February 4, 2024

One thing I will always have, that no one can take from me, or "attach to" by hivemind, is Bert's Store. Bert's Store is probably the first store I ever went to. I think I went there right after I learned to walk.

Imagine learning how to walk. Can you even believe you learned that? It's mindboggling, eh? Now, you did it on your own, because you had the instinct to walk built into you, but you have to give your parents credit because they were always egging you on to walk, when you hit that walking age at around 18 months or so. And momma took me to Bert's Store right after I started walking. She'd hold my hand, and we'd walk down Saticoy to White Oak, where there was a stoplight so we could cross the street, then we'd walk back the way we came but on the other side of Saticoy to Bert's Store, just west of White Oak.

And there was a field just south of Saticoy, on White Oak, near where the white Bank of America drive-thru now stands. Mom said that she and Dad were walking near that area one night, and they saw a UFO in the field. I used to think my Mom was being "far out" when she said something like that, because Mom talked a lot about psychic phenomena when I was an adolescent, and I just thought, "okay sure Mom" because everyone has seen a UFO, right? And nowadays, even a UFO sighting is old hat because now you have to upgrade to abduction. And even that's not a claim to fame anymore because everyone on Earth has been abducted, right? I tend to be "snoozeville" on UFO stories (except the legit ones) and almost no-go on abductions (except Travis Walton and Betty and Barney), but with Mom.....given what I now know......I 100% believe her.

If Mom says she saw a UFO, she saw a UFO. And what she said was that she and Dad were walking near the field by Saticoy and White Oak, and they saw a UFO in the field, and they saw it lift off. And it wouldn't have been far from Bert's Store. Me? I don't have a Reseda UFO story, but I was present for the Murmak's fire. Try Googling that one, hivemind, and see how well you do. You won't find anything on the Murmak's fire. And yet I was there, with Dad and Roy, watching the flames burn through the roof, and listening to the popping of the paint cans (Roy said it was turpentine; Do they even sell that any more?). I may have asked if it was bullets going off. Dad may have asked Roy if they sold ammo in that store. Roy said "no, it's the turpentine cans". Dad and Roy both thought it was an insurance fire. Murmaks was located at Sherman Way and White Oak.

Switching subjects now, I find that friends are an interesting thing. What is a friend? Someone you pal around with, share common interests, a sense of humor, someone you get along with and can confide in? Okay fine. But let's reverse the question to ask (and please excuse the grammar): "what is a friend not"? It's safe to say a friend is not someone who stabs you in the back, or does deceitful things against you without your knowledge. I'm not talking a little gossip now and then; we've all done it (unless there's a Saint in the room), we've all said "have you heard this-and-that about so-and-so"? But while considering this simplified version of what a friend is, and is not, let us ask another question: how many friends have you had in your lifetime? I mean real friends, not fair-weather types, and not acquaintances. Some people take pride in how many friends they have, and even identify in that way, if they are socially active.

But how many friends do folks really have?

I'll use my Dad as an example. Dad was not super social, especially later in his life, but when he was flying high, he knew a lot of people, especially in the business world. Los Angeles was not his hometown, so he didn't have high school friends here, or childhood friends. But he made a lot of "friends" or "acquaintances" in the Motion Picture Industry. Dad was a go-getter when that term meant something. And yet, toward the end of his life, he never talked about Hollywood at all, or anyone he knew there. He talked about being a soldier. And whoever his "friends" were, from Hollywood (and Dad was an executive who knew a boatload of people), well - they were all gone. Even Uncle Earl, who was a true blue friend.

At the end, Dad's friends were, I'd guess, his closest family. I know I was Dad's friend. For me, he was one of my two best friends, the other being my Mom. What I'm saying (and it's pretty obvious) is that friendship in business doesn't mean a thing. Dad, a high flyer, didn't retain a single friend from his business days, and only talked of intellectual pursuits (history was a big one), or art, or being a soldier, which was his proudest accomplishment in life. Dad was a soldier. He was Air Force all the way. But he only told anecdotes about the war. He didn't talk about what I think he really saw (what I am certain he really saw), because it would've been too difficult. But in getting back to friends, how many real friends did Dad have? Not many from Hollywood, that's for sure.

