It's especially boring when it involves very average jerk-offs and fuck-ups. Is it any surprise that Bon Jovi or Eddie Van Halen fucked a lot of idiots? Or that heavy metal clods like Tommy Iommi would just as soon punch a woman as fuck her, and not care either way?
WHO, at this point, is supposed to care about The Runaways? Wasn't there already a boring movie made about them?
Millennials have their own sluts a'plenty, including tongue-waggling dildo-waving Viley Virus. Those a little bit older can drool over Beyonce. A little gayer, and it's Gaga. Like 'em old, and there's Madonna. But an over 50 D-lister like LITA? Nevermind.
As for those over 50 who remember her, is it a thrill to read her boring porn descriptions of what happened DECADES ago? Does THIS turn you on? Go ahead:
All the wine got to Bon Jovi, who “began puking in the corner, right on the bedroom carpet.”
At that point, Toni felt generous. “Toni hopped off Richie,” Ford writes, “as if to say, ‘Here, Lita. Try mine.’ So I got in bed with Richie.”
The room then turned into a scene from “Caligula.”
“Holy shit, Richie Sambora is the king of swing, I must say. Jon recovered from puking and Aldo finally made his way into the action, and it turned into girl-on-guy fun at the Broadway Plaza Hotel.”
Zzzzz. It reads like some bad phony letter in Penthouse Borum, or some other silly sex digest mag paying chicken shit for dog shit fakery. (Yes, most of the letters were written by hacks.)
About the least interesting gig a writer could have, would be knocking out these dopey letters, and that includes fake-o ones where you pretend to be a groupie writing about a backstage blowjob given to "a big rock star I'd be in trouble if I named."
Another writing git not too interesting; interviewing Lita herself.
I did that 20 (or was it 30) years ago, and I don't remember much about it. It's not just that it was so long ago. She just wasn't that interesting. Nice lady; wore plenty of make-up. All I remember was the twatty publicist telling me I couldn't take any pictures because "official" ones would be mailed to the office later. Not trusting the timing, or the quality of what was often dupe-blur garbage, I asked Lita, who looked quite presentable, if I could take a quick photo just in case.
She was fine with it. She held still, and I took the shot. Just then (it was the end of the interview) the publicist walked in and stamped her nasty foot in protest. At least she didn't demand I hand over the film.
IF I'M BEING HONEST, I wasn't expecting much from the interview and wasn't looking forward to it, because the only Runaway I really had any interest in talking to was Cherie Currie. I liked the album she and her sister made. It was better than anything from The Runaways, or the solo work of Joan or Lita. Nothing either Currie did after that was any good either.
But I digress. I was kinda hoping, having had a pleasant enough time with her, that Ford at this point was happily married with kids (not quite). I also figured if she needed a thrill or some spare change, she'd get it by simply doing a show in some semi-classy joint like The City Winery, or hitting the memorabilia show circuit. Fine, have the Bill Hoobastanks line up, get a $20 bill, smile, and go home after a few hours.
It's a bit dismal to see that she's joined the fuck-and-tell club, happily discussing long-gone orgasms with the stupidest guys in rock.
Oh, and she mentions that Joan Jett acted like a dyke? Hell, the woman was also a chunky nasty bitch who'd demand a co-write on songs she didn't write, or else she wouldn't record 'em. I don't think a nudge-nudge wink-wink line about tarty-looking Cherie and bull bitch Joan going off together is worth the list price.
If you can't give me an explicit page or two on witnessing sex between Lita and Cherie, and describing it with more skill than E.L. James, sorry, no sale. As for filling up the book on the average stories of hotel destruction, fucking morons, and taking drugs...it's Deja Poo. PS, nobody on Earth really cares what Kim Fowley was like.
For freeeeeee in a newspaper is one thing. Buying the damn thing? Uh, no.
No, I only fleetingly thought about going to a book signing, showing her the old article I wrote, and have a "gee, how about that" moment. But I quickly realized it wasn't worth the tedium of transit, standing in line, and having some twat call out "keep the line moving."
Not interested in reading about Tommy Myopic. Didn't expect some fuckhead from Black Sabbath would be a nice guy or a good lover.
It's very rare when rock tell-alls have even a few pages that are amusing or erotic. Pamela De Barres had a few. It's rare when they have a few pages that are at least trainwreck engrossing (oh, Genya) AND well written (Marianne Faithfull). But something like this? I don't even think I'd download it off a torrent.
I don't mean to be mean. I remember her as nice and polite, and I'm thankful for that. Better that, than remembering someone for being combative, or just an idiot savant with nothing to say. So I wish her well, but I wish she didn't have to "brag" about having sex with idiots like Bon Jova and Sambora, or how she was dumb enough to be involved with a zombie moron from Black Sabbath.
At this point, what's the cautionary tale in any of that? And where's the vicarious thrill? You really have to be some kind of imbecile to be turned on reading about a Runaway carrying on with Bon Jovi band members in a hotel. I'm more depressed and impressed, believe me.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.