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tysondabs · 3 years

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Forest Lawn Memorial Park (Hollywood Hills)

trigger warnings and contents: death/parental death, a cemetery visit, L.A. traffic, expensive whiskey.

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If he was a smart person, Tyson would have known he could just google his father’s details and find out where he was interred from there. One simple google would have done it, but not being an internet-first person, he resorted to texting Angela instead. She was more than happy to give him the details, and mention in so many follow-up texts how happy she was he had decided to go see him. The knots in his stomach started then, something inside twisting at the way she said she was happy, proud, and that Johnny would be happy to have him visit, he was sure. There was a succession of emojis, hearts, flowers. The sailor knots twisted themselves tighter.

He set off the next day, somewhere between 2 and 3 on the drive. Had taken another day off at work, more sour faces from Lisa and threatening that he’d all but used up all his vacation days this year, but fuck her; he let any thought of her pass not to ruin the day, started his beat up, paint-chipped Honda civic and hit the road. Stone cold sober, nothing in his system but the black coffee he’d slammed back minutes earlier.

Cruising down Silverlake Boulevard, some familiar scenes until he left the familiar scenes for unfamiliar road, then merged onto the freeway. It was fine until he hit bumper to bumper traffic. Now? Midday? Fucking hell.

He hated driving in L.A. on the best of days, but now, without music, and the heat, and stopping every two minutes as the cars crawled up the drive, he was starting to get stir crazy minutes into the journey. At the next stop he pulled out his phone, checking notifications; a thought occurred to him, or rather, a desire. Maybe he could text Sasha. But he couldn’t picture a way to word ‘going to see my dad’ to her without it sounding fucking weird or stupid, so he tossed his phone to the passenger seat and continued driving (only to pull it back up again a moment later because he forgot he had the GPS going).

At some point, he got too engrossed in his thoughts, and missed the turn into Cahuenga Boulevard. Fucking hell, part two. Maps rerouted though, and after a very long roundabout, he was finally at a stoplight, opposite some weird building-slash-cottage. ‘Valhalla Entertainment’, the banner said, and that rang a bell (wasn’t that Jude’s kid’s name?). 14 years in this city, and he had absolutely no clue which part this was. Somewhere between the Hills, before or past the Hollywood Bowl, he rarely came here unless it was a party. The distractions had him nearly missing his turn into Barham, but he pulled it just as the light turned green, the odyssey getting longer by the minute and it would be a miracle, he felt, if he made it at all. At this point, there was an itch to just Fucking Get There, wherever ‘there’ was. He drove past a flower shop, contemplated stopping but decided against it. What good were flowers anyway, he had something better with him — a bottle of Four Roses bourbon, sitting passenger seat beside him. Johnny liked that one. Or so he thought. At any rate, there was a photo of him holding a bottle of it somewhere on the internet, one he looked psychotically happy in, that was burned into Tyson’s retinas.

He drove past a sign for Universal City, and then a building loomed large, the New York Film Academy building (that made no sense to Tyson, why would the New York film academy be here? In L.A.? It made no damn sense). This entire city was Hollywood, it ate the city up and swallowed it whole, chewed and then spit it back out. That’s what it did to people, at least the ones who came seeking something in the realm of fame, anyway. Everyone else in the city was stuck under its heel, suffering and poor. The rich elite and the hoods; night and day contrasts. He knew which part he belonged to, and would prefer it over anything fancy that this town had to offer because it was all a farce, all an illusion. Though he wouldn’t begrudge any of his friends chasing fame money and success. He had plenty of those, and he hoped they could navigate the labyrinths in this concrete maze better than many did. Better than his dad sure had.

Forest Lawn Drive creeped up on him as buildings thinned out and disappeared, he was close now, he could feel it. Before long, there was a large white building beside a brick church, and he was here. He stopped at Information, gave the coordinates he was looking for and they directed him. Straight up that road and it was somewhere in the middle, coordinates marked. The knots got tighter now as the boom barrier lifted and he drove into the cemetery. Thoughts narrow, throat dry. He pulled up to the right space, or what he thought was the right space. A piece of trivia fell into his head, remembering that Lemmy was buried here too. Maybe he’d snap a photo for Emma, if he could find it, if he could even remember. He followed the numbers as he slowed his car, looking out at names, gravestones marked in the ground in even rows. He stopped the car at the assumed right spot, parked it by the curb and killed the engine.

