5-19-90 Phantom Dog Leap (The night I decided to crash Andrea Enthal's studio at KPFK)

5/19/90

Heh, heh... I guess ol' Hoody was pretty buzzed when that one came around. Yep, as near as I can see, which is pretty darn near, let me tell you. Yeah, an ol' Hoody's pretty buzzed right now, so take a phantom dog leap into the wild night air. Once it becomes night, that is. Drinkin' a San Miguel. Smellin' clean, cause I just took a shower. It is going to take a phantom dog leap tonight, as a matter of fact. No one needs a phantom dog leap more than I do. Goes without saying. Come on... Yeah.... go on, now... aw haw... do it...

if i don't slip in the shower pretty soon, i guess i'll die.

5/19/90

HON -- ling long, a long a lingy ling...

DON -- long ling, a ling a lingy lang...

HELLO -- hello. Hello, again low again, lee again...

SH---boom, SH-boom (life could be a dream,)

La,da-da-da-da, da da da, da-da-da...boom, SH--boom

(if I could take you up to paradise up above,) SH--boom

(if you would tell me I'm the only one that you love,)

Life could be a dream sweet heart!

5/23/90

hele helee heellleeee!

hele helee Ailleeee!

heellleeee! helee heellleeee!

helee heellleeee! hele heleeeee!

5/18/90

Takin' it as it comes. That describes me perfectly, right now. I am just caught up in whatever's going on and takin' what life dishes out on the side. If there are desserts and treats, that is fine. I take what I can get. But gettin' don't come cheaply any more. Just to kick back takes a lot of effort, what with all the prescription remedies sold over the counter. Ha!

 

'90s Nutjob Personal Ad Response (unsubmitted, of course)

He greeted her, arms open wide with a smile that contained a promise. He casually strolled on over to where she was standing and planted one right on the kisser. He wrote her a meaningful little note and she respected him. I hope.

Thar be no words for how bawdy it would be, a midnight journey, jess you an' me, we'll kiss beneath the old oak tree...hold that thought this is getting out of hand. Hey so like, what's up? Who are ya? And, like, whadda ya do?

Hey, "My name is Andrew. Call me what you want. I've gone by Drew, Drewski, Hoody..

O.K.. I really dig the simple things in life, the basics, I suppose, the things that it takes having a friend or companion to share it with to make it complete. I love nature, the outdoors, camping, fishing, motorcycle and bike riding, hip-hop dancing with frenzied rock badgers, opening cans of soup, playing guitar, movies, parades, social happenings, dental hygiene awareness rallies... all the same stuff you like.

And together, wow, like we could merge our individual viewpoints and mingle in a oneness of togetherness in our mutual understanding(s). Not unless you wanted to. So, what else will be required to divulge in order to meet you and begin our wonderful relationship?

I'm seventy plus years old, a gay Vietnam Vet aids victim, an alcoholic and addicted to crack. I have a criminal record and am legally insane. I like to get all those things out in the open before I get to how I look, in case you want to reject me, so I won't have to go through it twice.

I am a dwarf, three and one half feet tall. I am bald and fifty pounds overweight, oh and I have huge canker sores, more like lesions really, big festering and oozing scabs and ... the smell, well, we needn't get to talking about the hideous aroma of filth which exudes from my pores. What's there not to like?

I am also a quadriplegic and I have a catheter bag which... O.K. now I've gone off. I'm a regular guy, indescribable, 25- yrs old, 5'9", SWM, 155, Med build, bleached blond EZ rider hairdo, green eyes, I wear John Lennon glasses, have a sort of sixties outlook, like classic rock, alternative and underground, seventies and pop music, whatever. I can groove.

But, all joking aside, and everything, like do ya wanna go out? I'm too weird for you, huh? I knew I shouldn't have brought up the… well, never mind. So, why don't we give it a try, love? I'm a really nice guy who no matter what would never hurt you. I'm safe, not one of "those" guys. Well, sure I'm a gutsy outdoorsman, burly as a bear, but underneath, I'm the sensitive, gentle, caring type. So what could go wrong? Please contact me.

Love, Andrew. Bye!

