Lisa and Her Brother's Stag

Rad note » this entry originated from another page. It was moved here because the subject drifted far enough to warrant its own, separate entry.

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» Lisa

Speaking of high school hotties, remind me to tell you about Lisa, whose younger sister was best friends with my cousin Diane, who lived upstaris.

Sometimes Lisa would stop by to see me, after dropping off her sister. My mom would come into my room and say, "Lisa's here to see you."

She was exotically beautiful. She is the only girl I ever took by to meet Joe Getty .. when I once took her for a ride on my motorcycle.

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» Taking Lisa by to Meet Joe Getty

Musta been a Sunday .. cuz those were the only days I had available .. cuz I only worked to 1 or 2, depending on business.

He was at the bar .. his favorite bar. I saw his red tow truck parked out front. (He kept it spotlessly clean.) So I just pulled up onto the curb and drove in front of the big, pane glass window there and looked in.

I knew that, if we ever got off the bike, we would never get back on. (And I wanted to spend some time with her mano-y-mano because I am really, at heart, a one-on-one type-of-guy. Tho yes, I can certainly get social with the best of them.)

Cuz once he got you talking about something, there was no stopping him. I mean, he is fun to hang out with and he will surely make me look good. So it would not be very difficult for him to get me off the bike.

Joe Getty in a bar with a seductively beautiful girl with plenty of alcohol available while it is still early in the afternoon .. now there was a volitile environment if ever I saw one.

When he wanted to be Mr. Charming there were no females anywhere who could resist him .. at least, none that I saw. He would get those puppy dog eyes going and make them laugh and they were done in record time.

I had seen it in action time after time. Their eyes would glaze over and they were done. He was very charming, I must admit.

But he was the total gentleman when I brought Lisa by. I was impressed by the variety of social skills he wielded.

When I saw him wave and jump up out of his seat at the bar, I killed the noisy engine and said to Lisa, "Do not get off this bike no matter what he says."

He came out and I introduced him to her and her to him. And he is like, "I know your brother."

And he smacks me and says, "We took you to his stag .. you remember."

Dude. I *do* remember the stag .. how could I forget? I just didnt know WHOSE stag it was...

» The Stag

And while Lisa & Joe Getty were chatting it up like old friends behind me, I took a little meander down memory lane .. to I guess what was her brother's stag.

[ This is exactly, by the way, how Proust transitions into his flashback memories of childhood, using the madeline. ]

They never told me who the party was for. They just took me one night, after work, "Come on, you're coming with us. This will be fun. Have you ever been to a stag before?"

[ They took me to a lot of crazy shit, I must admit .. particularly for a 16- or 17-year old punk. ]

Me » "What's a stag?"

There was a whole group of us who drove over there .. but I dont think the Hippie went to this.

And when the stripper on stage called out, "I need a volunteer for my next act" ..

I heard Joe Getty yell, "Here he is!"

As I turned to see who this 'volunteer' is .. big, strong hands grabbed each of my biceps and LIFTED me up out of my seat.

Julio had hold of my other arm .. these fuckers obviously had this shit planned .. I mean, we were sitting in the front row.

They CARRIED me up onto the stage .. more or less. I'm not sure that my feet ever touched the ground. I was standing up on stage before I knew what happened .. staring at a bare-chested woman with rather large breasts. I was wavering between shock and embarrassment.

(This might very well be why I've always been attracted to small-breasted women.)

I can assure you that I was not expecting that in a million years .. so it took me a moment or two to adjust to my new reality.

The crowd roared its approval. Many of them leapt to their feet and cheered. I had NO IDEA what I was getting into here. But these fuckers were going crazy over my being up there .. like another tender, sacrificial lamb on the alter. I tried to not encourage them. There were lots of guys there.

I am not going to tell you how this nasty story ends .. but I was only 16 or 17. This was like a totally different universe.

I grew up Catholic .. did Holy Communion and everything. I knelt down and kissed the archbishop's ring. And now .. I am kissing other things. It felt like I was in the wild, wild west.

» Kindred Spirits

Lisa .. I liked her. A kindred spirit of sorts. A troubled soul. So I knew to stay away. (One troubled soul recognizes another, doncha know.)