Now the hard part. In his stomach sat a lead pretzel. His breaths dug deeper and he thought of a girl with fair hair to try and bring himself out of it. It sure would’ve been nice if she was here, maybe he’d even be cracking jokes right now. He tended to do that in her presence, even when he was peak anxious and scared; like when they were boarding that plane. But there’s no one here, just him and his multiple personalities, the angry ones and the sad ones this time mostly. It was quiet up here, and he saw someone walking amongst the graves, and a caretaker not too far from that person. The church stood behind him down the slight incline of the hill, and everything else fell flat, in neat green rows. He thought of another girl, one from many years ago. She knew his deal, knew how he would get on this day, he’d told her as much. And when that day came around one time, she surprised him with a trip. They drove out of town to some peak overlooking the city, she’d packed a picnic, and made sure they had a day of it. That had been real nice of her to do.

He couldn’t sit here and rehash memories endlessly to avoid what he came for though, and Tyson got out the car, grabbing his trusty tin and the bottle of whiskey he’d brought with. The lead pretzel undid itself and became a slithering snake. Walking amongst the rows, he looked at names, family lots. Looking out for the right one. None of them were the right one. Angela had sent directions, but they were haphazard and not exact. Some five minutes passed this way, Tyson beginning to wonder whether he was in the right section at all, passing name after name, some sounding famous, some not. Some with fancy words the grave, or markings, and flowers left by them. He passed one with a shitton of flowers; either a recent or old Hollywood star. He came down one side and down the next row, starting to wonder if he should give up here and move on to the section directly below this one, maybe it was there she’d meant — when it caught his eye, the gravestone in the corner of an enclave, sitting flush with the earth.

John Robert ‘Johnny’ Dobbs. Beloved husband and father. 8/15/1964 - 4/27/2001 And when the winds carry you home, Remember who it was that sang your song.

There were bunches of flowers shrivelled up beside the grave, two sets of them. His throat felt heavy, scratchy as he stopped and kneeled before it, wondering who’d left them. It was hard to swallow now, impossible.

There was nobody around, but even had there been, Tyson didn’t think he’d let that stop him from doing what he did. He tried talking quiet at first, but maybe Johnny couldn’t hear him that way. Who knows how this thing worked. He took a tentative seat on the ground and crossed his legs, sighing. Looking up and squinting to the sky that still had a sun up high in it, still far from sunset, nowhere near it. A sheen of sweat showed on his brow between the parts obscured by his backwards cap. He frowned, and spoke to some space between the grass and the corner of the memorial stone.

“Well… I made it. I’m here.” Now that he thought about it, he probably should have come on his birthday instead. Because this…this was fucking depressing. The 20th anniversary. Twenty years it had been since he died in that hotel room all alone, and not since the actual funeral had he ever thought to come here. “I know I don’t…come here at all…ever…but I just wanted you to know I think about you…think of how you are…don’t even know if I believe in that heaven or hell shit, who knows…”

He tore out strips of grass that were beside him, and arranged them in a little, methodical pile. “Maybe this reincarnation shit is real and you’re out there somewhere…maybe on another planet. That would be cool. You were too good for this one anyway.” Rip, rip, more pieces of green to join the little pile he was making. “I wanted to…wanted to, uh, say something, actually.” He sniffled, not sure when his nose had started running, but it had now.

“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t finish the rest out loud but he thought it. I’m sorry for ever being mad at you, for throwing tantrums, for being a shit son. I’m sorry for pushing you away when you would come back because I thought you had left us. I know it wasn’t like that now. It wasn’t like that at all.

The tears rolled freely now, another unexpected surprise from the day. “Wish I could…I wish I could find the…” he shook his head, over and over, anger mixing into the rest of the feelings churning inside him, so much frustration, rage. That things even turned out this way. Had it not been for that, his dad could have been here, alive. Disappointing Tyson in the flesh and Tyson in turn disappointing him, but alive at least. “Fuckin’... kill them all…every last one…” He’d do it, too, no one could stop him. Not even the thought of a life in prison. “I know why you were the way you were, is all I wanted to say. Shit, I’m like that too. Maybe it runs in our genes.” He looked up like he was talking to someone, like there was a physical body here receiving his words, looking back at him. “Wish I could listen to your stuff too, because it’s good stuff. But I can’t…sorry.” There were people out there though, who listened, and still loved him, and had not forgotten him. He remembered the messages from fans he would get. That counted for something, at least. Maybe they could all listen in his place, since he could not. He knew Angela didn’t listen to his stuff either, and there was something to be said about that. At least he wasn’t alone feeling like this.