Me? I was not social, nor accomplished like my Dad. I was a shy kid, but I always had friends. My adult friends were not from business, like Dad's were. My friends were not from school, either, once I got out of school. I mean, I had plenty of school friends (and they were real friends in a "school way"), but we went our separate ways when our school days were over (and that's fine, too). My longest-lasting friends were almost all from the Rathburn Avenue neighborhood, where we moved when I was 10.

By my 20s, my best friend was Dave Small. But just what is a best friend, anyhow? Someone you can confide in to a higher degree than with other friends? Someone who truly "gets you"? Okay fine. Dave was also my bandmate for many years, and his easygoing personality was compatible to mine. He also seemed to understand the fine points of life and what we'll call the "subterrain". And, he loved Celtic Frost. I met Mr. D (as I dubbed him) when we first moved to Rathburn, and I attended his 9th birthday party in September 1970. But I didn't start hanging out with him until I was 19 and had formed a band. Dave heard me and Dennis jamming one day in February 1980 and asked if he could join us on bass. Prior to that, he'd gotten the Taco Bell job that had been passed down from Dennis to me to Lashbrooke and then to him. I knew he worked there, and would say "hi" when he walked by the house on his way to work, but I really had not known him since 1970. He was from Etiwanda Street, and kids from Rathburn, for whatever reason, did not hang out with kids from Etiwanda, even though both streets were on the same block. But after he knocked on my garage and joined the band, we became close, and that led to our long-term friendship. It began with a musical bonding, and Dave became my best friend in the early '80s. He was my bass player from 1980 to 1988. Then I didn't see him for five years (except a few times, mostly in 1989), and then he joined Shecky's band in the summer of 1993. I was already in that band as the lead guitarist and backup vocals.

In the Fall of 1993, Ryan came back into the fold, playing football, and the speed trip began. After jamming on the stuff, Dave and I got so inspired that we quit Shecky's band and were writing new music with a whole new sound, when memory lane came calling for yours truly. Boom! Life changed then, and the earthquake happened, then the Meadows trip followed, and man, it was the all-time mindblower.

The span of October 1993 to Summer 1997 was the all-time mindblower, never to be surpassed. And I went through that time period with Dave, and because it was so extreme, I even told him, "dude, we went all the fucking way" (and Ryan went most of the way with us). That trip will never be topped. I felt like Dave, and Ryan to an extent, were fellow warriors, even if Ryan didn't go as full-on Meadows as Dave and I did.

I once wondered if the Meadows experience killed Dave, and I think it may have started the process.

But what really killed him, and I've long known this, was drugs and secrets. And drugs were just the means. What really killed him was the secrets. The drugs were just to cover the secrets, so he wouldn't have to think about them. Which at least means he had a conscience (I guess). It's the friends who aren't bothered by the secrets that I am more concerned with, because they might not have consciences, which would make them sociopaths, which is spooky. In talking about drugs, Dave and I both used speed. And I liked it. No one liked it more than me, not even Lemmy. But when I quit using it, I quit. And that was over 26 years ago, and I quit pot, too. Marijuana was a worse drug for me than speed, believe it or not (and don't take drugs, folks, don't even think about it, and pot is a drug and a gateway drug too). But the deal with me, concerning The Meadows and speed and death, and that whole trip we were on, is that I didn't have secrets, and therefore had nothing to cover up. Dave did have things to cover up; he had plenty of secrets, and he kept taking drugs and he died.

And after he died, I still thought of him as my best friend for many years. I didn't have many friends left, and those who remained were falling by the wayside. But then slowly, slowly, slowly (but steadily) I learned that some (or most, or almost all) of my friends had never been my friends at all.

Most had never been my friends at all. And I began thinking of those folks as my "friends" instead of my friends. And now, because it's harder to think of Dave as a friend any more (though I am trying to), I am wondering if I ever had any real friends, or if I just had "friends"......and it's a little bit perplexing.  

The changing nature of friendship can be affected by all kinds of things. I knew a guy I thought I was friends with, from 1973 - 1994. He was living at my house that year, in 1994, and we had an earthquake, and "something else" happened and he moved out as fast as he could pack his belongings. I didn't see him after that, or hear from him ever again, and he died in 2023, so we can say that he wasn't my friend for 29 years, which was longer than I thought he was my friend (20 years), and when his wife told me that he'd died, I only considered the years of our so-called friendship. And even though I knew he'd done some rotten things behind my back (and even though I knew I'd almost died in his apartment after he zapped me with a stun gun) I still opted to take the high road upon receiving the news of his death, and I even wrote a slightly sympathetic blog in his memory: it's called "In Memory of T" and you can look it up and read it if you wish.