But that didnt mean that I didnt feel the pull. The pull of truly remarkable beauty.

She was the best-looking girl in our high school .. far as I was concerned. And I know that I am not alone in my opinion.

She was in a league of her own .. without even trying. She made it look easy. Soo easy. Even with no make-up.

She always had a swarm of guys buzzing around her .. and you couldnt really blame them. Like flies to honey.

But she never played the pretty girl .. that's why everybody liked her. She did not play hard-to-get. She would tell you straight up, "I would like to get to know you better."

But she was so good looking that she made me nervous. (And I dont usually get nervous.)

I am trying to think of somebody who reminds me of her .. and I cant think of anybody. (She holds that kind of uniqueness in my mind.)

Dark hair. Olive complextion. Beautiful skin. Easy demeanor.

Anyway .. sometimes we see parts of ourselves in others .. and I saw something of myself in her ..

.. and the feeling was like, "I can't even deal very well with this shit myself .. so I dont think I am going to be much help to you, either."

» Big Sparks

But I could definitely feel a push-pull thing going on there. Because I could feel the sparks .. big sparks. So big they scared me.

[ Update - I have actually been thinking about this .. and it bothered me that I couldnt think of even one person who reminded me of Lisa.

And even tho Lisa doesnt look like Shasta Fay Hepworth .. that is not far from the Lisa vibe. Lisa definitely had an easy, hippie spirit to her. ]

We do not know what the other person is feeling (.. unless they tell us like I am telling you now) .. but she let me know that she was game.

And that made my sparks feel even more dangerous. I did not know how to deal with sparks like that. That's why they scared me.

And you know how I like pretty girls. I am well able to appreciate beauty. Let me tell you.

» Julia's Thoughts on Ugliness

[ And right here is where we might pause to discuss Julia's thoughts on the subject of physical beauty.

God, I like her. An Aussie chick.

(Are Aussie chicks as tough as Aussie guys? She does not look very tough to me, but you never know with those Aussies.)

She is a mom. A good mom. And a cancer survivor, like me.  And we both screen Angelina's calls. Talk about exclusivity.

Did you notice that Angelina has written a script that stars Brad as her blocked writer husband? My ego is convined that she is feeling me.

You know how quantum entanglement can work across such distances.

I couldnt help but notice that in one of the trailers, she kicks Brad Pitt out of the bed. I kinda wanna step over him and say, "Excuse me, Brad. Ooh, this bed is nice-n-warm. Hi Ang. What's shakin'?"

When I saw Unbroken, my ego said, "Dude, she probably read your entry on going to see the Commodore, and recognized the pattern."

Speaking of unusual events in alternate universes .. did I ever tell you how I am responsible for George Clooney's wife getting the hots for him?

He will no doubt deny it, but everybody knows the truth.

Anyway .. I have been feeling Julia in a big way, recently. Isnt the Internet grand?

She must be reading my shit. My ego is totally convinced. Say hi to Nicole for me.

Tho regarding physical beauty, I was struck by what the Dog once told me at a Waikiki night club.

He said, "Dog, if a girl has the balls to ask me to dance, then I will dance with her no matter how fat or ugly she is."

The Dog was always saying the coolest shit.

I lived with the Film school girl for 5 years, who was not super attractive ..

.. so there is certainly more to a good relationship than physical beauty.

I am sure that Maria and Nancy would both concur.

I feel like I am able to look beyond the physical better than most .. but certainly, physical beauty factors into the equation. The attraction equation.

Perhaps an interesting cousin question to kick around would be » "When does physical beauty become a liability? When does it become a burden?" ]

I must still feel something for Lisa .. if I am writing about her after all these years. No?

Or maybe it's for that memory of her at my door. What a pleasant surprise that was. Like you won the lottery and they are here to deliver the check.

Ah, Lisa .. we coulda made such beautiful music together. (You know it's true.)

» Patty

Patty was her younger sister, who was best friends with Tunie .. for probably longer than any other girl.

Patty was a lot of fun, herself. And I saw a lot more of her. Cuz she was always over the house.

She became almost like a sister after a while .. because she was always there. But she would flirt with me. (You know how fresh those young high school girls can get sometimes.)

She was always upbeat .. never down. Ever.

