Record 12: Pomona, Friday, July 5th, 2013. Day.
Kenny Yamaha and I had been standing outside the Fox Theater for two hours, waiting to be let in. Kenny thought the doors opened at 7, but that was fucking wrong. I told him this a few times and he just drank his coffee, like ‘whatever man, fucking chill about it.’ So I fucking chilled about it and didn’t bring it up. Even though it’s now 8, and dark, and we’re in Pomona. Pomona fucking California. Have you ever been to Pomona California? Probably not.
Kenny, who’s been my alleged best friend since high school (we’re 20 now) was all adamant about coming here, to Pomona, to see this goddamn indie electro band called Lite Bright. He begged me for the last two weeks and I kept telling him I couldn’t afford the ticket, which was a lie because I could totally afford it, I just really didn’t want to venture an hour and a half away from home to see some band whose music sounds like spaceships falling apart inside a garbage disposal. He said he’d buy my ticket, so then I really couldn’t say no, since he’s my best friend. And when your best friend wants to go to a shitty show, then you go with your best friend to a shitty show. That’s what a best friend does. Right? I don’t even.
Now I’m in debt to Kenny $25. But whatever. I’m not going to pay him back. But if he asks for the $25, then I’m probably going to pay him back.
Best friends, man.
“Yo you think they’ll open the doors before 9? Show’s supposed to start at 10.”
I knew this. So I said:
“I know this.”
“You think they’ll open the doors before 9?”
“That I don’t know.”
“Fuck man. We shouldn’t have left so early probably huh?”
Then Kenny laughed and I didn’t. There was nothing funny about our situation.
Nothing at all.
“You bring any trees from the car?”
No goddamn way.
Of course I didn’t. Kenny knew I was on probation since I got a stupid DUI 2 months ago in Hollywood (I should mention, I went to Hollywood with Kenny because he wanted to go to some shimmery night club where drinks cost as much movie tickets).
Also, I drove.
Also, he kept calling me out in front of his classy friends at the bar, saying I was a pussy or whatever for not drinking.
I was supposed to be the sober driver.
“No man. I left the shit in the car. We can’t be smoking out here anyway.”
“Dude no one cares.”
“That’s not the point.”
“There’s a point?”
He asked this and then I didn’t say anything and then he laughed, probably at the awkward silence. And shit. I started the silence, so now I have to not break the silence, or else I’m a weak loser who sometimes acts as Kenny Yamaha’s chauffeur when he wants to go to dumb shows or night clubs.
“Relax dude.” He said to me in a really condescending way. “You’re gonna like these guys.”
He means the band.
They’re called Lite Bright.
“Really. You will. I know you think you won’t because you don’t like indie electro shit, but their stuff is different.”
“No dude. They sound like spaceships falling apart inside a garbage disposal.”
Kenny laughed again.
“Nah man. Nah. They’re tight. You’ll see. And they put on this crazy light show.”
“Awesome.” I said, dryly, and slid out a sugar-free Red Bull from the back pocket of my not-tight jeans.
I cracked it open and took a swig.
“Oh dude can I have some of that?”
Not surprised? Not surprised.
I handed it to him, and, I shit you not, he guzzled like 80% before handing it back.
I shook the can.
“Dude it’s almost empty. What the hell.”
“Trust me man. I need it more than you.”
“Kenny, dude, that’s not the point.”
“You keep talking about points and it makes me think of geometry.”
“That’s a weird thing to say.”
“Things are weird man.”
Then some super-fat, bearded twenty-something unlocked the door to the Fox Theater and propped it open. Then he grunted and left without saying any real words, and I couldn’t help but think about the barrage of Transformers-fucking-during-a-thunderstorm music that I was going to have to endure for the next 2 hours.
I looked around. I scanned the Pomona desert.
There was no one else in sight. There were no cars on the street. Pomona was empty and the air was dry and I had cottonmouth pretty bad.
“You wanna head in?” Kenny asked.
I downed the last of the sugar-free Red Bull.
“What’s the point?”