Shinjuku. Specifically Piss Alley. Or, as The Trifecta of our night. And the third night in a row that I had wrecked havoc upon that poor stretch of filth. Piss Alley is a collection of TINY bars and restaurants jammed into a little corner of Shinjuku around the bend from the Robot Restaurant and right by the Red Light District – OPA! They call it that because for years there were no restrooms in any of the bars, so the drinkers had to empty their bladders wherever they could. Rumors persist TO THIS DAY, that I have a video of a drunken Godzilla peeing in the bushes out there from our very night roaming the alleys, but I somehow can’t seem to find it. And what a shame too, because the policeman who happened upon him did NOT seem amused. But this Leopard tells no pee tales. Today.

A quick google search tells me that Piss Alley was formed in the 40s as an illegal drinking area for people who wouldn’t normally have the riches to access such things as alcohol and meat. Int also says that there are “restaurants” among these establishments. But Ive been all over piss alley and never seen anyone eating anything, except for a few flop down drunks who were feasting on a face full of concrete.

But if you’re heading to piss alley with the intention eating, well then you’re not that kind of guy I wanna be doing Sake shots with.  The first night I arrived in Japan I met up with Naughty Nicky and Evil Erin Stern, Badass Jay Belin, MeShuggah Mo Traynor, Juggalo Jeremy Holgerson and a few others too hazy to name for a steak dinner in the Lost in Translation Bar which led to an even hazier off-key romp through a private Karaoke room.  As per contractual restrictions, no pics or videos will be shared from that room. Which is for the best. The next night I hit Piss Alley on my own, which is always when the real trouble happens.

It always starts innocently enough. With a beer. Or two, or three. And then someone starts singing that Lil Jon Nugget SHOTS. Funny thing is, nobody else can ever hear this song. I think it’s just a hallucinatory siren scared up by a mixture of the whistling and my tinnitus. But once you put some gas in the engine, watch out.

I should mention that every bar in Piss Alley has about 6-8 seats packed tightly around a bar and sometimes they cram a few more folks in to cram around them. And now they have bathrooms, because apparently the whole hood compound burned down in the late 90’s and the Japanese Government rebuilt it EXACTLY the way it was, except this time equipped with commodes. Still didn’t stop that dang Godzilla feller though.

My first stop was supposed to be Death Match In Hell, which was closed, as it seemingly always is every time I try and go int here. Death Match From Hell’s theme isn’t death matches at all, oddly enough, but they show a steady stream of awesome horror flicks and play metal. So good enough for me. But seeing as it was closed, I moseyed on down the hall to the “Not Suspicious Bar” Pretty sure that’s the name, because it’s got multiple signs outside that are scrawled with NOT SUSPICIOUS pointing you upstairs. Like the sign says, not suspicious at all.

Which is what drew me to it last year, and made me bee-line toward it as this year’s first stop. And it was just like I remember it – jammed to the gills, full of drunken tourists wearing plastic tiaras that the barman bestows on the luckiest of lads and lasses, and is also covered inches thick in paper that people write notes and draw dicks onto. Or and onto which they draw dicks, if you wanna be technical about it. But it’s Japan, so Im gonna let a little grammarly transgressions glide by for this gaijin.

That was all well and good for a while. Met tons of Australians and discussed the finer points of the differences between NFL and NRL (Australia’s National Rugby League) and AUSSIE RULES FOOTBALL. And everyone agreed, of course, that Aussie Rules is the best. If you’ve never seen it, here ya go. It’s basically a prison yard version of the old playground game “smear the queer™” Thank me later.

Anyways, why are there so many Australians in Japan you ask? Well, it’s like their New England, or Colorado, or Utah. Namely, the closes place you can go for a is vacation. I was gonna say it’s like their Mexico, but that’s more like Indonesia and Thailand. Which makes me think they have a better Mexico than us., I wonder if Australia is full of amazing Thai and Indonesian food spots. And housekeepers? Who does their gardening over there? And who does their President blame all their problems on? Oh RIGHT! They don’t have any problems, because they don’t have nay guns. Just an infinitesimal amount of critters that will kill you just for THINKING about asking an Aussie where all of the Kangaroos are. Or Koala bears. Turns out they aren’t outside the airport. Or so Ive heard. Ive never even been there. BUT the homie John Joseph told me they have a very progressive vegan scene. A fact that I brought up to one of the Aussies I met which almost got me into a fight. He was SO ANGRY about Vegans, you’d think his tiny wallaby cock was made out of soft Tofu. Which, in retrospect, it probably was, since later int he night when I ran into him again at another bar he kept challenging me to fight, on the basis of me being gay and all. And he really didn’t like it when I pointed out that HE was the one wearing the FINGERLESS PINK GLOVES!! And this was the night BEFORE I was dressed in the  skintight Leopard Print outfit. Oh boy, we didn’t even get into the shirtless part yet. Which didn’t involve that twisted fruit, thank goodness. 