ANDREW PAUL GOLDING

9817 Imperial. Hwy # 27, Downey, Ca 90242

213 803 6961 (anytime--serious or silly)

Biker Personal (1990-ish)

Hello, my name is Hoody and I like Harleys. 

Big, cop-bike Harleys, choppers, hogs -- the whole lot of 'em. I love 'em all. I am currently planning an invasion of the 48 Continental United States with my buddy and roommate, Brian. We plan to save up enough money to purchase said motorcycles from a police auction, with enough money to get to New Orleans. This we refer to as the pilgrimage. After the money runs out we plan to work our way from town to town washing dishes, digging ditches, picking corn, slopping pigs, playing guitars on street-corners and in bars. We will take in as much of the local color as possible along the way and make as many friends as we can, sowing the seeds of hemp and happiness wherever we go.

So much for the future.

Right now I am looking for a woman, or should I say "a nice girl" who will be my friend to the end and upon whom I can feast my eyes as well as my hands. When I am old(er) I plan to settle down, marry and have children, not necessarily in that order. Hell, if my damsel wants to come along, I'll strap the wench to the back and take 'er with. We won't be stayin' at no Hiltons or Holiday Inns, though, and we will be bathing nude in mountain streams (whenever possible). This whole trip will be a mile-stone in my life and could take up to a year (or more). So, sure, I'd want my woman to come with. Or else I might meet her on the road, in some "Gas Food" stop outside of bum-fuck Alabama. I just don't know. But, hey, in the mean time I am going to need as the silly old song says "Somebody to Love."  Jefferson Airplane, not Queen.

So, here I am, my name is Hoody. Did you get that? Not Andrew, as my parents named me (after a Russian film student named Andrew Yablonski). Not Drew, as my uncle Steve calls me or Andy as just about every employer and supervisory asshole figure in my life has called me—but Hoody. Don't ask why. It doesn't matter.

So, do you want to?

Let's Party!

More tasteless stoned, drunken personal ad ramblings (this is why you're single, dude)

Hey, you sweet little thing. I'm Andrew. And I like a big ass-kickin' woman. No shit. I really dig a broad with balls. And a hairy ass. Yeah, right. Sow-ree. I hope youz ain't disgusted by now. 

Ow righty, hey, lemme ask you a quessshun. What's yer name? I think you are- so beautiful. Look, no! Look me in the eyes! Yes, yess, yes. 

The police found a marijuana garden in the Malibu Hills. It took them two days to find it. No one was arrested, but they said it had an elaborate system of irrigation. What do the police plan to do with all that marijuana? Burn it.
 
"Downwind, we hope," said Jerry Dunphy. 

Yeah, right. I hope I made my point. So what sort of irrigation system do you have?
 
I am Andrew. I said it before. I am a man. I reside in Downey. I stand approximately five foot nine inches tall. I weigh in at a sturdy one hundred and fifty seven pounds, subject to change with lifestyle. But I love to eat like a pig. So who don't? 

I also like to drink like a fish. I have blond hair and sparkling green eyes. Except when they're glassy, or red, or closed, yah, yah, yah. I sport the Easy Rider, neo-biker sixties look, with a California transient musician twist. Yah, yah, yah. 

So what have I left out? I am not a bum. I will treat you right. I will be as Frank as Anne. Or a Hoffy Hot Dog. They both plump when you cook them. 

Hey?! Who's writing this monologue? You're killin' me. Ok, sorry bout that. The script was taken over by the Gremlins. 

So, back to my ass-kickin' woman. She's gotta be tough. When we go out and get into fights with strangers in bars, I'd like a woman who can hold her own. Maybe help me out.
 
Yah. So I like romantic things like nature and moonlight. Or rocks. I go crazy over rocks. Oh, man. And slightly desert canyon passes that go through to small one-diner-towns called Bodfish, population who knows what (those horny country shits).

I love motorcycle ridin' and makin' out under a shady tree, on the top of a hill, with a view of Ernest Borgnine's backyard. We could run down into his meadow and go for cow rides. I know it is not as romantic as horse riding, however, Ernest only has cows.
 
Oh, we could go chicken or pig riding if you like, but I don't see the point. They usually die after you crush them to death. Ok, so that's cruel. We all make mistakes. 

Hey, babe, I love you. You're the greatest.