December 31, 2014

December 31, 2014

Oddly enough it was exactly a year ago, when I was at a new year’s party at Tricia and Mike’s house, where I sat by myself, and thought, "I need to have a new life for the upcoming new year."  I have always had a fantasy of being a criminal - not one that would kill or harm people or even property, but the identity where people would look at me and say “he’s a criminal.” Or at the very least I would hear people slightly talking behind my back saying “Tosh, I hear he’s up to no good, if you get my drift.” The “drift” will be common knowledge based on false-hood.   Nevertheless if I just keep my mouth shut, people will be able to tell tales about me, and therefore a narrative or two will come out of the woodwork.   There are only a few people who know me.   If I was going to make myself into a visual pie, 50% know of me due to my father the artist, 30% due that I’m a publisher, and 15% know me as a writer.   Then there will be 5% who know me as an actor.   Not often, but every few years, I get approached by people due to the fact that I played the role of “Boy” to Taylor Mead’s Tarzan in Andy Warhol’s “Tarzan and Jane Regained… Sort of.” Since then, I have acted off and on, mostly in the film works of Relah Eckstein, but without a doubt my most famous role is “Boy.”

Over-all my reputation is quite solid.  The only crack in the image was when I was discovered in someone’s house, eating their toast in their kitchen. I didn’t know these people, or never been to their home, but I had the urge to go to a stranger’s kitchen and make myself some toast.   The thing is that they only had whole wheat bread, and I always prefer Wonder bread.   I snuck out of the house, purchased a loaf of bread, and once again broke into their home, to make myself the perfect toast.  At that point, I was noisy in the kitchen, because I was trying to find the butter knife, and obviously I was going through a lot of drawers in the kitchen.   The owner of the house (I think he was or is the owner of that structure) came into the kitchen and asked who I was, and why I was there.   It was a good question (or two), and my first reaction was to tell him that I was a writer - and to be perfectly honest, I haven’t the slightest idea why I was in their kitchen.   I told him, that I act by my impulses, and I never really think about it.  I offered him a piece of bread, and asked him if he wanted toast.  He said yes, but he preferred the whole wheat bread.  I said “of course.” I took a slice and put it in his toaster and I sat down at the kitchen table.  He sat down with me, and we didn’t say a word to each other.   He had his toast, I had mine, and after we finished eating, I told him I had to go.  I said goodbye and left his home.

Since he’s a neighbor and only lived maybe a block or two away from me, I ran into him this past twelve months.  Mostly here and there, but commonly in the Ralphs Market on Glendale Bouvelard.  One time I saw him, I was in the bread aisle, and our eyes connected to each other.  I just pointed to the bread and shrugged my shoulders.   He then walked away like that moment didn’t exist, and perhaps it was best to forget the entire incident.  I will never do that again.

On the other hand, I have become very attracted to paintings by Henri Matisse, but only his still life portraits of food on a table.   It didn’t exactly make me hungry, but when I look at these paintings or the artwork in various books I have in my collection, I felt vacant.  I very much wanted to become part of the painting, but I just couldn't. The distance between the image of the food on the table, and where I stand, seemed like a long highway.  Perhaps an endless highway, where I will never reach that table.

Now it’s December 31, 2014, and I feel that my life in the next twelve months will be one of radical changes.  I do not have proof of this, there are no letters stating my existence for the next year, but I just feel in my bones that the year 2015 will hold some promise, and some failures as well.  I’m feeling very hesitant to leave the house, because I fear I won’t be able to get back in.  Maybe that is why I went to a stranger’s house, in hopes of expanding my territory - but alas, I now know that was a mistake.   Nevertheless one learns from their mistakes, and as I write, I look at the front door of my living room, that leads to the outside world.  After I complete this sentence, I will get up, and go, and leave my home.