And just like that, we passed the 1,000 words for today. More tomorrow! G’DAY MATE!

The Robot Restaurant. The most amazingly ridiculous place in the world. Not sure why they call it a restaurant. Because Ive bene twice and haven’t heard of or seen anyone eating there. What is IS though is an over the top, intense, phantasmagorical assault on your senses, your being, your take on Tokyo, and overall, an assault on any semblance of good taste. Imagine the costumes and colors of Carnivale, the odd view of the future shown in comic books of the 50s, the floats of the Rose Parade, and the gaudiness and commercialism of Vegas all rolled into one. Now add in pounding music, blinding lights, about 100 costumed performers, and a never ending cavalcade of “Robots” all crammed into a subterranean lair, and you’re beginning to get the picture.

I guess the first thing to understand is that there aren’t really any Robots at all, per se.  Which is what a to of the reviews seem to focus on. But there are a seemingly endless array of moderately animatronic sculptures, some piloted by on board humans, and some being remotely shepherded by assumedly Japanese assumed fellers in ninja costumes manning remote controls looking apparati.

But before we get down into the basement, let’s start with the entrance. The whole operation takes top both sides of a narrow Shuijuku alley. But before you even get there you can’t miss the hundreds of signs around the neighborhood that advertise this theatrical bonanza.

Once you arrive you have to navigate the ticketing hall to make your booking, and then go diagonally across the alley and stop in front of a couple of amazon sculptures upon whose laps you can lay in for a pic or two.  Then you can shepherd up a few flights of stars into the “Lounge” Last time I was there the homie Rich jones commented that it appeared to have been furnished in the style of a Turkish bodega. Im. Not sure that they even have bodegas in Turkey. Or that Jones has ever been there. I certainly haven’t, as of yet. But I still knew exactly what he meant. It was literally the tackiest collection of over the top furniture and lights you could imagine. Every color of the rainbow, plus a bunch that have never been seen with human eyes, all blended under about 13,000 brighter than they need to be light bulbs. At the far end of this long room was a stage that had a woman playing piano and a backing band dressed as robots. There was also a bar, because nobody should try to negotiate thins place sober.

It really says something when me in a skin tight leopard suit is the least interesting thing in a room. But it happened here.

Next apartment I move into I might have to sire someone from this wonderland as my decorator. Or just got to Canal Plastics and Canal Street Lighting in NYC and tell them I want 420 of EVERYTHING in their warehouses.

After spending god knows how many thousands of Yen on drinks, it was time to make the pilgrimage downstairs. A couple hundred of us made a single file line and descended through a seemingly never ending maze of staircases, with each level getting freaking that the last. Gold, silver, lamé, strobes, LED’s, neon, and freakier and friskier pics were passing by in a whirlwind… Was that a Japanese schoolgirl dominatrix riding a dolphin?!?! Why yes it was, and it looks like I’ve also found my next tattoo.

Down I to the main showroom we went. It was a long rectangular room with a set of or 3 tiered bleachers running down each long side.  There were “tables” at each seat, ostensibly to hold the food people might order, but what it really did was to give plenty of room for drinks, in addition to the TWO cup-holders that were included with each seat. Burp.

After a quick round of selling us all MORE drinks from carts they wheeled out onto the performance space, they announced that it was time for the show.

And what a show it was. That doesn’t even do it justice. Spectacle started to cover it. GOD DAMN MONSTROSITY OF AWESOMENESS comes even closer. From the opening bell, it was a non stop cavalcade of kookiness coming through the curtains. The only thing that kept this thing from being non-stop was the fact that they stopped the show three times in the middle to sell us more drinks and let us in to the bathroom. Or at least that’s the convention wisdom. And certainly makes capitalistic sense.

But Im betting more it’s because they knew that if they gave us 60 straight minutes of their “show” that our collective heads would have melted, and then congealed, melted again and EXPLODED. It is literally impossible to overstate how weird this whole thing is. The first time I experienced it I likened it to an acid-trip. The second time, more like DMT.