But what a difference a year makes. Now, I can't believe I wrote that blog. Why would I write even a semi-sympathetic blog to a guy like that? I can't answer that question except to say that - given what I knew about him in 2023 (which was limited) - I still opted to take the high road (which was stupid, I should've offered no eulogy at all). But now things are clearer, because in 2024, I not only know that this guy was never my friend, but was one of the worst people I've ever known, if not thee worst (and that's some tough competition).

Ever since I've known that he was not only never my friend, but was in fact rock bottom scum, I've been tempted to take down or delete that sym(pathetic) blog I wrote in his memory. But I've decided to leave it up, as an example of how knowledge of a person, or the lack of knowledge, can affect one's attitude towards a friendship.

I thought I knew all about this guy (and I even knew he tried to kill me with a stun gun), and I was still sym(pathetic) enough in the aftermath of his demise (which, as reported to me by a source, was fucking horrendous and deservedly so), to want to take the high road, and eulogise the "good points" of our "friendship".

But now, I know there were not any good points. There were never any good points, because he was a lowlife among lowlifes. So it just goes to show, you never really know who your friends are until you really know them. And sometimes it's better not to have too many friends. 

This guy I am talking about was from a predatory family. His mom (one of the most evil people I ever encountered, but I didn't know it until recently) was a predator. She likely had a long-standing incestuous relationship with her son. He was an alcoholic from age 9. What would cause a 9 year old boy to drink hard liquor and keep drinking it so that it became a habit? Um.....an incestuous mother, anyone? Two of my other so-called friends referred to this woman as "The Illustrious (Jane Doe)". They even said it to her face, and always with a flourish: "Why, if it isn't The Illustrious (Jane Doe)!" Now, in the interest of completeness, it must be mentioned that this woman had three major tragedies in her life. Her small son was killed in an accident in front of her house, she had a severely disabled daughter (institutionalised), and she'd had a double mastectomy.

But others have suffered tragedies and not succumbed to villainy, nor taken out their anguish on other people.

No, this woman was evil, and a predator through and through. And her son was even worse.

And the thing was, I thought this guy was my friend for a while in the 70s, 80s, and early 90s. 

It just goes to show that a "friendship" is only as good as your knowledge of the so-called "friend". For me, it took being alerted by a man with knowledge of the situation. He told me, "they aren't your friends, Adam. They're (POS)." And it turned out he was right. I would even use a stronger term, though words don't describe "people" like this. These are some of the worst "people" on earth. 

The evil woman's husband had a completely fake identity. He was a German, who somehow "landed" in America, and his wife (a former schoolteacher) had taught him phonetic English so he could "pass" as American. And a fake biography was concocted for him, in which he was part of an Iowa farm family. What a load of shit. But he was compromised because of his fakeness, and could not (or would not) stand up to his wife who was "attending" to their son, who turned into the world's biggest POS. The kid was an alcoholic from age 9. But there's a kicker to all this stuff, and especially the part about the fake American father, the man who was actually a German with a fake bio and a created backstory who only pretended to be American.

Here's the kicker: I did not discover this on my own. So if you think it's some crazy conspiracy on my part, you are an even bigger dipstick then you thought you were. 

No, I did not make up or theorize anything about the fake American Dad. It was told to me by another "friend" (a compromised friend but not as bad as the others) who knew a lot of shit about people, and liked to insinuate things, and liked to "stir up trouble" (according to my Mom) and who was one of the two guys who referred to the evil mother as "the illustrious Jane Doe". Yes, the particular "friend" who revealed this stuff did know a lot of secrets, and he was the guy who told me that Elmer was really a German posing as an American. He even presented evidence, saying "think about his accent". And it was true that the Dad had a weird way of mumbling his words.

And when I thought about it, and considered Elmer's strange accent (his phonics) (which we kids even parodied in a super 8 film), it was not a stretch to believe what my "friend" told me, given what I now know.  

At any rate, I will leave it at that. I've seen a few movies, the best being "Redhead"(1941) starring the beautiful June Lang. We've seen it before but it merits a second view. And that is all I know for tonight.