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Published: October 23rd 2008
The Rain Man Cometh !
Sunset. The photo doestn't quite do it justice.Just a shade over four months in the United States and still no visitors. Flights booked as well as promises made but not one visitor to remind me first hand of all that I'd left behind. All that however was about to change and as I boarded the Jeep for my crack of dawn commute to El Segundo my thoughts turned to Roy Peter Wayman, aka Waymo, DJ legend extraordinaire (so he'd have you believe) and former Metal Pig partner in crime who was at that precise moment somewhere twenty thousand feet or so above continental USA.
We'd arranged that I'd pick him up an hour and a half or so after his lunch time touch down at LAX, long enough to allow him to collect his luggage and pass through the rigmarole of customs and the instruction I'd given, issued via e mail was that if I wasn't around when he emerged from the terminal that he was to sit tight and wait ‘on the wall' outside arrivals. E mail as a means of communication is restricted to time available and ones willingness to press the keys and the likelihood
of fully getting across ones intentions accordingly reduced and so it was that at 2.45pm as I crawled past the scores of weary looking travellers waiting patiently outside the Arrivals terminal there was not a sign of my little friend anywhere.
Guillt tinged visions flashed through my mind of him stood butt naked in a small room in front of three latex glove wearing officials who were in turn asking him to explain the presence of the two large blocks of cheese and the jar of pickled onions sat on the table in front of them that had been exposed in his luggage wrapped tightly in his faded smalls and who were preparing themselves to go in search for more. My request for smuggle to order groceries had been received with an expression of concern from Peter about the legalities of such a move and for a moment it made me wonder. This worrying picture in my mind left me no alternative but to park up and go in search of him and as I weaved my way through the trolleys, cases and people waiting on the concourse a small figure perched gnome like on a low wall caught
The Rain Man Cometh !
Space age Staples Center. my attention. It was Peter taking my e mail quite literally by its word. Perhaps not surprisingly considering only four months had passed he hadn't changed one iota with the exception that his hair had mysteriously and artificially transformed chameleon like into yet another variation of the colour shade generally known as brown. Strange.
With Stateside holidays a precious commodity the plan was that Peter would occupy himself for the next couple of days whilst Phil and I earned a crust before the three of us spent the weekend together with a trip to The Sunset Strip in Hollywood. Like a junior boy scout on an outward bounds mission he was handed a map, the offer of a bicycle and a few words of advice about personal safety and left to his own devices and he spent the next two days roaming the streets of downtown Long Beach familiarising himself with the local neighbourhood as well as attempting to hunt down a bargain or two.
If you’re familiar with Peter you’ll be aware that his dress sense is and always has been a touch on the eccentric side, thriftily non-conformist probably now being a more accurate description. I
can recall the first time I ever saw him over twenty five years ago when he was dressed in a fur coat and Kevin Keegan perm with the fingers of both hands adorned with large gold rings and not a lot has changed since and I returned from work on Friday evening to find him lying on the sofa dressed in just the tiniest pair of underpants struggling to conceal both his block and tackle and his delight at his days purchases. He excitedly talked me through them. An array of tee shirts and footwear adorned with his currently in vogue skull and crossbones, presents for his children, a camera and a pair of Iron Maiden baseball boots bought to replace the battered pumps that had been his staple footwear for the last eighteen months.
After a Friday night of reunion celebrations in downtown Long Beach which ended, much like hundreds of Friday nights back in the old days with us searching for a cab in the rain I woke on Saturday to a sky that for the first time since I'd been here reminded me of home and an old friend again spreadeagled on my crimson sofa still
dressed in only the tiniest of underpants looking, until he'd been revived with a cup of hot PG Tips and a handful of choc chip cookies as though he was teetering on the verge of death. Both sky and Peter were grey and full of gloom and after 134 days of almost constant warm sunny blue skies the Rain Man had arrived and the skies were fit to burst.
We'd been informed during a Thursday night curry at Lisa's house that the world famous Chateau Marmont was the place we just had to stay on the Sunset Strip but one look at the hotel's tariff immediately ruled that out. Her substitute suggestion was The Standard, a renowned chic Hollywood Hotel which quoting from one web site "Caters to a young, sophisticated clientelle who appreciate the Hotels timeless modern design and off- beat sensibility". Quite why she thought that'd be suitable for us three old timers we'd no idea.
The web site had described each available room in minute detail, right down to the dimensions but there's no replacement for confirmation of suitability from a friendly female voice so accepting Lisa's recommendation I called the hotel and asked the
The Rain Man Cometh !
Arrived at last. Peter's welcoming reception at Phil's. question of receptionist on the other end of the line.
"Do you have a room suitable for three fully grown straight men?"
"Oh, you'd be after the large room sir" she replied "It has two large double beds and a balcony with a panoramic view of the City". Excitedly I handed over my details and booked.
