Pink socks
June 15th, 2008 | 
Author: I was born with Tabula Rasa in hand.
I once wore pink socks with white hi tops, light blue cotton pants with pink flowers and a pink sweat shirt with the sleeves cut off. My girlfriend at the time was mad I wouldn’t at least give her the pants. I was studying audio/music in Atlanta GA. I also wore a white ankle length coat and a fedora.
I liked the Osmonds when I was nine.
I once killed rabbits randomly with a semi automatic twenty two caliber rifle. It had a scope. I was thirteen or fourteen. My grandfather gave it to me after I proved I could shoot it.
An afternoon of senseless testosterone, having our fun, I clipped one instead of killing it. It began to scream. Not unlike a human infant. I went from a great hunter wielding a ridiculous pea shooter, to humiliated, ashamed and afraid.
We weren’t complete idiots, my fellow retards and I. A few merciless seconds flew before we understood it must be put out of its misery immediately and it was my responsibility.
I found it in my scope. It laid against a dune, beneath a sagebrush, incapacitated, bleeding red, horror and confusion in it’s eyes as it wailed.
A creature no bigger than my cat. No less innocent.
I pulled the trigger until the screaming stopped.
I will never in my life forget what I saw through the scope of my rifle that day. I will never forget that sound. I will never not regret my ignorant arrogance.
Hunting rabbits is one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. It’s easy for evil to gain purchase in adolescent boys. Susceptible and often willing vessels.
I was a vegetarian for almost a decade.
The ASPCA has access to my checking account to this day.
I liked the Jackson Five and Kiss too.
My fellow retards and I evolved. We began blowing shit up to satisfy our testosterone fueled cravings for destruction, mayhem and chaos.
There was a time at A&M Recording Studios when us runners decided it was copasetic to add a meal here and there to the check of a wealthy rockstar. We were all guilty of it at one time or another. Call in an order, add some crabcakes and pick it up with petty cash.
One can never justify taking anything that does not belong to them.
There was an inquisition. Spanish style. One of us was fired everyday. They sat us in the cavernous tracking room of Studio A and picked us off one by one when we wouldn’t talk. This was a place where careers were made. We’d all done it. Our peers who got fired protected the rest of us.
All of us, save one, kept our mouths shut.
His name was Jack Hayback. He got my good friend Dexter sacked for spending a rockstar’s money to feed a homeless person a sandwich. A man who would become one of my very closest and loyal friends joined me in cornering Jack in the back hallway. We told him in no uncertain terms, there in front of the coffee station, that his days at A&M Recording Studios were coming to an end. We also imparted to him, in very clear and certain terms, that he would be well advised to watch his back for as long as it took for us to get him fired. We both meant it.
We were called on the carpet for it the very next day. We never handed him his beatdown but were still able to end his career in a mere few days.
All the while, my ultimate boss was using studio funds to procure rare and expensive gear, selling it to other people and keeping the equipment and money for himself. He was a dirty bastard persecuting five dollar an hour employees for having a decent meal here and there.
This cancer of thievery was practised in front of most of us.
A decade later that close friend an I were drinking at the infamous Rainbow Bar & Grill on Sunset in Hollywood. Jack approached me with an open hand for a shake and a stupid grin. He asked if I remembered him and reminded me who he was. I was as concise as I could be. I confirmed I knew exactly who he was and still hated his fucking guts. I told him my old friend was with me and we’d always been disappointed we never had a hand in Jack being able to taste his own blood.
Didn’t see him after that.
It still makes me smile.
The elementary school I attended was literally across the street from my mothers office. I used to love to go there after school. Sometimes I never went inside. I’d bring a ball or a book and wait for her to finish for the day. She worked for the Council Bureau of the Nevada State Legislature, research division.
The offices fascinated me. The paraphernalia, machines and exact order of a government office in the early seventies. The possessions at each desk to personalize an anonymous workspace. The smell of fresh ink and old paper.
Volumes and volumes of ancient texts bound in leather that made very little sense when I cracked them open. I searched and searched for their importance. I barely managed to glimpse it but remained in awe.
Smart purposeful people. Men in ties and quick talking fast moving women in suits.