August 6, 2014

August 6, 2014

As a kid, my parents would take me to Robert Duncan and Jess’ home in San Francisco.  What impressed me the most, was that I was always rewarded with a book or two from each visit.  In fact, I have a lot of first-edition Oz books by L. Frank Baum, all from Jess and Robert’s library.  As a kid, one is drawn into art because it is familiar to their background.  For instance I always loved comic books, and I had a thing for “Dick Tracy” comic strip.  So when Jess did his famous “Tricky Cad” colleges which were made up totally by cuttings of the original “Dick Tracy” strip, it of course called out to me.   I never actually read “Tricky Cad,” but I understood the implications of Jess’s art, because like me, he loved pop culture.  The other painting that struck me as being great is his portrait of The Beatles.  The oils on the painting were so thick, I felt like I was seeing the Fab Four being layered over with thickness, which to me made perfect sense.  Mostly due to the fact that The Beatles held immense importance to me when I was a child.  So of course, a magnificent oil painting portrait is totally suitable to its subject matter.  Robert was a very charming and out-going gentleman, but Jess was quiet and more reserved.  Yet both of them were very sweet towards me, and when you’re a kid, one has that memory for life.  The world is very harsh, and as a child I can easily pick up the bad vibes that surround an individual or couple.   Jess and Robert seemed to be made for each other, that was natural as breathing fresh mountain air.  Or perhaps for them, breathing San Francisco air.

The other time I felt great comfort among grown-ups is when Andy Warhol came to our home in Beverly Glenn to shoot his film “Tarzan and Jane… Regained Sort Of.” Taylor Mead played Tarzan, Naomi Levine played Jane, and I played Tarzan’s son “Boy.” My father played the white hunter, and also Claes Oldenburg was in it as well.  The funny thing is I remember that day clearly, but I have no memory of Andy Warhol whatsoever.  Gerard Malanga was there as well. I remember everyone except Warhol.   Now, I must state here, that Warhol was for sure at the house filming this film, but I just don’t have any memory of him.  It was many years later that I saw the film, and it was an odd experience of seeing myself in such a young age, and of course the footage with my deceased father in it.  In many ways, it seems like a home-movie to me.  As a child, I knew everyone who was in the film: Irving Blum, Dennis Hopper, John Chamberlain, and I felt it was very much of my world as a child.  So its difficult for me to see this film as a work of art, or even great importance to others. If they’re not in it, why would they be interested in this film?

The truth is that like all home movies, they expose more than a family's narcissism.  One can taste the favor of one’s neighborhood, or period of time, when the separate world was moving closer to each other, but yet, eventually moves apart.  But at least for a fleeting period of time, while watching the film, you can gather a world that once exists.  I often have dreams, where the present is mixed up with the past, and its odd because I wake up with a craving for French-Canadian bean soup.  In my dreams, I have my collection of papers, but it isn’t worth a nickel to guys like us.  I really need that G-note.  When I look back at the Warhol film, I can clearly recognize the little boy who played “Boy.”

April 11, 2014

April 11, 2014

Like Marcel Proust commenting on the cookie that brought up memories, the Sony transistor radio serves the same role in my life.  It was probably the first real serious object that I owned.   I haven’t the foggiest idea what the radio originally cost, but it was a magical entrance to another world.  As I was going through my storage boxes I ran across the radio, and I couldn’t believe I still had it.   For me, the first time I seriously listened to music was on this hand held machine.  The sound or the reception was never perfect, but it somehow added a sense of magic to the process.   There is what you heard when you see musicians play live, and then there is music you hear in a recording studio, and then of course on the turntable, where we had one huge speaker - mono only in the mid 1960s.  But the transistor radio had its own sound, which was tinny, and of course thinking of it now, it would be really annoying to listen to music that way.  But alas, my earliest impression of contemporary music that I liked, was on the transistor radio.  Also it was the first medium or tool for me to use that separate me from my parent’s taste.  Otherwise, I would get my music from my parents record collection and turntable.  My radio allowed me to wander into another world, where only I, can decide what to hear and when to hear it.

The two radio stations that were important to me were KHJ and KRLA.  The latter was actually more important to me because it appeared to be more Beatle related than KHJ.  That was likely to be an illusion on my part, but also the radio station had a newspaper called KRLA Beat, that was sort of like Rolling Stone for the teenage mind.  It was in this publication where I first started reading about music or I should say rock an’ roll stars as they were happening at that time.   KHJ was more personable due to it's DJ, specifically the Real Don Steele.