We drove through the lunchtime drizzle still disbelieving of what Peter had brought with him arriving early afternoon and suspected nothing amiss as we checked in. The website and Lisa appeared spot on with their description as a couple of attractive young ladies lounged across two of the sparsely furnished foyers' low slung comfort chairs obviously struggling to shake off the effects of a Friday night spent Hollywood style, shagpile carpet lined the ceiling and two pod like chairs suspended from above swayed in the corner like something from an Austin Powers movie. Very art nouveau.
Opening the door to your hotel room for the first time is always a moment of fingers crossed hope and expectation where you silently pray you’re going to be impressed and Lisa’s enthusiasm had led the three of us to believe we were going
The Rain Man Cometh !
Reunited. Friday night outside The Blue Cafe. to be in for something special. At $295 plus thirty bucks for parking and forty bucks tax we sure expected to be but as we entered the room our jaws dropped to the floor in disappointment. The room, similar in size to a small Travel Lodge contained two barely larger than single beds, a dressing table with a TV on, a shiny silver bean bag and a balcony without any form of seating whatsoever offering a breathtaking view of the upper boughs of a large mature tree which completely smothered any chances of seeing anything other than the small enclosed dog walking park fifty metres or so vertically beneath us. No way.
We poured a stiff drink as we sat down to discuss the way forward and were unanimous in our decision that this just wouldn't do so I returned alone to reception to express our dissatisfaction and arrange a room swap, solely on the pretext that the view we promised hadn't materialised. A replacement I was informed wouldn't be ready until four o'clock, three hours away so we adjourned to the Sky Bar of the neighbouring Mondrian Hotel where I'd visited in my early days. Unlike last time
The Rain Man Cometh !
In the Mondrian tent. I was here however, the pool area wasn't swamped with Hollywood wannabe beauties and wealthy cigar smoking playboys, the clouds and persistent drizzle demanding the erection of a huge polythene tent over the whole of the deck and pool area that meant instead we were surrounded by an abundance of hard hatted Mexican construction workers.
Sitting waiting for nothing to happen in the Mondrian bar felt as though we were on one of those all too familiar English holidays where the weather had intervened calling a time out on our fun. It was miserable. Visions of the three of us lounging around the sun drenched pool sipping cocktails surrounded by loud music and gorgeous girls had been replaced by us being huddled up on three bar stools in the empty chilly Sky Bar, the see, speak and hear no evil of The Mondrian.
One good thing that came out of our stool time however was the allotment of sleeping quarters. Sharing a small bed with either of my two companions was obviously weighing on my mind more than on theirs so I secretly rearranged the contents of three of the complimentary match boxes that were neatly stacked on
The Rain Man Cometh !
Dinner at Rainbow Bar and Grill. the bar, laid them out flat in front of them and instructed them to pick one each, explaining the one with the fullest box could lay claim to the prize of a bed to himself.
Peter rushed in like the proverbial bull and immediately picked a loser leaving it to Phil to decide his and my fate. The tension was crushing me. I love Peter and have slept alongside him in a wide range of conditions and places around the globe but the thought of sharing a bed barely inches wider than a standard single would have been enough to either ruin the rest of my day or see me spend the night on the floor. I knew which box was the fuller and as Phil’s finger hovered above each in succession in an attempt to obtain any sort of clue from my reaction I put on my best vacant poker face. It worked and as he snatched the empty box off the bar I yelled out and punched the air in delight. I was sleeping alone.
Our night on the Sunset Strip started with dinner at the famous Rainbow Bar and Grill, continued at the Saddle Ranch
The Rain Man Cometh !
Ride 'em cowboy. Peter takes on the bull. where Peter attempted unsuccessfully to tame the mechanical bull that spent the whole night hurling folk in various stages of inebriation to the floor and ended in the nightclub attached to The Standard. It all passed by a little too quickly but by four o’clock it was just Pete and I in the twenty four hour cafeteria attached to the hotel trying to decide between the steak ‘n eggs and the pasta, a decision that eventually led to us being asked to return to our room by hotel staff.
If Peter was suffering on the Saturday morning then Sunday had seen a further noticeable deterioration in his condition to the extent where I considered calling a priest to administer the last rites. Seeing the poor lad flat out on the back seat of the car as we returned home via the tourist route of Rodeo Drive and Beverly Hills struggling to keep the contents of his stomach from spilling over Phil’s leather upholstery brought a smile to my face if only at the memory of this oh so familiar sight and his condition was such that when Phil and I went out to watch the football later that afternoon
The Rain Man Cometh !
Succeeds for a short while..... he excused himself with the reasoning that “I need to have a lie down” before finally struggling out to join us two hours later.
And that was it. The following morning I hugged him farewell and his briefest of visits was over as I headed to work leaving him to accept the generosity of my neighbour Dana who had kindly offered to take him to LAX.
Before I knew it the weekend was again upon us and it began with a phone call to my darling sister congratulating her on reaching her landmark 50th birthday and culminated with a cycle down to the finish line of the Long Beach marathon, completed by more than 18,000 runners including colleagues Megan, Danielle and Aaron and an incredible 80 year old man with a stick.