Almost every contraption is topped by a human, or multiple humans, in incredulous costumes made from feathers and leather and spandex and foam and future minded fashionry. Every one wilder than what came before, and none of them anything close to pedestrian. This made a Tragedy show feel like solo acoustic subway busker in the middle of a transit strike. 

There was also some sort of a “story” they tried to introduce. Something about people from the future trying to enslave humans, and then take the earth from them. Which somehow ended with a woman being eaten by and then carted off in the mouth of a T-Rex. And then some explosions.  But then back to the REAL SHNOW, which was the parade of absurdity.

It’s well documented that Tokyo is a city squeezed for space, where everyone lives tiny capsule sized lives inside of literal capsule sized spaces. But that only begs the question of WHERE do all these Robots come from. There is seemingly no end to the number of the devices. thee must be a multi story garage behind the scenes, plus a mammoth worksop to maintain them all. But come they did, as the finale was just a loop of one after another after another after another until we were all, quite literally, breathless.

Once it was all said it done. We took a few moments to catch our breath, headed back upstairs to the “Turkish Bodgea” to grab a few more drinks, and then led a crowd a revelers to Shinjuku’s “Piss Alley” and byzantine labyrinth of tiny bars… That report will be filed tomorrow.

But if there’s one thing you should take away about the Robot Restaurant, it’s that if you go to Tokyo and don’t make it an absolute must visit on your travel, then Im not sure that you are I are gonna be friends.

Rodney would have gone. And he never would have shut up about it. Be more like Rodney.

Anyways, back to Wrestlekingdom.  At the Tokyo Dome. The entire event was a trip all in all. The Japanese crowd might not be as vocal and emotive, but what they might seemingly be lacking in “giving back” to the performers via their outward expressions, some might argue that they actually fuel them with their intense focus, respect, and passion for their art form. While US fans will start random chants, and singing theme songs and start noun sing beach balls around an arena when they aren’t into something, the Japanese fans are ALWAYS focused and attentive on what’s going on in the ring. And that’s got to be a big boost to the performers in it’s own right. In the US it almost feels as sometimes the in ring action is an afterthought, and that the fans are just creating fun amongst themselves, but in Japan all focus is on the ring. And after I while I got that and fed into it. And in a way, that’s very thoughtful since these guys are doing such crazy moves that they are literally taking their lives into their own hands each and every time they step into the ring. So let’s show them a little god damn respect.

The matches went on for about 4 and a half hours total, and the highlights were the opener and then the last tow headline matches, but once I realized that the matches would end around 9pm, I told Rich to be ready at the final bell to hit the road and get out of the stadium as soon as the bell rang, because I had a plan for our second round of the night.

It probably comes as no surprise to anyone reading this that I love to squeeze as much action as I can into a single night. I’ve been described as an “event addict” which is totally true. Show me an interesting event and Im down. Especially if Ive never been. I’ve come to posit that I’ve likely attended more different types of events at Madison Square Garden than anybody else who wasn’t working there. That will probably have to become a post of its own his year. But do you know anyone else who has been to MSG for NBA, WBNA, College Basketball, Harlem Globetrotters, And 1 Mix Tape Tour, NHL, Professional Wrestling, Sumo Wrestling, Bull Riding AND the Westminster Dog Show? That doesn’t even begin to count all the concerts, tennis matches, haunted houses, UFC Fights, motorcycle races and monster truck rallys Ive been to there. And that’s not even all. Like I said, show me a crazy event, and I’ll try it out, at least once.

So of course, if there was a chance to jam some more excitement into a night in Tokyo, you know I was gonna squeeze that lemon til the juice splashed all over my sashimi!

Enter the ROBOT RESTAURANT! This might quite be my favorite place int he whole world, and easily the most insane thing I did on my last visit to Tokyo. And for this trip, I wanted to make sure I did it again. But when I got to Tokyo I found out they were closed for the XMAS and NYE season, which is a weird time for a huge tourist spot to close, but they were… and I was gutted. BUT they had 4 shows on January 4th, though the last show was at 9:45pm, and since the main wrestling card started at 5pm, and the fact that it’s not at all rare for NJPW matches to have main events and co main events that both last close to an hour, I wasn’t sure we would be able to make it.