He picked up the bottle of bourbon he’d brought with him and twisted open the cap. Tipping it back, he took a big drink, quenching his thirst, feeling the burn as the liquor travelled down his system. Gasping for breath as he pulled back, he poured the rest over all the grass. Here, all for you, he thought, some dark amusement to that. Probably haven’t had a drink in a long ass time, huh? He stopped when he’d all but created a puddle of whiskey before him that was getting too large. One more sip stolen of his own, and he placed the bottle right side up next to his gravestone. “That’s for you.” Surprisingly, the knot was easing up, or maybe it was put on hold. Maybe this wasn’t too bad. Maybe he could do it again next year, or in the summer when it came time for Johnny’s birthday. Twice a year.

Tyson let out a long breath he had been seemingly holding in, cheeks puffing out, chest heaving. He started to feel sickish now, queasy. Maybe he needed a smoke. Yeah. His tin came out, the usual stash of two prerolls in it. He hesitated, then pulled the spare one out, placing it next to the whiskey bottle. “I know you never liked this shit dad, but give it a try yeah?” he said, like he was persuading Johnny to change his mind on Tyson’s drug of choice. At the same time, lighting the other one he’d brought with him. “Don’t know what kinda shit you had back in the eighties, but this is good stuff. Promise.” God, he was going crazy, fully lost it out here, smoking a joint and talking to a gravestone. A fucking joke. But nah, it wasn’t him, it was the world that was a joke, and he was just fine.

He stayed some time longer, until he’d smoke down the joint to the end, the buzz it offered providing some sort of calm to his frayed nerves, definitely making everything better. In a weird twist of events he felt hesitant to leave now, but eventually he did, getting up, dusting himself off. Crossing eyes with a woman across the lot as he did, somewhere in a not-so-far off distance. He wondered if she was visiting someone, but her husband joined her, photo camera in hand and it became quickly apparent they were tourists. He felt some kind of bile about that, the temptation to cuss them out as he walked past high, but he resisted.

Fucking tourists.

Back in his now-overheated sat-in-the-sun-too-long car, he rolled the window down all the way, and breathed a long, relieved exhale again. His head went to the steering wheel as he tried to collect himself, pick himself up from what just happened. He was in a state but coming out of it, slowly, gradually. That hadn’t been too bad. He forgot half the things he’d wanted to say, but maybe he would think of them again on the drive back, write them down somewhere and then say them when he was back here again. If there was anything he wished for after all, it would be more time with Johnny. And Angela. He’d make a point to go back to Texas if it meant driving for two days. Alone. It was the tradeoff for spending time with his family, what he had left of it anyway, because in the end, that’s all you had, wasn’t it?

Talking himself through and down some weird freakout episode wasn’t easy, but gradually, in this hot ass car that wasn’t getting any cooler, he somehow cooled down himself. Then he pulled out his phone and dialled a number.

#self para #ft. johnny dobbs #death tw #parental death tw #grieving tw

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lipwak · 7 years

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VHS #301

A great kd lang show - By Request, Steve Martin documentary by the BBC, an SNL compilation of some Steve Martin segments, The McGarrigle Hour, Tom Paxton interview on Speaking Freely, Gorecki - Symphony no.3 (The Symphony of Sorrowful Songs) the Tony Palmer version with horrific and beautiful images.

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kd lang By Request A&E, 2 hrs, s w/ commercials, lots of them… 2000

Audio for the show: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLV0qOOQEfdt2e5N1qiGPydHnQfVjtUCan except for It’s Happening With You and Fever.

Summerfling Big Boned Gal! - w/ host, takes call from expecting father Black Coffee - Holly from NJ they talk about when she started singing, age and singing Trail Of Broken Hearts! - Dan from Las Vegas (starts to cry…) Crying! - Mary Lou who lost a friend in a car accident, gets a standing ovation Don't Smoke In Bed - Tony Bennett praises her The Consequences Of Falling - Willie from Oceanside, CA talks with host, move to LA, Miss Chatelaine! - Tony from Aztec, NM, bubbles flying and her in a yellow flouncy gown and big hair (and armpit hair) dancing around! Another standing ovation. Asks us to ponder the true convenience of a strap-on and then takes her hair and dress off. Sings a little of MacArthur Park in operatic falsettos, high and low.

