Andrew Letter 26

****The following was transcribed from a letter I sent my mom sometime in the early 80s. She was kind enough to send me a batch of our old correspondence to aid me in the completion of my memoirs. I've done my best to preserve the original text, while correcting some typos and inserting paragraph breaks to make for easier reading. I have yet to determine an approximate date, but when I do, I will move this post to the appropriate slot in the chronology of this blog.****

 

 

Andrew Letter 26 (Early 80s)

 

Dear Mom,

 

It’s kind of hard to write in the middle of a vacation, so I sort of waited for the end to write. I got your letter and can relate, know where you’re coming from, etc. I can also say that I am happy with my own attitudes right now. It is no longer a matter of “fuck ‘em all” or “so what.” It is a matter of finding my own place or niche. I have done so many things in the last few weeks that have made me think: You know, I am in my prime, and I really am having the time of my life.

I have made some new friends and they blend right in with the old. Lesa is a very nice, sympathetic soul, and she is another person (like Cherie) who has strange powers, and who I believe has a place in my life. Steve and Denise Dennis, are both in good spirits but lack direction. Dennis seems to be interested only in getting drunk. Likewise, Steve seems to value only his own very narrow scope of punk music, something we don’t agree upon. He has shaved his whole head – otherwise, we get along fine.

Cherie and I have “broken up.” I have decided that I can’t handle that kind of relationship and that I am happy without the jealousy and paranoia. I hate head games and power trips and people into ownership. It was something that I needed to experience, though.

I have since gone out with other girls and felt myself more of a whole person (like I’m not just living for one person). Cherie was upset at the actual “breakup” but not at the events leading up to it, so I felt no pain at demoting her to less than #1 status. Oh, well, I am now realizing my friendship making capabilities and am loving it.

I met this girl Lesa at a party, and she was strung out on meth (don’t worry, mom). I talked to her and found her interesting. She plays bass, wants to get in a band and we like a lot of similar music. Anyway, I talked to her while she was shooting up – the sight sickened me – and I convinced her that she was a worthwhile person, contrary to her beliefs. I actually restored her faith in herself, and she is clean (off drugs) now. She calls me a “nice man.”

Remember my experience with Cherie? The face changing? Well, if you say I’m crazy, I’m gonna get mad because I know for a fact that people’s outward and inward appearances change through manifestations of good and evil. Just as Cherie’s face turned into the devil, Lesa’s face changed. It once became that of an old lady and had a tree-like appearance, and then it became very beautiful and vibrant.

I could tell she was tortured by her own personal demons, and wanted to help her and I did. I sat there and talked to her, and I helped her to feel good about herself again. That made me feel good. Later, we both sat down at a piano and started to play, and the most marvelous music  came from the two of us playing the piano psychically (not looking). No drugs were involved (on my part), just – I hate to use this expression – good vibes.

Well, that’s where I’m at. I’m a hippie, I’m afraid, at heart. I don’t like that fast, violent punk garbage (who does?) but I am still a (non-conformist member of society) PUNK. I guess I am just a punk that loves people.

Anyway, I’m rambling.

I talked to Paul – one time in the whole visit. I’m sorry I didn’t see him more, but I was busy – always doing something fun. He said that I am sane and that I am a healthy teenager.

 

By the way, I love life and I love you,

Andrew

Jesus loves you. Bye now. I’ll write again.

A letter from Nina (a punk girl I dated briefly in high school)

Andrew,

Hi-

This is Nina. I’m at home from school and I just woke up from a dream. It had you and your girlfriend in it. That just made me want to write you a letter, since we haven’t really spoken for a while.

At my party, I know, I was very strange. You probably thought that I had completely lost control of my life. But actually I really haven’t. You see, I just let everyone walk all over me, and I understand now and I don’t intend to have any more big parties.

Anyways I really hope that you are happy. Because I care a lot about you still. I was talking to Jeanette at a gig and she said that she doesn’t see that much of you. I found that odd because you both go to the same school and all, but then I started to understand the situation. It must be that you’re always with Ilene, huh? Well, that’s great!

You don’t know how happy I am for you to have found the one person that you have been looking for. She seems really nice. I felt sort of ridiculous around her because, to me it was like, you might of told her I was “nice” or whatever you felt, and I was a complete jerk that night and she kind of just said “O.K. Andrew, whatever you say.”

But I’d really like to get to know her. Why don’t you ever go out anymore? Are you guys that involved? I always wondered what it would be like to just want to be with someone, and no one else. Oh, well.

So, how is your family? Are you getting along well? I sure hope so. I’m alright. I’m just getting some lectures from my mom on school and that sort of stuff.

I finally took care of my “Paul San problem.” It was really weird, you see he was at my party and we didn’t even talk. It wasn’t like a fight, just like we weren’t even together. After that we didn’t talk for a really long time and then I saw him one night at the Galaxy. And I just told him, that I thought we outta just be friends. And that was it. I can’t see what it is I saw in him.