But once I knew there was a shot, I made sure we both split as soon as the final bell rang, and rocketed right out to the subway line for a straight shot to Shinjuku! Shinjuku is two neighborhoods in Tokyo (and there are probably lots more) that feel like Times Square meets Blade Runner with a dystopian Pikachukian sheen. Totally dang BANANAS. Coming top out of the subway was a sensory explosion of skyscrapers, neon, video screen, flashing lights and more people than you could shake a chop-chop-stick at!

Godzilla and the Leopard hot the streets a running and made a mad dash for the Robot Restaurant. When we got there we were told the show was sold out, and that we could make arrangements to come back another night, but we weren’t having it. This was OUR NIGHT dammit, and as it turns out, was really the ONLY NIGHT as Godzilla Richie was leaving the next night, and I was determined to share this madness with him. This was, after all, his birthday present from me. Well the wrestling matches were his gift anyway, but damn if I’m not gonna go down swinging to extend a part, especially when it involves a friend. We wouldn’t take no for an answer, and finally pestered thew until they decided to find a couple of seats for us.

Before we went in, we got some pics taken out front in the laps of super huge amazon Robot women. There were certainly no shortage of folks in the street willing to grab our camera and take the pic for us, and tons of other folks started snapping their own pics. Man, I figured we wouldn’t even cause a blip running around town in our wacky getups, but boy was I wrong.

Both native Tokyoans, and those who visit Japan, really need to step their game up. Or, maybe, just maybe, I should consider toning mine down?  Hahahahahahah NEVER!!!!!

We were cutting quite the scene out there in the streets on Shinjuku, and that’s really saying something. But it was time to exit the streets and enter the Robot Restaurant. Down into the psychedelic rabbit hole into the belly of the beast. For the most Japan thing that Japan could ever produce. Ladies and gentleman, tomorrow’s installment will be 100% focused on the insanity that is the Robot Restaurant. But for today, here’s a little taste via the pic we took outside in the laps of the Robot ladies…

Yesterday was jammed packed and I hit the Japanese Trifeca of jamming 3 nights worth of fun into fanatical Friday night. I was up at 6am, damn jetlag, and ended up leaving my room around 8am, wandered around for breakfast then traipsed all over Shibuya and Harajuku looking for a Godzilla costume. I had ordered a dinosaur onesie, but that didn’t really translate into Godzilla as I had hoped, so Rich ended up wearing that one and I found a skin tight leopard print bodysuit with a hood. Needless to say, we made a striking pair.

Harajuku is wild. Takeshita street is basically jammed with the wildest clothing stories selling all the newest and zany Japanese Youth fashions and everyone comes dressed to the hilt. Gwen Stefani famously memorialized these fashionistas in her Sogn Harajuku Girls. First time I went there the only thing I bought was an enamel lapel pin of two bananas… which, also in Gwen Stefani fashion was B-A-N-A-N-A-S! That joke never gets old. To me.

After that I went back to the room, changed into my running outfit and jogged 3 miles along the Sumida River, which I juts had to look up. I had been referring to it in my own head as there Tokyo River all week, and who even knows if that’s a real thing? Hmmm, it’s weird how you can just make things up and go with them in life. But usually Im a pretty firm proponent of facts and research.

After that it was off to the Tokyo Dome for Wrestlekingdom. The Tokyo Dome is a stadium that anchors an entire complex right in the center of the city known as Tokyo Dome City.  It’s where the biggest baseball team in the city plays, The Yomiyuri Giants, basically the Yankees of Japanese baseball. The complex also houses the Japanese baseball hall of fame, seemingly about a million restaurants, and one of the craziest one two punches of amusement park rides I’ve ever seen. First of all, there’s a ferris wheel with no spokes or central hub. Something only the Japanese would dream up. And then there’s a roller coaster that zooms THROUGH the CENTER of the Ferris Wheel. I rode that one last year. To add to my amazement and magic, it’s called THUNDER DOLPHIN!! It was awesome.

But today there was no time for riding roller coasters. I arrived at the Dome at 3:45 and the first match of the night, the “dark mtach” that doesn’t get shown on the TV Broadcast was set to start at 4pm,. And I had to figure out how to pick up tickets, how to leave one for Rich, which wasn’t at all a given considering that not many folks around Tokyo speak English. But definitely more than in NYC speak Japanese, and then I would have to find a store to buy some beer, because THEY LET YOU BRING YOUR OWN INSIDE. And thank goodness they did, because I bought two cans outside for about $2 each (2 cans is the limit) and the ones inside cost $8! Just like home haha… I somehow ended up making it all happen, and got inside just as the first match was getting underway. Phew.

