Caught the new Doors Classic Albums on VH1 and let me just say that John Densmore remains the biggest douche, Robby Krieger the sweetest burnout and Ray Manzarek the biggest blowhard in rock. Jim Morrison remains dead. I haven’t been able to listen to these guys since I played them for 377 consecutive days in my junior year of high school, but I thought 20 plus years was enough time to clear the memory gears and refresh the ears. Wasn’t as bad I expected. Still thin, but Morrison’s voice resonates, and more is going on beneath it than I gave ‘em credit for. The end is still only for teenagers, but I enjoyed this trip down memory lane. Now if we could only find Robby a new dye man...
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since Bradley has gone AWOL and Tony has gone YoGA, here is one last memory of the Stick-
The last time I went to Candlestick Park I was drunk before noon. It was teacher cut day and we were wearing our party hats. It was also the last time I tailgated at a Giants game, because PacBell Temple does not allow such messiness. You also don’t see fans in the new joint like the one who sat behind us that day, the only man in the bowl more hammered than we were. “Let’s go Johnny Bench. Come on Johnny, ya fucking punk.” We were playing the Braves in 1999, but no matter- we loved this dude, for his performance was worse than ours, and our guilt thusly redeemed. Visiting the Stick was something like making the pilgrimage to Mecca, if you believed in the trinity of wind and cold and intoxication. I saw the face of Marvin Bernard in a Carnation Chocolate Malt, and I’m still waiting for the right ebay moment to dump that one. I can’t remember a single detail of the game. We got plastered, sunburned and embarrassingly confessional, and I’ve been in counseling for years trying to erase the image of that Science teacher and the attendance secretary with the asymmetrial ass. Mixing business and pleasure can be an expensive and dangerous proposition. Anyway, I think we drove home, but that image remains in unnavigable caverns. The only thing I can recall is that the Giants were good then. Imagine that. Russ Ortiz and Robb Nen and Bill Mueller weren’t that great in our eyes and hearts during those years, but boy are their replacements sad copies. I can’t say the same thing about the new place, because it is gorgeous. But I do miss the loudmouths, and I’ve yet to hear the name Johnny Bench uttered in the palace Peter built.
The Doors rule. They were LA at its (rare) coolest. When I hear LA Woman it makes me think of being very drunk on a warm night in Hollywood hanging out at bars and staring at blonde girls fake tits.
Did I say that?
I can't lie. I hated the Stick. I was so happy when they built the new place. That said, the crowd at Pac Bell is a sad imitation of the fantastic cretins that hung at the Stick.
Also, there aren't enough bars around Pac Bell. Not that there were any in Hunter's Point. But we need more watering holes across the street other than Momos. Ah well, there will never be another Wrigley.
Final thought-Work and pleasure should never be mixed. Ever. Just way too many possibilities for embarrassing behavior. Or confessions. I just don't want to know, you know?
I like that 21st Amendment spot, but that's up several blocks. Never actually set foot in Momo's.
Yea, I wasn't trying to romanticize the Stick (this was for a Zisk mag piece on final memories of dead Stadiums) but the prices and the crowd and the lack of tailgating scene are not good.
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