One winter afternoon she left me in her boss’s char. At his desk. His office was filled with interesting things. I liked being in there. I endeavored to be conscientious. Put everything back the way I found it. That afternoon there was a jar of M&M’s on the desk. I simply could not stop myself.
My Mother’s boss called her on it the next day. Sometimes I look back and think I lied about it because of just how much embarrassment I’d caused her. I could not face it. I have to tell you that to this day it easily one of the most shameful things I’ve ever done.
All these things cemented a certain ethical Rosetta Stone for me. I began to have hard and fast rules. Honesty was the imperative. It all served as a valuable lesson for me.
As of today, I’m an expert recreational liar. I can tell a clerk or a waiter anything. I can lie to a the DMV or any customer service representative. When it really matters however, a child can see right through me. I suck at lying.
Drinks for my friends.
Posted in
I was politely pointing out to the ordinary that they were walking around the Internet; with there dresses tucked up back inside their underwear. Or perhaps walking down a street full of winos, wearing a dress, and no underwear. Understandably I’ve seen it done, and even the utter lowlife, are aware, that there is nothing to be gotten, from such cheap display of that nature. There is no shortage of those that stand under a street light pretending to themselves that they under a spot light, on stage. Clearly No need to lock the vault if its is empty. And Only a drown-ding man, grabbing for empty familiarity, with no vision of hope would hang on so tight to an empty vault, as a life jacket.
check this out, you’ll love it!
http://youtube.com/watch?v=dJ5-GNCKFaI
I’ve got that watch your sister had made…if I run across it in the move I’ll give it to you.
Oh Goddddd; I was right, I can’t breath, with these large lumps in my throat I can’t even swallow, an overdose. Somebody help me pleeeaase! Mobster El Centro…, She’s at brainspank speaking in gangster code. Something about La familia watching me, with a mob of paparazzi stalking me. They’ve got Jamie Holts who is clearly FBI, and a tentacle of the undertaker. Help…,they are every where. She mentions “Rainman” we all know what she is really talking about! I guess I won’t be able to move back to CA, if they have connections if Vegas they definitely have them in California. I can’t take this somebody help me! My stray pet from the Internet is part of the Nevada Italian underworld la familia. He has a shovel in hand and he is biting me down. How much danger am I in here? Talk about timing, I have business to care for but I’m ,loosing my mind & need to take an overdose, so that I can enter Rehab and escape all this. I’m the new gurl Elvis. You can mock Tatum O’Neil all you want; the insane pressure of fame. I can’t take this shit! Is the redsnapper Tara’s clone? Just like Tara always did; she is reaching from the past to have me beat& destroyed. Red empty earth stalking up from the mansions ground engulfing me into darkness while I’m still alive. They bury people while still breathing out here, Mafia style. How did I meet up with this level of danger? I am so frightened; my head hurts, as if my skull was cracked open with brain exposed, dripping Gin, dolphins and fish all over the desert floor. Life is a Bitch.., HELP ME get out of here!
As we all know, there are two sides to every story, so here is mine.
I was tossed into the ultimate den of lions…., thieves, losers, winners, geniuses and total retards. I was “the new guy”! I was the stranger in a room of friends, comrades and conspirators. The outsider. If u met me then, u would know just how obviously green I was. All of 20 years. I trusted everyone, especially people at that level. The upper echelon of engineers and technicians. No one there liked me much. No one cared about training me. No one gave me any pointers. I tried and tried to warm up to people there, but the competition was fuckin fierce. I showed up outta no where. A recommendation from someone WAY up in the BiZ.
When I moved to L.A., I was FRESH out of school and got several “lucky” breaks. I made friends with whoever I could. Some of them are gone, some are closer then ever. I ended up getting hired at A&M because of my skill, but as I soon learned, it was a big waste of time.
(Experience) I am freaked out and wanna clean ever inch of Studio A. It was my job that day. Oh Geee, Someone scribbled something on the meter bridge of the “Custom Neve” console with a sharpie…. Little did I know it was a freakin Rupert Neve signature… I wiped that fucker clean off!!! Cpl hours later that day I am sitting at the front desk and I hear someone behind me in the office say, “Someone wiped off the Neve signature, AGAIN…” I laughed inside, but dared not say a word.