» The Heartbreak

After I left home, I would occasionally call back there and talk to an old friend who still lived there, and I would always ask about LIsa.

"You dont wanna know," he said. "It's so sad. She's strung out pretty bad [ junkie ]. I saw her at a gas station last week and she's not even good-looking any more."

"Get the fuck out," I said. "You sure it was Lisa?"

"I wouldnt have believed it myself," he said, "if I didnt see it with my own eyes. Her sister is raising her kids."

His voice dripped with the sadness that I was feeling. I thought about her later and felt like crying. Broke my heart. And there was a part of me that refused to believe it. (A pretty big part.)

This girl was so beautiful that she looked like she could roll out of bed in the moring and throw on a tee-shirt and a pair of jeans and gone to a photo shoot sans make-up and killed it .. without even trying. She would take my breath away.

Perfect everything. No weak spots. Anywhere. And sweet. It definitely fucks with your head.

Life .. you know how it can get to you sometimes.

I can feel something inside of me praying for her.

» Must Get Out at All Costs

But I knew when I was 15 that I had to get the fuck out of there. To stay was to die a slow, sad death.

But most stay. You know how it is in your own community .. not many reach escape velocity.

And certainly some thrive there .. but not me. I could feel those small-town walls closing in fast.

I wasnt really sure where to go or what to do .. but anywhere was better than there. Because, for me, staying was death. A slow, suffocating death.

So, is the difference as simple as the fact that I got out of there and Lisa didnt?

About halfway through this column by Edsall (who kicks much ass) he quotes James Stimson, a political scientist at the University of North Carolina, as saying:

Those who choose to leave such communities and find their fortune elsewhere are ambitious and confident in their abilities. Those who are fearful, conservative, in the social sense, and lack ambition stay and accept decline.

I only really know myself, and I can tell you that I am indeed ambitious, motivated and confident in my abilities.

They gave me morphine-based narcotics during treatment. I never took more than a half pill at a time. And I stopped taking them because they made me feel like I wouldnt breathe unless I focused on my breathing.

I still have a mostly-full bottle sitting here. Tho, yeah .. they make me feel very relaxed and they make the pain go away quite nicely.

Perhaps later I'll take one of them and think about Lisa.

» The Last Time I Saw Lisa

Speaking of which .. the last time that I saw Lisa .. was right after I got out of bootcamp. Which was right at the nastiest point of the dead of winter.

And I was sitting in the passenger seat of a friend's car, who was driving. And it was dark out. Very dark, and it had been for a while.

» A Cold, Dark Night in the Dead of Winter

And it was cold out, too. Very cold. And it was in the parking lot of the very same park where I threw those two fatties .. to Lance and Egan.

(Egan still owes me 50 cents .. which is probably thousands of dollars by now, with interest.)

And there was one other car parked there. It was Lisa, and her man. Her junkie man. Her big, strong-looking junkie man.

I did not know him. He was in the same class, I think, as my friend who was driving. Who was one year older than me.

Nevertheless .. my friend pulls up so that the two drivers are talking nearly face-to-face. And that's when I saw Lisa. She kept looking forward. Her head was down. We never spoke. We never even made eye contact.

They only chatted briefly, a minute or two .. but that may have been the most uncomfortable two minutes of my life. Like nails on a chalkboard times 10.

I was never so glad as when he said goodbye and drove away and put up the window. By now it was freezing inside.

» Feeling Bent Inside & Unable to Even Speak

To be honest, I'm not really sure what happened .. but I actually felt bent inside .. as we drove away. I was definitely *not* okay. And I wasnt even sure why.

I could feel myself trying to grasp onto something familiar .. but I couldnt find anything. It was a truly horrible feeling.

I still dont know what that was. But I totally felt for her. (Because I liked Lisa. How could anybody not?)

My friend started talking about nothing serious .. he was just making more light conversation with me as we drove out of the parking lot.

And I was so fucked up (from this experience) that I could not even engage in the conversation. (Which had never happened before.)

I mean, I remember looking over at him I coud tell that he couldnt tell that I was fucked up. And I couldnt even speak .. so, altho I didnt know what was going on, I knew I was indeed very fucked up.