Wrestlekingdom was everything I had hoped it would be. It’s the largest wrestling event in Japan, and dates back almost 30 years, though only under the WrestleKingdom name for the past 13. Over 40,000 people were there this year. For some reason it’s held ever year on January 4th, no matter what day of the week it falls, though this year was a Friday, so that probably added a bit to the energy of it all.

New Japan Pro Wrestling is the promotion that puts it on, and they have been on a. Pretty amazing hot streak over the past few years, and have also made a lot of inroads to the USA, with a weekly TV program on the AXS network, and a decent roster of American and British talent mixing with their homegrown Japanese stars. All this led to there being a sizable Gaijin contingent, and for some reason they had us all set up in our own two sections. That felt a bit weird, ads I had been shop ing to mingle more with Japanese fans, but, well, I was just happy to be in the building.  Apparently they give All the best seats to the fan club members, which you can only be if you are a Japanese resident, and then they also make the rest of the best seats only available on their Japanese language online ticket sales website. If you want to purchase in English (or Chinese) you get redirected through a different company, and, well, that’s how we all ended up together. One of the things that struck me as a difference between the matches in Japan vs the US is that the crowds in Japan are so sedate… which they would probably rather refer to as “respectful.” But it’s a huge difference e, and one that only seemed more present at the Tokyo Dome.

Int he past, at the 1,600 capacity Korakuen Hall, it felt. More reverential, so almost more normal for people to be so quiet during the matched, but in a a huge stadium it felt, somehow, hollow.  If you go to Wrestlemania or even any big arena matches, Monday Night Raw tapings etc, the crowd reacts to the performers every move not only with boos and cheers, but also with heckles and chants, and songs and, well, anything that entertains them. But at the matches in Japan, all you do is clap politely after a move has been performed particularly well, and then again at the end of the contest. I learned that the hard way Thursday night at Korakuen Hall when tow wrestlers started brawling into the crowd and I shouted a bunch of gibberish at the top of my lungs, something that would have been right in place at a US match, earned me. A lot of head turns and nasty looks. Whoops…. Much more to follow tomorrow…

DISCLAIMER: I just got back to LA from Tokyo, and have lived through two Saturdays. Time travel, for reals. So this post was written over what was probably about 38 hours, but it was all done while I was inside of locale time on January 5th. IKm stopping now, mid-story because Im slightly delerious, and will pick back up tomorrow. Not every day is gonna be a winner, but Ill never skip a day.

I’m about to walk into the Tokyo Dome for Wrestlekingdom. Part of me can’t believe I actually flew to Japan by myself to watch pro wrestling. But then, of course I did. I don’t like pro wrestling. I LOVE IT!

I’m not sure the first time I saw wrestling on TV. I know it must have been at my grandfathers house, because I was told that plenty while I was growing up. But I do remember that first time wrestling grabbed a hold of my emotions and made me FEEL something, and that was when SuperStar Billy Graham came out and grabbed Bob Backlund’s championship belt and started ripping gold plates off of it. I remember being shocked, and upset, and CRYING, literally. I couldn’t understand why the bad man would do that to the good man.  Around the same time, and I’m actually not sure what happened first, was when Killer Khan broke Andrew the Giant’s ankle. The crazed madman from Mongolia came out and jumped off the top rope onto Andre’s leg, stomping his ankle and breaking it. ON PURPOSE!!

I couldn’t make sense of either attack, really. It was such a very simple concept of good vs evil that captivated me. And I was hooked for life.  I was rooting for the good guys, of course, but by the time I got to see my first live match, I had switched sides and was rooting for the bad guys. The man that turned me was the Hot Rod himself – Rowdy Roddy Piper. Sure, he was a bad guy with a big mouth but he APPEALED TO ME. I couldn’t have been more than 10 years old when I went to my first match at Boston Garden which was headlined by Roddy Piper vs Jimmy Snuka, and I smuggled in a fly swatter to hold up to show my disdain for the Superfly. I stuck it down the leg of my pants and walked into the garden with a limp. This was way before the era of metal detectors, so I managed to get it past security no sweat. I only remember two matches from that night, Jimmy Snuka vs Piper and, for some odd reason, The Magnificent Muraco vs a very young and then unknown Bret Hart.

