TO LIVE AND (NEARLY) DIE IN LA

My friend George Nickle sent me an awesome piece for the blog.  It's about the very special nature of our relationsiop.  But it needs an introduction so I decided to dig deep and find a piece I wrote some time ago.  George's piece will follow.

TO LIVE AND (NEARLY) DIE IN LA

By:  Randy Gillis

 

For my 50^th birthday my friend George and his partner invited me to spend the week with them in Los Angeles.  I leapt at the chance.  I needed to get away from South, just for a bit.  It had been 7 years since my last visit and within 20 minutes of landing I was overwhelmed with the same realization that I’m sure a lot of people have when visiting LA; holy shit I’m fat.  If I thought I was hefty in NC, it was confirmed with a stylish brutality one can only find in West Hollywood.  It hit me 7 years earlier when I asked George why he had taken me to a children’s clothing store on our shopping day.  He informed me, as gently as he could, that we were indeed in an adult clothing store.  It was a cloud over the rest of the visit.  This time I was prepared.  I owned my fatness, jumped into Walmart’s best (baggy cargo shorts that fall tastefully below the knee and a classic though roomy tee-shirt from their “big boy” collection) and dove in.  It was the time of my life.

The first near-death experience happened on the first night.  George was at the wheel and as we approached the intersection of Fountain and Vista, a kid in an SUV decided that red lights are for the little people and bolted across the intersection.  We barely missed him and the car in the lane next to us plowed into his backside (this is West Hollywood after all) spinning him around 360 degrees and into the car on the other side of the intersection.  Now, considering that I was the only representative from Sophia, NC in the car, I think my reaction was perfectly within reason.  As George impassively watched this play out, I screamed once, grabbed my ears, attempted to get saved (there are no atheists in LA traffic) and threw up a little.  We also had to find an all-night upholsterer to help remove George’s car seat from my ass.  He was a nice guy who comforted me by saying I was not the most bizarre case he’d seen (this is West Hollywood after all).

The next night was birthday night and we met up with some college friends, Kelly and Murray, who rode in on Murray’s motorcycle.  Kelly asked if I would like to ride on back of the motorcycle to Baby Cakes NYC (a vegan desert place) for after dinner treats.  At that point my mother’s spirit invaded my body and said yes faster than West Hollywood has rear-ended “collisions.”  I put on Kelly’s helmet which had “bad girl” written on the side. 



It was AWESOME!   I was cruising West Hollywood on the back of a hot guys bike (Murray, I totally mean that in a friendly way) and I was nearing a religious experience. I was like the Grinch’s goofy dog with my tongue flapping in the wind and my tail wagging.  It was one of my best birthdays ever.

The second near-death experience happened at Runyon Canyon.  When George suggested hiking, I enthusiastically said yes without considering the soon-to-be crystal clear difference in the definition we each have of “hiking.”  And don’t be fooled by the comments at the Runyon Canyon website.  This is no “easy hike,” or “super-short jaunt.”  This is Everest baby.  Sure, it lulls you in with a gradual incline at the beginning but by the time you reach the point of no return it’s a vertical climb to your own death. 


The crowds were the number one complaint about this mountain and I have to admit I’ve never seen so many people (each with a dog) apparently born without sweat glands.  I, on the other hand, was sweating like a hog and breathing like a horse.  Of course the crowds didn’t bother me.  I seemed to get a wide berth as I trudged along.  It’s kind of like seeing a rhinoceros plodding toward his secret burial ground and you try to avoid it because you just don’t want to get involved.  There was a point near the top when even the dogs avoided me.  To my credit, after roughly 45 minutes, 2 wellness checks, a mule team (thanks to George’s impeccable planning) a few leather straps and a strategically placed grappling hook, I MADE IT!  And the view was spectacular.  It was totally worth the angina, blurred vision and slight urinary incontinence.

The following days brought great times, from the beaches at Malibu to the Getty, from Chinatown to down town LA, from a totally vegan chili cheese burger at Doomies (that was amazingly close) to the Farmers’ Market to…..Rough Trade Leather and Gear.  Well, you know I had to go in.  The name alone made it impossible to resist.  It simply confirmed what I knew deep down already.  I just can’t afford a fetish.  My god, the prices!  Exotic sex, like everything else nowadays, is for the rich.  I did pick up a pair of handcuffs from the bargain bin.  I felt like I had to buy something, you know, just to be polite.

And no trip to LA would be complete without a shame-filled visit to The Pleasure Chest, the world’s most infamous porn store.  I was rather proud of how well I handled it.  Well, compared to my first visit 7 years ago when I was greeted at the door by a fully leather-clad dominatrix walking her two “slaves,” (one male and one female) on leashes.  I remember looking at my friends and, with a panicked glare, asked if we should call the authorities.  I calmed down after they explained what was really going on.  This time I was filled with questions.  “What’s this for?  What’s that for?  What’s THAT for?” I asked.  I found it all quite fascinating.  The best part of it was being around and seeing people who didn’t seem to be ashamed, people who hadn’t allowed sex to be ruined for them.  I found that to be quite amazing and, in a strange way, comforting.

But the closest near-death experience happened at George’s house.  Even with an agenda packed full, we were able to continue our bad movie brawl.  We managed to get in about 21 films.  LA traffic is nothing.  Runyon Canyon coronaries are child’s play.  I saw the true face of death and its name is…..SCREWBALLS.