The seedy world of the “engineer” was not what the pamphlet at the “recording school” had advertised.
5:30a.m. Wakie Wakie… time to go… A busy day… All studios are up!! Time to make the fruit trays…. Time to make the 6 pots of coffee, 6 pots of decaf, 6 pots of hot water… 3 for studio A, 3 for studio B, 3 for studio C, 3 for studio D, 3 for Mix…. The Lounge??? Cool fish! No time to look at those poor lil prisoners. Gotta get mines!!! Sharpen the pencils, make sure the erasers are good. Plenty of splice tape, board tape and track sheets. Dust??? Where mother fucker??? O shit, don’t forget the office across the 6 shitty parking spots… Hello Jerry. Everyone here is IMPORTANT. Be nice. Smile.
It was my life’s apex. I remember it like it is happening to me at this moment right now. Me, walking into the back entrance, off De Longpre.
Him: “Hey Jack, I can’t pick up one of the runs for A, can u get it for me?”
Me: “No sweat man. Where and when?”
Him: “O yeah Jack, when u get back with the food, can u put that one sandwich in the kitchen for me?”
Me: “Sure dude!!!”
I have NO flippin clue to any of the B.S.
I thought that a secession would buy food for their runner.
Cpl hrs later, DONE! Good boy!!
BTW, I never did see any homeless people in the kitchen. I must have missed that.
(Experience) On my way home one night, 4am, a late night at A&M. I drive home. Get out of my friend Shannon’s Jeep. 5 guys rush me. One guy puts a gun to my right temple. One guy stabs me in the face with a screwdriver. The other 3 mug me. JUST SHOOT HIM!!! They take my wallet… All my money… All my tools… All my shit… I stumble into the apartment, my roommates wake up. I run to the bathroom… I have long hair, I can’t see anything but blood. I have hair in my mouth. I pull on it. I pull again, I keep pulling on it… then it hits me, it is still attached to my head and coming thru the hole in my face. I tasted blood all night, but fell asleep from exhaustion, woke up, taped up the hole and made a 7am downbeat. I wanted it. The Dream!!!
My mom has cancer. She is getting worse. She passes.
A Day later, the “ultimate boss” says to me, “Hey Jack, that run for A, what did u do with the food??” This is where I spill the beans. “Well Mr. Ultimate Boss, I put all of the food except for one of the sandwiches in the lounge of studio A, the other one went into the kitchen. Errr, why, what’s up???” “O nuttin, see ya tomorrow kido… keep up the good work.”
U think that one of the “untouchables” would have clued me into the deal. I like crab cakes, and quite frankly dislike corporate douche bags. Oooohhh, but no one fuckin clued me in…. Didn’t that occur to anyone???? Seriously???? You guys were smart? Smart enuff to know to cover ur trax? No one talked to me…. Yeah, go ask anyone… Do u remember any civil conversations with me?
Gullible Gayle from Glendale. Why did u yell at me in the parking lot again? Ur mouth was moving but all I remember is BLAAAAAAAAA.
(Experience) Does anyone remember the issue in studio D? Someone fucked with a ½” tape machine? Well, I am sitting there, at the phones, by myself, already clued into the problem in D. “Mr. Boss Man” says to me, “Hey, when u were in studio D playing tape on the machine, what speed did u use?” I smiled and said I had no idea what he was talking about. He was baiting me into saying something, just like the food thing… I was never in D. I had no tapes to play. I was a runner. He was fishing people. He had no info, he was just trying to get someone to admit to something.
I knew then what happened to me, to them, but the damage was done. At that point I was HATED… people wanted to KICK MY ASS. KILL ME. CORNER ME. I got fired. I was honest and that was my fault. So, I had to get fired, Mr. Boss Man was forced to. He lied to everyone and said I was a RAT to flush the fuck heads out.
Did u think I was a spy? What would have been my motive? I revered u all. I wanted to learn from u. I looked up to u. U all were the deciders in ur own fate, not me. I just wanted to record, mix and create art. People had no idea how lucky they were. To be in a place like that, at a time like that. It was a gift. I worked my ass off to be there.
