"Tucson Tales" Part 2.

Tucson Tales part 2


So I was officially in Tucson. Now what?

I just drove almost 15 hours, about 900 miles, to be with the girl I had fallen in love with. Originally she said that she would move to San Francisco to be with me. But after finding out that she paid only $500 for a garden townhouse, while I was stuck in an ex-girlfriend's dingy apartment, along with a trail of failed relationships, countless jobs, the loss of three cars, a bad drug habit and not much to show for the twelve years that I had lived there, I quickly decided it was time for a change. A big one.

Now, you have to understand, I've only been through (not even really in) Tucson twice in my life. Once as a kid with my mom and once on my way to Austin for SXSW. To me, Tucson was a dusty Arizona border town with outlaws and cowboys and banditos and stuff like that. The weeks proceeding my big move, I did a lot of research on the internet about the town. Or city really.

First off, it had like a population of a million, where my fair hamlet of San Francisco had maybe a few hundred thousand. I mean it was also three times the size of SF so, there you go. It had a major university, U of A, and what seemed like a thriving art community. There all sorts of fun things to do in Tucson. Who knew? Not me. So I was actually getting pretty excited about the move, outside of being with She-Ra of course.

Luckily I had a little bit of cash saved up. Not much though. Essentially that last month in SF I was basically unemployed. My boss at the bar hated me and I hated him. So when word got out that I might be moving to Tucson, he just plain took me off the schedule. I mean, it was something like “Well, maybe I'll just move to Arizona to be with that girl. I don't know,” or whatever to a co-worker right after I met She-Ra, which was something I was not considering at all. But then when I got “fired” and realized that she paid next to nothing for a garden townhome, I quickly changed my mind and made the decision to finally move out of California.

So, outside of not having a paycheck or tips coming in, I had to pay an extra month's rent (because I moved out early and without much notice), pay for the rental car, gas, food, etc, so when I arrived in Tucson I had like a few hundred bucks. Good thing Tucson has cheap eats and cheap beer, otherwise I would have been screwed.

Now, I've lived with girls before, but it was nothing like this. I had left my home state and everything behind in it to be with She-Ra. It was official. Things would have to work out between us or I'd be back on some Greyhound bus and sleep on my dad's floor at their place in Palm Springs. Good thing we actually got to know one another over the phone and email (along with her week long visit, which sealed the deal) so I was pretty confident about it working out.

Which, it did.

Her place was pretty small but it was awesome. The house has a decent sized garden that rests in between the living room and bedroom and a huge desert tree growing in the center of it. She also had a cat, Alice, which was fine because I've been a cat owner before. But, she also had a dog, which is something I had very little experience with. His name is Deacon (yes named after Brad Doriff's character in 'Blade'...so nerdy) and he is a beautiful Siberian husky, with reddish coloring and slate blue eyes. Only thing is, much like other pretty male models, he's kinda dumb and privy to escaping and getting lost. So there were moments when She-Ra and I were having, um, “fun” and he thought that we were fighting so instead of defending her he'd just move the gate a bit and take off. I cant tell you how many times we went looking for him in our jammers.

After being in Tucson for a bit while looking for work (which was tough because I really didn't want to bartend or serve again but this place is pretty much a service industry city) I started to get sick. I broke out in cold sweats and would shiver a lot, even though it was warm outside. So to help with my illness I started to watch She-Ra's “Sex and the City” DVDs to pass the time while I was on her couch. Turns out I really got into it, but I was still curious about my odd flu.

“You're detoxing,” She-Ra said. “I saw that bag of blow back at your apartment. You obviously had a serious problem and now its coming out. Just take it easy till you feel better.”

Detoxing? Me? But I... But... But...

