All week I have made ample note of the radiant sun and blossoming openings of late spring. Did my spirit drop since today, on a Saturday no less, slate and smokey clouds dappled sky? Not specifically. I was reminded of San Francisco so the leaden hues warmed me a bit. Homework has been galloping apace and I am trying to cram in as much history and literature into my feathered brain as I possibly can. Reformations and revolutions are battling with tone, plot and setting for a place in the forefront of my memory.
In the interim I am amusing myself with The Velvet Underground. Lou Reed has one of the most interesting biographies I have ever perused. His parenst tried to shock the gay out of him and submitted him to electro-shock therapy to cope with burgeoning suspicions of homosexuality. He was a complete schizophrenic, at one moment introspective and sensitive, at the very next acerbic and cruel. He was vehemently opposed to the ideals of conformity and consumerism and yet in the mid-1980s his song 'Take a Walk on the Wild Side' was used for a Mazda commercial... He flip flops from being an affable fellow to one of those "this interview's over" brutes.
After reading 'Transformer' and learning of all his caprices and abuses I thought myself as one who narrowly escapes a burning building. I met him at a show backstage in the summer of 2003. It was a terrifically foggy night in San Francisco and an overweight stage hand with a thick Southern accent took a shine to me. He let me in the back door as I was lingering on the side ally off Market Street by The Warfield. I had only been backstage at a show three times before and never at The Warfield. There was a terrific spread of delectable hors d'oeuveres and that my chubby hillbilly escort was trying to tempt me with. My eyes searched the room for Lou but someone told my hick roadie friend that Lou had left. I assumed it would be time for me to leave as well. I turned to the stairs that would return me to the misty street level. Just then, lurking by himself in a shadow was Lou. I turned and started.What could I say but the typical "You put on a wonderful performance. It's a pleasure to meet you. Have a nice evening."?
Well, I went a little off book for this particular performance.
"Oh, hi" I tried to sound composed as I ran a hand through my long strawberry blond hair doing my best Jerry Hall impersonation minus the Texas accent.
"Hi." He replied in a dulcet fashion.
"I really enjoyed your performance tonight." I smiled as though I was a beauty queen with a Phd.
"Thanks." His eyes met mine and they seemed vague and a little sad yet not in the least bit hostile or arrogant.
"My name is Claudine." I extended my hand with warmth.
His forlorn frost melted for a moment as he took my hand and clasped it surely saying ; "I'm Lou."
"Well, I have to go now Lou. Have a wonderful night. It was nice to meet you."
"It was nice to meet you, too." He replied in his softly attentive way.
I was completely giddy for the rest of the night. I got a ride from another guy named Chris who was waiting at the stage door. Cleatus the stage hand, tried to get my phone number so he could keep me apprised of Lou's hotel arrangements for the night but I declined. The brief exchange in the half shadow by the staircase was enough to last me for quite some time. Chris and I went up to Polk St. in the Tenderloin district to buy a bottle of rum and drink it at The Lumiere.
The Lumiere was an art house movie theater and I was tight friends with David, the bohemian manager who dressed all in black, wore thick Buddy Holly glasses and a black beret. Despite being 65, David and I flirted shamelessly. The 40 year age difference was only mildly amusing when I was drunk. As I was near passing out on one of the lobby cushions of the movie theater David would caress my hair in long, tender strokes and it felt like heaven. David and the rest of the artsy slackers who worked at the movie theater would kick back and play the cards for hours after closing, sometimes until sunrise. I would make rum and cokes using the lobby soda machines.
The Velvet Underground used to remind me of being a teenager in the 90s but listening to 'Loaded' right now I think more of the nights I spent drinking at the movie theater after hours in San Francisco in my mid-20s. Maybe a bit of the music reminds me of limbs entangled with my boyfriend and stuffed animals I was too old to still give residence on my bed at by the age of sixteen. I asked my boyfriend on one of those sweaty afternoons if he minded the stuffed animals on my bed. He replied "No. I just imagine you are one of the dolls."
Boys can sometimes say shockingly sweet things when you are 16.
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