And I wanted to tell him, "Dude, will you please shut the fuck up for a minute? So I can concentrate and focus on getting my shit back in this sack. Because I am very fucked up right now and I dont even know what is going on with me."

But I couldnt even talk to say this. So he just kept on talking .. like everything is normal. Which was kinda annoying in my raw, vulnerable state.

Because for me, this was as far from normal as I had ever been.

[ This was, by the way, the same friend, who would tell me on the phone, "You dont wanna know" .. when I asked about Lisa some years later. ]

I felt very weird, very strange, indeed. And that shit had major linger time. Major hang time. Not so very different from what you feel when you get the wind knocked out of you. Downright incapacitated.

I had just turned 19, so I knew very little about this kind of stuff. (And I still dont really get it.) She was still 18.

So .. that was the last time that I saw her. And it was very dark out and very cold out. And it gave me the most horrible feeling .. that lasted well beyond the moment we drove away.

Which is probably why I am only now, so many years later, even able to talk about her.

Maybe now you can understand when I say that .. Lisa felt b.l.o.c.k.e.d to me. (blocked from me?) She had made her way into my bedroom .. but I did not make my way into hers. 

And I could probably write untold volumes describing precisely what I mean .. but then they wouldnt be untold.

But a part of what I mean is .. that I came close. Very close .. to making it into her bedroom. (Which I was genuinely curious about.)

We lived at opposite ends of the town .. so my neighborhood and her neighborhood were not close.

And after she paid me the visit to my bedroom, and after I gave her a ride .. some time after, I stopped by her place.

And I was checking something on my bike when some other dude rode up on another bike and got off and went right inside .. without knocking. Like he was family. Or her boyfriend.

So I quietly left.

I mentioned it to her later and she said, "Oh, no .. he's just a friend. I actually wasnt feeling good that day and he was bringing me some medicine."

But I never went by there again.

» Real Life Doesnt Always Have a Happy Ending

But it would be many years later .. when I was experimenting with a piece of writing .. which I sent to the Dog for his Ivy League (Core Cirriculum) eyes to look at .. because I was having trouble with a certain part.

And he called me back some days later and said, "Ya know, dawg .. things dont always have a happy ending .. no matter how badly we might want them to. That's just real life."

And when he said that, I remembered the last time I saw Lisa. Because it was certainly not happy .. and it felt like the end.

When I heard the news about Julie Allen .. and I felt that unexplainable emotional anguish .. I thought back to the last time I saw Lisa.

I tried to dismiss the comparisons, but that bending feeling .. that was the only other time I felt like that.

So perhaps the feelings associated with Lisa were somehow triggered and activated and came out with Julie?

I mean, right after I saw each of them for the last time, bad things happened to them. Very bad.

And they were both total sweethearts. They didnt necessarily appear to be in any kind of emotional distress .. but in retrospect, it seems that they had to be.

Some have said, "Girls like this [ strikingly beautiful or talented on a national level ] arent going to be knocking on your door or walking up to a guy like you and introducing themselves .. unless they are feeling at least a little desperate. And you know that I mean that in a good way. In a Zen sort-of-way." 

I wanted to ask him to clarify further what he meant .. but there was really no need.

And I know on an intellectual level that I am not responsible for the bad things that happened to either of these girls .. but fuck if I dont feel responsible in some way.

In some real way. In some important way. In some significant way.

[ Later, I am going to tell you about Laura. Now there is a place where my feelings of responsibility do make sense .. on an intellectual level. ]

I mean, in both cases it feels like somebody cut out a chunk of my heart .. a pretty big chunk. And not in a surgical way, either. In a pound-of-flesh sort-of-way. I do not have many more of these kinds of chunks left.

So, now .. whenever a girl might happen to approach me .. particularly if she has a certain beauty about her, or some notable talent .. I try to get to know her better .. enough to determine that she is not in some kind of immediate distress.

» Laguna Beach Lisa

I had a house-mate named Lisa in Laguna Beach. She was fucked up, too. Full-blown alcoholic. But pretty, and sweet.

I cut her all kinds of slack and was very nice to her because of her name. Because, when I said her name, it reminded of Lisa. They both had a similar look.

That Lisa there in Laguna .. there's another story. Big story. Not as big, tho as ...