Oh man, it was true. I did have quite the cocaine dependency back in San Francisco. It was EVERYWHERE! The bar where I worked, the club where I DJ'd, the radio station, friends had it, girls did it. Not to mention I was totally depressed and really confused about what I was doing back in SF. So, bingo!, that first night I did it I knew I was hooked. A year later I'm on She-Ra's couch shaking and nauseous. Good thing I had Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda to guide me through it. By the time the last episode was finishing up, when Bigs texted Carrie and it read John (yes, I wept...shut up I was in a vulnerable state) I was pretty much over the detoxing. It was then and there I decided that drugs were just not for me. I freaked out on extacy, I hated the way weed made me just tired, hungry and paranoid, I was terrified to do acid (hey, I already hallucinate on my own and the voices in my head would be deafening) and I obviously like the stimulants a bit too much. I'll just stick to drinking. It's legal, I'm good at it and Tucson was definitely a beer and whiskey town.

Once that was taken care of, it was time to look for a job. Now, here was my problem at the time. I sort of had that big fish/little pond attitude thing going on. I mean, hey, I'm from California man. I grew up in LA. I lived in San Francisco where I was a music journalist and DJ. I've done all kind of cool stuff. What am I saying here? I am the cool stuff. I'm gonna take Tucson by storm!

Yeah, no. Didn't happen.

I sent resumes to every decent rock radio station, to the local newspapers, the weekly free alternative press, even some local theaters and TV stations. Nothing. I managed to land an audition at a regional theater, the Beowulf, but I hadn't acted in years and had nothing prepared. A radio station, which was located way out in the boonies, offered me like $7 an hour to switch music from 2am to 8am. That wouldn't work. Nothing seemed to be panning out. I was getting pretty desperate.

Then, She-Ra made an odd but understandable suggestion.

“Why don't you try some of the local strip clubs,” she asked. “It's probably the only way you can get paid as a DJ here and I think Curves is hiring.”

Me? A strip club DJ? Are you kidding? I HATE strip clubs. My history with those things are not the best. I'm not good at just sitting there and letting some hot girl with big boobs writhe on my pants. When the mojo kicks in, I have to do something about it. One time I ran screaming from a high end “gentleman's club” after some friends bought me a private room dance with this one dancer that had boobs the size of bowling balls. When she unlatched her top and those things popped out, my body turned into a mercury thermometer that exploded from the heat and I had to get out. I ran all the way down Broadway, up Columbus, back into the apartment at Union and jumped into the shower. So there was no way I could work around that.

But, I was broke and hating living off She-Ra, who was a bartender at a popular bar restaurant just a few blocks up from our place. So I applied at the club, got an interview and started training the next night.

Curves is a fairly upscale strip club and luckily from the DJ booth you really cant see that much. The dancers just look like silhouettes and you're so far back and behind a tinted window that really it kind of just resembled a dance club. But...with scantily clad girls walking around and into the DJ booth. Which, I was okay with.

See, you have to understand where She-Ra was coming from with suggesting that I DJ at Curves. She knew I wasn't “into” the whole strip club thing and our relationship was so strong, even though it was fairly new, that really she just wanted me to make some money at some skills I have and keep looking for work as I get paid. I didn't want to do it. I just...kinda had to. It was my only option at the time.

When I arrived at Curves on a slow night, I was taken into the DJ booth by the club's manager, some slick Latino looking guy who probably listened to a lot of techno music and had spinning rims on his flashy car. The DJ I was training under seemed relieved when he met me. He was a tall, thin, young looking guy with a fedora hat and a shiny shirt with a skinny black tie. “Dude I hope it works out with you,” he said over the loud booming bump-bump music. “I've been pulling like ten, maybe twelve hour shifts with only like one day off. We need you here man.”

That first night I just observed, helped him get CDs from their massive, and quite dusty, shelves, took requests from some dancers and stuff like that. It was actually kind of fun. Weird, but something that I could possibly do and get some good stories out of while I look for more, uh, suitable and less skeezy work.

The second night though, I knew I had made a mistake. Maybe I hadn't noticed it before but some of the dancers were handing fedora hatted DJ dude little bags of white powder. I began to sweat when I saw this and knew it would be almost impossible for me to resist if I was on my 7th hour DJing and needed a little “pick me up” to keep going. I mean, I just detoxed and got over the drug, I did NOT want to get back into that routine again.

“OK tonight,” the DJ said, “I want to see how you do on the mic. I'm gonna have you introduce the upcoming dancers, alright?”

Oh no, I thought. Here it is. I have to play the role of cheesy strip club DJ guy. I have to use that dumb overly anxious salesman type voice. But, I've done theater before, so I just looked at it like it was a role or something.

So after the last song played and some girls got off the main stage, I went up to the mic and spoke into it.

“Alright guys, give it up for Sinnamon! She's going into the VIP lounge so get those dollars out and make her...”

Then, I broke out laughing. When I heard my voice boom over the club in that ridiculous strip club DJ voice, I couldn't take it. I doubled over and fedora hat guy had to finish. When he was done, he just looked at me sternly.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I don't know,” I said, still giggling. “But...I have to go.”

I walked out of the club, out to the car, started it up and went home.

When I walked in, She-Ra glanced at me curiously.

“You're back early,” she said. “I thought you had to be there till eight.”

Well, the laughing I had done earlier immediately turned to tears. I told her I just couldn't do it, told her about the bags of blow, the breaking down and the whole thing making me queasy. She was disappointed but understood.

“Well, I know a place where you can get a job,” she said with a sigh. “I'll take you there tomorrow.”

And that would lead me to a new adventure on it's own!

...to be continued.

"Tucson Tales" Part 1.

Tucson Tales part 1


The idea behind my “Tucson Tales” series of blogs is essentially the follow up to my first book “Rabbit Every Tuesday”, which chronicled my last and rather tumultuous year in San Francisco. Originally I wanted to write another novel, tentatively titled “Dirty and Smelling Like Christmas” (ask me later about it...) but when so many other projects, such as my kids book series, and prospects, such as getting certified in culinary arts and opening up our own place, came up I figured blogging would be the best way to get the stories out to my friends and interested parties. Plus I miss the whole act of just “blogging”. The internet is so awesome. I just write lil' stories here and there, put them up on my site and, Bingo!, you can read all about it.

And what exactly will you be reading about? Okay...much like my adventures back in California, mainly San Francisco (my home for 12 years), Tucson has offered up much joy, sorrow, weirdness, fantastical, grimy, smelly, wonderful and all around “what the fxxk”'s that I just have to write it down and share with you good people. Tucson is the strangest place I have ever lived...and this is coming from a kid that grew up in LA and spent his formative years in the arty/gay mecca/hippie soaked city by the Bay. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about here.


It all started back in February of 2006. I woke up early, like 6am, got in the rental car I had packed up with all of my essentials (clothes, CDs, some movies, a bike, Castle Grayskull, fog machine, my coffee mug, computer and a book) and drove the 900 miles, which breaks up to about 14 hours, from San Francisco CA to Tucson AZ. Why?

Because I fell in love.

And this time was for real. After almost two decades of failed relationships, bad dates, on and off agains, miserable breakups and countless heartaches, I had found the girl that was finally meant for me.

My job at the time, outside of DJing at a popular bar and on KUSF along with writing for various music magazines, I was a bartender at a Fisherman's Wharf establishment called Jack's. Which was owned by a guy named Bill. Go figure. Anyway, my main occupation was to tend the outside bar, which was part of a courtyard and quite popular when the weather was good and music and events were taking place. This one night, in late 2005, was neither.



It was dark, the fog was rolling in and the tourists in their shorts and Teva sandals were shivering. The last thing they wanted to do was drink a cold beer at a stone bar among the chilly fog and cold ocean air. I don't blame them. Plus the music on the outdoor stage was some guy that wore bad sweater jackets and sounded like Neil Diamond. Don't get me wrong, I love the D man, but this cat was killing it, and not in a good way. So, to say the least, I was earning that paycheck, and not much else. Plus I was drinking beer with the night time cook and blowing rails of coke with the indoor bartender. Hey...I was a different beast back then.

At the time my bar had two guys, a regular who worked as a pastry chef in the fancy seafood restaurant on the other side of the courtyard and some guy who said he was a DEA agent. It was funny because the pastry chef asked the DEA guy (before he knew he was a DEA guy, which is how we got to know he was a DEA guy) if he wanted to get high. Everyone laughed it off and kept drinking. Including me.

From out of nowhere three cute girls arrive. You have to understand, all I had was my two dudes at the bar, tourists running from the cold and that Neil Diamond spud crooning his James Taylor knockoffs on the small stage. I really wanted more business, especially from three attractive ladies. So when they stopped to check out our menu, I perked up a bit.

But...they didn't stay. They looked at our menu, discussed, then proceeded to walk away. Oh man, I thought, so much for that. Then, a miraculous thing happened. Almost halfway across the courtyard, going back towards Columbus Ave., they stopped. One of the girls, who was wearing a sweater vest, looked as if she was trying to convince the other two, a redhead and a blonde, of something. They all seemed to come to an agreement and then walked back and sat at my bar.

I think “Yay” came to mind.

The girls ordered beers and some food (one of which was our grody shrimp cocktail, which they kept trying to hide but I kept moving back from behind the menus thinking they just forgot about it...turns out they didn't even want to look at the thing since it was so bad) and began chatting it up with not only the two dudes at my bar but me as well. Turns out the girl in the sweater vest and the blonde girl were in town for the red haired girl's bachelorette party. Sweater vest and blonde girl, both lived in Tucson Arizona. That was an ironic thing because the apartment I was subletting belong to an estranged girlfriend who just happened to be in Tucson taking care of her ailing father. I told them my story and sweater vest wrote down her name and where she worked, in case I happened to be in Tucson (which I was most definitely not planning on...at all). When I looked at her name, I freaked out.

It read: She-ra.

“She-Ra!” I cried. “You're name is She-Ra?”

“Well, it's Sherra,” she said. “I guess that first R is a little wonky. It's not supposed to be a dash.”

See, I have a long history with the whole 'Masters of the Universe' thing. I've loved it and them since I was a kid. In fact, when I DJ'd my metal nights at the famed 540 Club on Clement street, I always hid my fog machine behind my Castle Grayskull (which survived several moves, college and even a house fire...that thing is coming with me to the grave). So when I saw that the cute girl in the sweater vest was named after the Princess of Power (thanks to her older sister who made the suggestion to their parents) I began to get quite curious about her.

The night of them and the two guys sitting at my bar progressed into a drunken loud obnoxiousness-off. Sherra and the other two (blonde was named Alicia and the redhead who was getting married was Erin) were not only half in the bag, but heckling the Neil Diamond guy on the stage. When I suggested that they get up there and try and sing something, Sherra belted out “I can play a mean kazoo!”

Now here's where things start to get weird. In my big backpack, the one that I had stored in the prep area of the kitchen, had all kind of stupid crap in the side pockets. Playing cards, a yo-yo, a Mr. T voice toy, crayons, a Chewbacca PEZ dispenser and, yes, a kazoo. So when I returned from inside Jack's with a red and gold kazoo, the three girls' jaws dropped.

Especially Sherra's.

Before they left they invited us, myself and the two guys, out with them on their last night before going back home. So two nights later I met the girls at the famous Lefty O'Douls on Geary street and was quite shocked/disappointed that the other two guys were there as well.

Lefty O'Douls is an old timey buffet style restaurant with a piano bar and lots of old people. It's awesome. So I grabbed some food, some beer and sat down and tried to get to know Sherra more. I was immediately kind of falling for her. She was very cute, with big boobs and a big personality. Plus she was a huge 'Star Wars' nerd and that is always a sexy trait to have.

When we left Lefty O'Douls, the DEA took off and the five of us headed to my favorite bar, the Crowbar (r.i.p.) in my neighborhood of North Beach. It was this great punk rock and heavy metal bar that was essentially my second home due to the fact that I hated the apartment I was staying in. The jukebox was great, they poured mean shots and it was relatively unknown since it was smack dab in the center of all of the strip joints on Broadway and kind of dark. It was here that Sherra and I started to seriously flirt and getting to know one another.



When she went outside to grab a smoke (a habit she thankfully quit) I went out there and stole a kiss. It was weird, but it felt as if I had known her for years and that this was just a normal night out for us. Back in the Crowbar, we even joked about driving to Vegas and getting married.

We almost did it.