Up to now I’d still only witnessed two of the US’s big four sports in the flesh so when an e mail arrived in my inbox from LA Galaxy’s Chad Cooper, no doubt still hoping to secure my signature for a season ticket purchase for next season, inviting me to an early season meeting between the Southern California’s two big professional ice hockey teams The
The Rain Man Cometh !
And then comes a cropper !! LA Kings and The Anaheim Ducks I decided it was too good an offer to refuse.The fact that it was in the LA Galaxy suite with dinner and drinks thrown in only helping to cement the deal.
The Staples Center in the heart of downtown LA is an impressive modern space station type glass and steel structure that doubles as home to the Kings and The LA Lakers basketball team as well as providing a venue for some of the worlds bigger musical acts. Tina Turner unbelievably still going at the age of 68 God bless her stockings was somehow attempting to strut her stuff the following night and having ridden the elevator high into the Gods of the building I was greeted by Chad at the door of the Galaxies very own corporate suite.
The teams, as you would expect being geographically separated by just thirty or so miles are the fiercest of rivals, think Norwich Ipswich or Liverpool Manchester and this was highlighted just forty seconds after puck off when a huge roar went up from the crowd as two opposing players threw their gloves to the ice, gripped each other with one hand by the
scruffs of the next and proceeded to rain punch after rapid fire punch to each others helmeted heads with the other.
There was no attempt by officials or teammates to separate them as they went at it hammer and tongs and as the bout moved into its second minute and arms of players and officials folded Chad leant across and explained that they would carry on until one or the other hit the ice at which point they’d accept the inevitable and skate off together all but holding hands in the manner of Torville and Dean to take their place sitting side by side in the sin bin. Extraordinary.
The game takes place over three twenty minute periods and for the second period I went down and took a rinkside seat close to the glass behind one of the goals. What a difference. The speed, ferocity and roughness of it all was brought home in a way that sitting way up high in the Gods could never get across and was exaggerated ten fold by the screeching sound of steel on ice and banging of bodies on wood. I’d wondered before the game began why several of the
The Rain Man Cometh !
Ooooh Arrrrrr Missus ! pen pictures in the programme showed hardened, unshaven looking men with less than full dental compliments and ten minutes at pitchside explained why. These guys are tough.
With five minutes remaining I thanked Chad, who’d kept me entertained with tales of his days living in Manchester, headed outside and caught the last fifteen minutes of a free concert performed by Skater girl Avril Lavigne right outside the Staple Center doors.
Thursday was an even earlier start on the office commute as at 7.30am I was heading out on my first ‘bus trip’ proper, a more than welcome escape from the day long confines of the office. The 'bus trip' is a journey which involves as the name suggests boarding a bus along with a couple of Tesco executive’s, real estate brokers, developers and finance guys and being driven around viewing suggested possible sites for prospective FE stores. Believe it or not very interesting.
There were six sites in all to be viewed and the first five were in areas of Central Los Angeles that would probably not be deemed safe for any of us to have strayed alone, especially after nightfall. The second site we visited was
a flat piece of scrub land bounded by a graffiti covered wall in the heart of Watts, a tatty and obviously impoverished 90% Afro American neighbourhood which had been scene of the cities worst race riots prior to the Rodney King riots of 1992 as well as now being home to the lowest average household income in the whole of the City and various factions of the notorious Crips and Bloods gangs.
Of course I didn't know all this beforehand. We parked in a side street and as the broker prepared his presentation and set about erecting his easel on the footpath to hold his plans my attention turned to the small memorial arrangement behind us. Five or six candles, lit and burning strong sat on the concrete footpath surrounded by still fresh flowers scattered on the floor. A black and white photograph of a large bearded negro sat astride a motorcycle was sellotaped to the wall. Naively I initially assumed it to be a memorial for a victim of a traffic accident but closer examination of the text below the picture revealed it all to be in memory of Donald ‘Duck’ Grayson, recent victim of one of Watt’s
The Rain Man Cometh !
Resulted in this. Thank the Lord. 30 odd annual gang related homicide’s. Scary. From there it was to East LA to inspect a building built in 1910, a historic landmark as far as the Yanks go which still had the wonderful religious tiled mosaics intact on the facade. East La is still poverty stricken but this time 97% Hispanic and with some fantastic photo opportunities I just wished I'd taken my camera with me because until the real estate guys come up with some more ideas I'm not going to be going back.
And here I am back in the present. Next weekend is Halloween, something the Americans treat with more regard than Christmas. This year it falls on a Friday, houses have been bedecked in pumpkins, skeletons and witches for a month already and fancy dress is more or less considered compulsory so I'm off to choose my outfit.
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Matt The Pig
Matt
I Rest My Case !
[b]eccentric ec·cen·tric (eck-sen-trick)[/b] [i]adj. Departing from a recognized, conventional, or established norm or pattern. n. A person of odd or unconventional behavior.[/i] I rest my case and no I didn't 'forget'.