In that respect, there is a fantastic book penned by Lynda Obst whose title sums it up: Hello, He Lied — and Other Tales from the Hollywood Trenches, and it is chock full of horrific true tales of the Hollywood meat-grinder. Moreover, films such as L.A. Story, Clueless, and Crash are more documentaries of the entire Los Angeles experience rather that a narrative take on it…yeah…it’s that bad!

In the course of my spewing discontent toward L.A., I’m sure I offended more than my fair share of those who do indeed live in that gangland infested, earthquake prone, silicon & collagen obsessed, steroids taking, poolboy screwing, car driving, sunglasses wearing, porno making, traffic loving, Roe-day-Oh Drive shopping, racial segregating, showbiz fixated, piece of shit city!!! *pant*pant*pant* With that said, I now want to address the issue that Gothic Beauty Magazine this year awarded Los angles the “Top Goth City” slot in it’s yearly survey. W.T.F?!?! Now, I don’t expect New York City to be the Gothiest town of all time (I’m working on it), even if we were ranked #1 the year before (we’re still scratching our heads about that one…Seattle, London, fine…but…whatever). I just don’t understand how there is a such supposedly strong Goth scene in a city that is all about sunshine, peroxide, phoniness, and a plethora of things our scene simply does not stand for! It might work well for Elvira (a.k.a Cassandra Perterson) and others that eek (not a typo) out a living on the campy horror films that Hammer Films, Ed Wood, and Universal Studios created which in turn help fuel the Goth Culture…I won’t deny that. 

“EEEEAST COOOAAASSST VS. WEEEEESSSST COOOAAAST!!! YO HOLLA!!!” is not what I am trying to accomplish here. The last thing I need is to be gunned down like a Hip-Hop rapper over coast war bullshit. And to the friend(s) that are determined to head off to that curs-ed coast, I will state, yet again: “I am not your father, husband, brother, nor your boyfriend, so it is definitely not my place to tell you whether you should go out west or not for your “artistic opportunities.” My only hope is that you don’t end up on a casting couch, in a porn film, or even marginally taken advantage of. Other than that…good luck in the City of (lost) Angeles. I will miss you dearly, and it has been really nice knowing you…I don’t converse with those who live “out there.” HMMPH!!!

And with all of that off my chest, I want to end this blog post on a light note with yet another, and final joke about the Los Angeles Police Department (don’t beat me!), which I hope you will enjoy:

The LAPD, the FBI, and CIA were each determined to prove that they were the best at apprehending criminals. So President Obama decided to give each of them a test. He released a white rabbit in a forest and each organization had a turn to catch it.
The CIA went in first. They placed animal informants throughout the forest and questioned all plant and mineral witnesses. After three months of extensive investigation, they concluded that white rabbits don’t exist.
Next it was the FBI’s turn. After two weeks with no leads, they set fire to the forest, killing everything in it, including the white rabbit. They remained unrepentant for their actions, maintaining that the rabbit had provoked them.
Finally, after finding a fresh rabbit and forest, the LAPD went in. They came out an hour and a half later dragging a badly beaten brown bear. The bear was yelling, “O.K.! O.K.! I’m a rabbit! I’M A RABBIT!!!”

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles