Strange Cures by Rob Zabrecky by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rothco Press
Published: 2019-11-25T17:43:23+00:00

A steady stream of articles about LA’s newest and only coffeehouse-art gallery-micro movie theater have been appearing in the LA Weekly, Bam, and the LA Reader, bringing in new and interesting patrons every week. Seeing the wonder and amusement of new customers revel at worn VHS screenings of Pink Flamingos or Desperate Teenage Lovedolls playing on repeat inside the Micro Movie Theater, or discovering the sounds of Martin Denny or Arthur Lyman in the club’s Tiki Lounge, is a real kick. Almost overnight, Gary and Michelle have become the Sonny and Cher of the LA underground, and I, its punkish Norman Bates.

I can hardly wait to arrive each night to make coffee, serve cereal, and bus tables for this colorful cast of LA music and art people I’ve been admiring from a distance. I’ve also been helping Michelle book live entertainment and find new art shows. Art students from Otis Parsons and Cal Arts have been queuing up to show new works, and now, there are far more artists inquiring to show work than the available space and dates on the calendar. Every night seems to attract a new cast of characters, and I love catching glimpses and knowing looks of those reveling in our unique late night happenings. Even Red Kross shows up a few times a week with their ultra-cool entourage to drink cappuccinos and chitchat about obscure TV stars and the latest Japanese garage bands.

Exchanging college years for art dreams, and finding ourselves deep in the LA music and art world adored from the steps of Valley College, is the smartest thing any of us has done. Even though I’m nearly broke and still living at home, Jabberjaw gives my ideas a place to live. I’ve hung a couple of my paintings: one being a 3’ by 5’ canvas of a bloodied surgeon closing in on a patient, painted from the perspective of the patient; the other, a multi-colored self-portrait of me in some paranoid state, afraid to open his door because he can’t face one more day of his life, which he hates. Hearing validating comments about them from customers who have no idea I’m the artist as I ring up their orders makes working the cash register all worthwhile. While bussing tables, I chuckle to myself while overhearing trash talk from the mouths of those who’ll probably be future rock stars.

***

Someone is singing a lullaby right in my ear and rubbing my head.

Rock-A-By-Robbie

On the Tree Top

When the wind blows

The cradle will rock...

I have no idea where I am or what time it is. I pull my eyes open, and I realize I’m in fetal position, being tightly cradled in the enormous black arms of Hollywood’s underground trans-favorite, Vaginal Davis. She’s rocking me like a newborn, batting her long eyelashes at me like I’m her baby, while adjusting her long platinum wig. She’s calmly stroking my hair, just singing away. I think I might be dreaming, but as I start to regain vision, I sense we’re in the back courtyard outside Jabberjaw.

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