When I was close to 11 or 12, I went camping on the beach, which was a total horror show for me.  I can never understand the allure of nature for people. It is like they actually prefer dirt than a nice clean lighted place.  The point of time when the hot afternoon turns into a bitter cold evening is disgusting to me.  I remember spending most of the time in the tent that we brought with us.  Even that, the temperature was just so hot, but still, I didn’t want to be outside. So I put up with the heat to read the comic books that I brought with me to fight off the boredom of sand, blue sky, and ocean.  The transistor radio brought a sense of relief for me, because I used it as an object to block out the noise on the beach.  But what was really beautiful to me was playing the radio in the night, and I often would go off by myself near the ocean to sit on the cold sand.  I put the radio by my ear and it was like getting messages from another world.  I couldn’t imagine life without that radio.

Also the use of my imagination kept me alert during our beach holidays.  I imagine myself as Boy, the son of Tarzan.  Often I would imagine that my dad was the King of the Jungle, instead of Johnny Weissmuller.  I would have these elaborate narratives running through my head that I saved my dad and Jane (actually my mom) from some horrible circumstances that went beyond their control.   Those fantasies came with the soundtrack that was on the radio, and I remember actually listening to a program called  “The Shadow” while on the beach as well.  Hearing a show like that was very mysterious and a tad scary -especially in the nighttime on the beach.

Ironically I played “Boy” to Taylor Mead’s Tarzan in an Andy Warhol film, but that’s another narrative.  Nevertheless I am always thankful for Sony for bringing the magic of another world to me.

February 1, 2014

Photo by Relah Eckstein from her film "The Room"

February 1, 2014

Checking my bank accounts, I can see clearly that I am going broke.  Not working for the past year and a half has been a fantastic time spent writing and thinking, but now it is high time to think about going back to the work force.  Checking my skills, the most logical occupation for me would be an actor in films.   Never mind the fact that the last film I was in “French Toast” hasn’t been finished yet.  Nevertheless my filmography is very impressive, being a child actor in Andy Warhol’s “Tarzan and Jane Regained... Sort Of” and turning down a role in Dennis Hopper’s “Easy Rider.” Plus being the star in Relah Eckstein’s films. I felt I had a better chance to get maybe a role in a situational TV show or even probably a commercial.  

I chose to avoid the middle-man, and I approached a movie studio, The Black Maria, to see if they were doing any hiring for film work.  I was realistic in knowing my chances to be a star in a film was pretty glum, but for sure I could get a second or third billing role in some film.  The only photograph of myself in a film was in Relah’s “The Room” which was made in the 80s, but I sent it with a resume.  Within a week, I received a letter from a producer at the studio by the name of William Taylor.  He asked if I could fly out to New Jersey (where the studio was located) for screen tests.  I said sure, and I was on my way.

When I showed up two days later at Mr. Taylor’s office, bright and early in the morning, he looked over the one image he has of me from “The Room.” he told me that I didn’t look anything like the photograph.   Which I replied “Well I’m an actor sir, and I really don’t have an identity.  I can melt into any character or role. That is my speciality.”  

He then commented that as far as he could tell, I have only worked on four Relah Eckstein films, plus an early Warhol, and a cameo in Anna Biller’s “Viva.” I told him that I was very choosey.

He looked at me and then laugh, and he said “you got the spirit man, and I like that in a male.” He asked me to take off my shirt.  I thought that was odd, since I was 59 years old, but on the other hand I have been known to make women swoon to this very day.   He did a series of photographs of me without the shirt on his I-Phone, which I thought to myself. “Wow technology is so fantastic. ”

After he finished taking the photos, he came to me, and put his hand on my knee and said “I think you got something.” He went back to his desk and threw me a script.  I was trying to catch it, but it landed in a gold fish bowl.    He just glanced at me with his eyes and made a movement with his hands that I should get it out of the fish bowl.  It was just a little script. In fact it was only five pages long.  I asked him “Is this the entire script?” He shook his head up and down.  

“It was written by the great S.J. Perelman for a Marx Brothers film, but Groucho didn’t want to play it.” He told me that the script was in his drawer for numerous years, till Takashi Murakami came to visit the studio and told him he just wanted to make his first American film.  By chance, Taylor showed Murakami the script, which he also threw at him, and he missed catching it, and again, it landed in the fish bowl.  Murakami loved the idea that the script was only five pages long, and basically silent, except for some sound effects.  

As an actor I was turned on to the fact that this was a silent film, and in reality I specialized in silent movie work.  Relah refused me to speak in her films because of my squeaky voice.  I told Taylor that I loved Murakami’s paintings, and was ready to work in this film.   Taylor just starred at me for a minute or so without saying a word then he said “we got a deal! ”