But I have found myself a new Paul! It’s so weird. I saw him and was awed, I didn’t EVEN want him for a boyfriend, I figured “fuck, that guy is beautiful, I only want to look at him.” I just wanted to stare at him. But then he kept talking to me all night, and then by the end of the night he was holding my hand and he kissed me goodnight and got my phone # and I’ve seen him almost every night since.

And that was 2 weeks ago. There is something special about him. It’s weird, he’s absolutely tooo nice. I can’t understand. He has 1 million friends and he is too nice to me. I guess there’s no such thing, but you know.

Well, I guess I outta go. Sorry, if I bored you. Please write me back cuz I will look forward to hearing from you. Bye, I love you always.

Love,

N------

(tricky huh hee hee)

P.S. You might have to help me with French, cuz I’m having troubles, not a lot, just kinda.

Here’s something I wrote in school. See if you can figure out who it is about.

Sitting here, in a daze

Don’t hear the teacher

Or what he says

I’m thinking about people

And things to do

I’m thinking about me

And I’m thinking about you

I’m so alone without you here

Being by myself is what I fear

I’m trying to listen

I sit and stare

I close my eyes and you’re still not there

Bye Love,

Nina

The Midnight Postman

Do you remember where you were on January 14, 1973? Elvis was performing Aloha from Hawaii via Satellite. I know what I was doing, besides watching it, of course, with Gracie. I was writing letters of apology with a red felt tip pen on paper napkins to a girl on whose roof I had pooped the previous week. Yes, you heard that correctly. I pooped on her roof.

OK, so there was this girl, Sabin Pildas at my progressive alternative school, Play Mountain Place, who I had my very first puppy crush on. She had blonde hair and was cute as a bug, or a button, or a rainbow sunflower, whatever. I was in love. I liked-ed her so much I invited her to my 7^th birthday party. We played at school and sometimes after school, as she was my neighbor. She lived in West Hollywood, just across the Sunset Strip from the house my mom was renting on Larabee.

One night, I was eating dinner over at her house. They were having “busgetti.” Somewhere between the appetizers and the main course, we were offered water to drink in a choice of glasses. I really wanted to drink out of the blue glass. It had a neat swirly texture and a blue tint that got really dark at the bottom, like a tequila sunrise, only with indigo. As soon as I saw it, I knew that it was the glass for me.

I was denied that glass, however, as it was her father’s glass and was “special.” I didn’t take it well. First, I pouted, which provided no results. Then I locked myself in the bathroom and proceeded to crawl out of the skylight and onto the roof. I’m not sure when the plan developed, but right then and there, I dropped my pants and crapped on the roof. Right there next to the skylight. With birds and sun and sky silently aghast at my action.

It was a messy, peanut buttery affair, and it left my backside in need of a good washing. Alas, I had neglected to bring any toilet paper. So there I was squatting, my little undies and pants all akimbo and becoming soiled from the mess.

I cried. 

 

And yelled. 

 

“Help! Someone!”

Eventually, someone heard me and determined that I was on the roof, above the skylight in the locked bathroom. Somehow they got the door open, and someone handed me a roll of toilet paper. Yes, there were questions. Possibly starting with “What the….” I was crying, so they tried not to yell at me, but I could tell they were really pissed. After getting cleaned up and climbing back down, my mom was called, and I was soon picked up. I was never invited back there again.

I was forbidden to play with Sabin. This didn’t sit well with me. I still had my puppy crush on her, although I knew I had fucked up. So, on January 14^th, when everyone was watching 70s Elvis doing his thing, I was writing these notes to my lost love. Later, I snuck across Sunset Blvd. in the middle of the night to slide them under her door, the midnight postman, delivering his message of love and regret.

I’m not sure if she ever got to read them, but her parents did. They contacted the school and lodged a formal complaint, which could be in some permanent record somewhere, if those hippies kept records of that kind thing back then. I was later kicked out of that school for pushing a kid out of a tree house, but that’s another story.

Me and Sabin are friends on Facebook (I think) and I don’t guess she was scarred for life by my misdeed. Let me just check my friends list real quick. Yep, still there. So that was the start of my awkward love letter writing career which endures to this day. If I could just find those napkins, I’d try to redeliver them just to be sure she knows that I was really sorry back then and that my feelings of puppy love were true.

Back In Time

Can you insert a post into the past if you think of something later on?  Stupid Blogger. I used to be able to change the date and post things retroactively. Now I have to wait for time travel to be invented, so I can go back and put paper journal transcriptions in their proper place.

**Editor's note: They fixed the portal. Now it is possible to add posts to my timeline (at least as far back as Jan 1, 1970) without the use of time travel.  For my purposes, that'll have to do. I wasn't doing much blogging before that time anyways. 

And, unlike Facebook, there is no built-in "edited" disclaimer at the bottom to expose the fact that I have tampered with the past, should I decide to go back and re-write history. Like the Mandela Effect, people who may have read something that I posted will just wind up scratching their heads and saying, "Hmm, I could have sworn you'd said something completely different the last time I visited this page." If. Anyone. Ever. Re-reads anything on this blog.