A&M Recording Studio, “Thee” primer most technology advanced studio in the world at the time!!! An F.M. Transmitter, Star Trek doors, Plates, Chambers, Moded out A800s, Custom Neves, pristine Pultecs, Fairchilds, and thieves.
I have no regrets. I was a target.
The threats of violence are unwelcome. I don’t deserve it.
I have always been the underdog. I was a pawn in a game with no winners. The only way to succeed was to run. Thanks to God for moving me along.
A drink for my enemies.
How interesting is this?
Glad you surfaced.
If I was wrong about you, I apologize. I’m almost positive that won’t be necessary.
You were overtly full of shit. By the time you showed up with a hole in your face not a single employee of that once great facility had any idea whether they could believe you or not.
Those of us who knew you best had long since decided we had no reason to trust you. You were a liar and an unsuccessful kiss ass.
I’m sorry you couldn’t fit in. Learn the game. What makes you think any of the rest of us ran a different gauntlet? We all ran the same one. Don’t blame us because you sucked.
As far as the inquisition goes: You were either that stupid or you had malice. Which is worse? You tell me. You pulled a string with a tampon at the end whether you knew or cared. Sorry you couldn’t figure this shit out but you were still the reason Dexter, Matt and Effren had their careers compromised. All men with more potential and integrity than you.
You began to threaten mine and it turned out to be pretty good one. To think a bit player like you almost cost me that.
You bought what you got.
Know what else? I spent years in that place filling those fruit baskets and delivering those coffee pots. Years after your vapor evaporated.. Sorry you couldn’t hang.
I bear you no ill will. Get on with yourself and best of luck.
Jack Hayback, I’m so with ya on this one. People banning together, ” The no brainer draws the greatest concensus”…, power plays. You know the no brainer hot potato chips, cigs, beer, vino…That was the reason I gravitated to the player, in the first place. He knows how the game works probably learned it in 6th grade, but never matured enough to feel its ugliness. Woman will often hook up with a scarry looking dude, for protection, from the mass of creapy people out there. I’ve matured to just seeking out close alliances with really smart individuals. But if they turn on ya, your in for a bad ride down. Keep your enemy close! study them. He dislikes you…, analyze him….locate his weakness, then subtly let him know you watching him, for the slip up. Never overtly confront the enemy. They want you gone…, You won’t delight when your enemy falls, though cause a part of you goes down to. Learn detachment through self improvement. Understand young Jack, its dangerous to stand alone. It feels good when it works, though! My brain is like a crystal receptor to all this extrodinary space music, beats most humans will never hear. Shit I’ve spent a lifetime being devoured by aggressive adults, and jealouse married couples. No body with a brain, or mind of their own should ever get married. But we humans are weak cowards, that lack the capacity of introspective thought, and ideas. Finally in an effort to survive I’ve learned to slice, and dice. I’m still learning how to keep my cards out of the view of others, got music in my head they’ll never hear. I’m just fool’n about the married crap, but shit married allies should leave single woman… the fuck alone! As far as organized religion: Iconoclassic cheeze had it right they should pay tax’s or a least, open and run non profit hospitals, schools and the like. Maybe even homeless service centers, that house and feed the homeless, but it would have to be strictly non denominational. I’d rather they just pay there tax’s, though. “Eckankar the religion of the light and sound of God” pay’s tax’s. My theory is profit is good, it helps one identify with their placement in the competitive world.
Jack Hayback, do you have any pictures from back at A&M? If so cut and paste onto this site for me, could ya? I found a picture, I mean I raided the vault on this one; saving it for Christmas’s past!
I can’t believe this BULLSHIT, I have known Jack Hayback for eight years and find him to be of good report and talented in his work, and completely trustful as a human. Pick up your lives and DO something! If your bitch about others, you don’t know shit.
R.R Harlan
Engineer for S.Wonder (20 years)
A Sandwich??? Are you kidding?
Hey, look I’m sorry I only know the player Michael from the internet. I’m an absolute nobody, an x housewife from Virgina. Bored, I don’t know nothing about other peoples buisness, I got no skills to make an real action happen. Hollywood people are an easy target. I need to refocus on my own miserable life, Forgive me for my lacking. Merry Giftmas and a Happy Ditchmare!