When it was time to go Alicia and Erin went back to their hotel. Without Sherra. She came back to the apartment with me and we ended up making out all night and watching “A Nightmare Before Christmas”. It was amazing.

My alarm went off at 10am because I had a day shift at the bar, so she walked down to Jack's with me, which was rather bittersweet. It was her last night in San Francisco and I had a feeling we would never see each other again.

After I put Sherra in a cab I went back to work and my co-workers could see that I was visibly upset. My manager even sent me home because I was so bummed out. Luckily Sherra called me later when she was driving back to Tucson from Phoenix, and had a blow out halfway there.

That first phone call would soon become a daily thing.

We talked everyday. And not just once. Sometimes two or three. She would listen to the live streams of the radio show I co-hosted, “Rampage Radio” on KUSF and I would dedicate certain songs to her such as “She is Beautiful” by Andrew WK or “Looks That Kill” by Motley Crue. Stuff like that. It was a long distance relationship that was getting extremely serious.

As a Christmas present from her family, they bought her plane tickets to San Francisco to stay with me for a week. When I picked her up at the Oakland airport, I was beyond nervous. But once I saw her and we hugged, that nervousness turned to joy and I knew that Sherra was the one for me.



It was a pretty amazing week that we had. I showed her all around San Francisco, visited some friends of her in the east bay and did all kinds of fun stuff. Including...”it”. Lots and lots of that. Unfortunately the week just sped by and on the last day, Sherra considered moving to San Francisco.

“No way,” I said. “I gotta get outta here. This apartment sucks, my job sucks and I'm done with it. Rent is unbelievable, I can't believe that I'm using a dangerous drug on a regular basis, not to mention that I've been here for twelve years and have nothing to show for it but failed relationships and a pile of parking tickets.”

“Well,” she started, “You could move to Tucson.”

“What's there to do in Tucson?”

Sherra thought about that one. “Not much,” she said.

“How much do you pay for rent?” I asked.

“$500 for a cozy garden townhouse.”

I was paying almost a grand for a rundown noisy craphole that wasn't even mine.

“I'm moving to Tucson,” I said.

So, it was settled. I quit my job, did one last club show, one last radio show and told my ex that I was moving out by the end of the month. This pissed her off to no degree but...whatever. She said she would be gone for a few months and it turned out to be a year. Sorry.

On a chilly February morning, after getting almost no sleep, with a rental car packed up with all of the stuff I mentioned earlier, I started the long drive to Tucson Arizona, a place I had driven through only twice and was shocked to find that it held a university and had an active art community. I thought it was dusty trails and tumbleweeds.



When I hit the I-5 I knew there was no going back. I was on my way to new adventures, a new city, a new life, one that was going to be with the woman that almost walked away, but didn't.

It was meant to be.

And sometime around 8pm, eyes red from exhaustion and brain reeling from white line fever, I saw the sign: “Welcome to Arizona”. That was it, I thought. Here I am. My god I was tired...



It was midnight when I entered Tucson, body weak from driving and trying to stay awake, and I immediately got lost. I followed Sherra's directions as best as I could. So when I turned up Grant street and found a McDonalds (the one she said would be there) I found a phone booth (that's right...I don't carry a cell phone, ask me about that too later) next to some Mexican restaurant that I thought was called 'Lobsters'.

“I'm lost!” I declared. “I see the McDonalds but I don't know where I am. I'm at some phone booth next to someplace called...Lobsters?”

“It's Losbetos,” she giggled. “Do you see a silver Impala?”

I looked around. There, parked on the street in front of me, was indeed a silver Impala.

“Yes,” I said. “I see it.”

“Hang up and walk over to it.”

I did as Sherra said. When I walked over to the Impala, the passenger window rolled down. Sherra was sitting in the driver's seat holding a cell phone.

“Oh thank jeebus,” I said. “But how...?”

“You're an idiot,” she said with a smile. “Follow me.”

I got back in the rental and followed her for about five blocks. We pulled into the courtyard of her townhouse and we got out of our cars.

“So...you made it,” she said.

“Yeah,” I exclaimed with a heavy sigh. “I made it.”


...to be continued.