» Laura

Lisa was not the only beautiful, sexy junkie that I knew. I could probably name today's entry » Beautiful, Sexy Junkies that I Have Slept With or Would Have Liked To ..

.. and that would be a pretty accurate title.

I never actually dated Lisa, but there was another girl, Laura, who I did date.

She told me, "You know, you hear these stories that it takes 3 or 4 times to get hooked on smack .. but that's bullshit. It is sooo good .. and it makes you feel so good .. and it makes sex so incredibly good .. that one time is all it takes and you're hooked for life."

Then she said, "I am blazing right now. Look at my eyes. I could not see you if I were straight. I'm on methadone treatments."

Whereas Lisa lived in my town, so I went to middle school and high school with her, she lived at the other end of town. We almost could not live further apart in the same town.

Laura lived in an adjacent town, but close. My grandparents also lived in her town, and they lived right up the hill (walking distance) and Laura lived mere walking distance from them.

So I did not go to school with her, but she lived close to our neighborhood.

When I was in the Navy, that first year, I was stationed up in Maine for 4 months during the summer (.. with my gay, black roommate from Charleston, the human tri-pod, who almost got me in trouble) ..

.. and we saw some of each other when I would drive down (4 hours) every now-n-then for a weekend visit .. particlarly for the holidays (4th).

And also when I returned for a couple of weeks during the Christmas holidays one year .. things just seemed to fall together so perfectly and I spent the nicest Christmas and New Years with her.

» A Holiday Like No Other

So easy, so natural, so warm, so caring. So easy with the family.

She was just the sweetest thing to me and it all felt so natural that I really didnt want to leave to go back.

Downright magical and enchanting and "pinch me" can this be real? Hard to describe.

She was so passionate that her lips would get burning hot.

Anyway, there's a lot more to that story that I'm not going to get into. Because again, it's not a particularly happy story.

And this girl was another sweetheart. And I knew her better than I did Lisa. A lot better.

» I Could Feel Her Craving My Stuff

She really liked me. You know when a girl really likes you a lot. And she let's you know. (She has a voracious sexual appetite and was definitely lusting after my ass, my teenage ass  .. let me tell you.)

And I was definitely feeling her, too. But the Navy owned my ass, and would be sending me to the four corners of the globe. So I saw no way to negotiate anything beyond the current moment .. magical as it was.

The weekend visits during the summer in Maine were more sexual .. very steamy shit .. I could actually feel her craving my stuff.

Attack is not the right word  .. but it is not far from the right word, either. I remember that she was on top a lot.

But the Christmas visit seemed to be more of an emotional bonding. Hard to describe.

I was feeling her more inside than outside. That part was clear.

She actually made me feel settled and relaxed and content inside. Which was no small feat, my friend. She was so affectionate.

Before her, I did not even know that such a thing was possible. It was so cool that, in my memory, it has its own special category, so to speak.

There is nothing really like it .. and yes, I have had many beautiful moments and many beautiful memories, for sure.

But she was the one who made it special.

I would go into detail on this holiday warmth, because it was such a remarkable thing .. but I think it would sound corny.

But, if you told me that she had put something in my drink that made everything seem rosy and golden and perfect .. I would say, "I knew it!"

I was 19 and 20. This was right before I left for Hawaii. Where I lived with the Dog and turned straight guys gay.

(There's a lot more to this story.)

The Dog was a junkie for a while. I actually have his copy the Burroughs book. He's the guy who said, "If, after spending time with a person, you feel as though you've lost a quart of plasma, avoid that person in the future." And other things

So here is the message that I would like to leave you with » junkies are our brothers and our sisters ..

.. and they are truly some of the most beautiful people you will ever meet.

The end. ■

Feb 23, 2016 » This is an outstanding 2-hour documentary on the state of heroin addiction in America.

Martin Smith continues to kick much ass. Check out the craftmanship of this thing. Most impressive.

I watched the whole thing in one sitting. Riveting material. See for yourself.

April 21, 2016 » Prince died .. probably due to narcotic pain meds (for his hips).

Prince was always so hyper-alive .. that the idea of him being dead is torquing my coconut.

End update. ■■

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This page contains a single entry by Rad published on August 21, 2015 8:21 AM.

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