It’s Happening With You (https://youtu.be/pBonBnrSke0) Not this clip. host wears her wig, She talks about Patsy Cline. Three Cigarettes In An Ashtray - Dale from Godfrey, IL Fever (https://youtu.be/trhG8vGM8rE) This clip. Barefoot - Pattie from Winter Park, FL (one of the good Floridians, a reference to the election of 2000.) Constant Craving! - Marcella from Guadalajara, Mexico (music video), another standing ovation. Wash Me Clean! - Devian, Amherst, MA Pullin' Back The Reins - Matt, Ft Myers, FL Simple host and her talk Extraordinary Thing (https://youtu.be/WcB05pEwxZU) Not this clip.

A fun show.

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Steve Martin - Seriously Funny ~40:00 Omnibus BBC/Comedy Central 1999

Ron Howard, Roller skating through a museum, Billy Connolly, Michael Caine, Roxanne scene, talks about his talent, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Planes, Trains and Automobiles, Sgt Bilko, writing, Bowfinger, (Daily Show ad), Melinda Dobbs - Steve’s sister, worked at Disneyland selling programs, learned how to play the banjo by listening to slowed-down records, Knott's Berry Farm, Philosophy major, cult following to star, Wild and Crazy Guy (1978), King Tut, The Jerk, Eric Idle, Pennie From Heaven, The Man With Two Brains, Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid, All of Me, Nora Ephron, John Cleese, L.A. Story, Parenthood, Father of the Bride, Housesitter, Picasso at the Lapin Agile, 3 surreal plays

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SNL Steve Martin segments: 1998

1994 Cosmetic endorsement for penis beauty cream King Tut (https://youtu.be/P1Hr9VPnMNc) This clip but in full. Coneheads, Steve is with the IRS. 1989 Love ode Theodoric of York Medieval Barber Common Knowledge game show What the hell is that?

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The McGarrigle Hour 1999

w/ Linda Rondstadt & Emmylou Harris & Rufus Wainwright & Martha & Loudon

(order?)

School Days Kate and Anna talk about their start Cool River Allez vous en (Talk To Me Of) Mendocino (https://youtu.be/d_22V_qIp5g) Not this clip. Kate talks Dig My Grave (https://youtu.be/e-SuFPYm048) Not this clip. What'll I Do? home movie footage of the village they grew up in Bon Voyage Gentle Annie (https://youtu.be/qj1vP_rn3O0) This clip. NaCl (Sodium Chloride) (https://youtu.be/CpTzawl3OmI) Not this clip. talk about singing together Johnny's Gone To Hilo Green Green Rocky Road Skip Rope Song (https://youtu.be/UxFaqybHW4s) This clip. talk about Rufus Heartburn home movie footage of their mother singing Alice Blue Gown Baltimore Fire Goodnight Sweetheart

These songs deleted from this video but are on the DVD: Young Love Year Of The Dragon (https://youtu.be/OLOjQAhTdl8) Not this clip. Time On My Hands

Audio-only clips of this but not in the order they appeared on the video: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtawWjtRNS3P2yWRsHrvHGsWCnb-YXOdq

Extensive notes on who sings what: http://mcgarrigles.info/Discography/tmhdvd.html

recorded live at: Le MonumentNational, Montréal, QC, December 1998

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~43:00 of Tom Paxton interview on Metro Speaking Freely Ken Paulson interviewer, 4/01

missed beginning, some singing, mostly talk 43:21

Lyndon Johnson Told the Nation Your Shoes, My Shoes Whose Garden Was This? I Don't Want a Bunny-Wunny excerpt (about President Carter) song about W (Bush) "We had one Bush/One Bush had we/And one was more than enough for me/This Bush is a couple leaves shy of a tree/Let's leave this Bush in Texas." Bobbit (John Wayne Bobbit and Loreena) rap is talking blues, iMac… The Last Thing On My Mind

See much of it here: https://youtu.be/IRE2xcHErlk (My version is longer and has different arrangements of THE SAME TALK... How is that possible since neither was edited?)

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Gorecki - Symphony no.3 (The Symphony of Sorrowful Songs) Tony Palmer, dir London Sinfonietta Dawn Upshaw

I missed the credits. See VHS #231 for part 2 only.

See the whole thing here: https://youtu.be/mLt9aSWkMRk

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