Long before he became the Hitman and one half of the Hart Foundation aka the Pink and Black Attack, he was just a young, somewhat green talent.  Not too green though, of course, because what I couldn’t have know then was that Bret Hart was the son of the legendary and brutal wrestling trainer Stu Hart, so he had come up through the “Hart Family Dungeon”, the wrestling school that was run out of the basement of the family’s home, meaning he had been training literally his entire life. That was back in the day when wrestlers had to be  actual tough guys. So if anyone stopped to them in real life, they would be able to play the part and not bike the whole charade. Keeping up appearances that it was all “real” is known as Kayfabe in the wrestling world. Yup – a made up word. There’s a lot of them in wrestling. Inspired by its Carny roots!

I don’t even know how I was able to evaluate talent at that young age, but Bret left a very big impression on me that day, and I became a fan for life. And remain a fan of his to this day.

Another weird memory that stands out has to do with me being an excellent speller (if not the best typist / proofreader). I came in 2nd place in my elementary school spelling bee in 4th and 5th grade, so my dad made a deal with me for the 6th grade spelling bee and said that if I won, he would take me to New York City, and to a wrestling match at Madison Square Garden.

That was such a literal dream to me. I mean, sure Boston Garden was cool and all but I KNEW that MSG was the Mecca of pro wrestling, but more importantly, that New York CITY was the Mecca of AMERICA, if not the entire world! I ended up in second place in that one too… heart-breakingly… But I figured my dad would let it slide and reward me anyways. But man – WAS I EVER WRONG. He taught me a few lessons with that one… Namely, that you’ll never get anything you don’t deserve, and ALSO, that NYC was a place worth fighting for. So fight for it I did.

I never got to NYC with my dad, But I did get there a few years later, after my 10th grade year, where I dropped out of school after the winter break and went to work as a gas station attendant. I visited NYC with a friend… A trip that started with me getting mugged in Times Square, and ended with me falling off a 6 story rooftop and landing in the trauma unit at NY Hospital for 10 days. That trip changed my life, of course. Most people would have sworn off ever going back to New York City, but for me it only cemented the fact that that was where I was MEANT to be! And I ended up moving there as quickly as I could. I took the first opportunity I had to go and live there, and did so after my first year of college. Well, first I went to LA for 6 months, and THEN I decamped to NYC, knowing that they weren’t gonna leave me down on the farm after I had seen NYCeeeee!

The rest is sort of rock n roll history, isn’t it? I mean, I moved here and went on to start one of the most storied independent concert companies in the history of this city. All without a single dollar of outside investment.  booked the Wetlands, the Knitting Factory, and booked the last 100 nights that ever happened at CBGB. And I conceptualized, created, and have run a series of shows on boats that have transformed the way people see and enjoy live music in the biggest market in the United States of America. Feels really weird to look at it in that light, but it’s all true. Wow.

And that, my friends, is a pretty awesome fucking story.

And I owe it all to pro wrestling.

Writing for Rodney – Day 3

Writing for Rodney – Day 3

Here we go again! Back to Korakuen Hall in Tokyo for some wrestling tonight. It’s the DDT Promotion and I have no idea what to expect. I don’t know who wrestles for them and what any of their programs or storylines are, but that’s ok because it’s a well regarded promotion, and just being inside Korakuen Hall is magical. It’s the Japanese Mecca of Wrestling, and they have matches almost every single night, and only the top promotions in Japan get to run shows there. Through the magic of the internet I’m meeting up with a friend of a friend and his brother, who also flew over from New York City and happened to have an extra ticket for tonight’s long since sold out show. I only made the plan to come here a couple of weeks ago, and was lucky enough to get a decent seat at the Dome tomorrow, but all the other shows happening in Tokyo this week are sold out. I guess that’s an of weirdos like me have made the pilgrimage. Makes feel feel less weird. Just a little bit.

Wrestling was one of the great joys that Rodney and I shared. We went to so many shows. In fact, the first time I ever took Rodney across two state lines was to an ECW show in South Philadelphia. It was me and Rodney and Backyard Bill Stites, and and it provided one of the most striking and stringent memories I have of Rodney. Rodney was a black man. Born in Harlem and raised in the Bronx. But he never seemed to really identify with may parts of black culture. He was a rocker, though and through. Even through the first concert he event went to was with his mother, at Madison Square Garden, in 1977, when George Clinton landed the Mothership. Sure he loved soul and funk, be he was a rocker at heart. His favorite bands of all time were the Beatles and the Stones, and AC/DC and Aerosmith and Cheap Trick. And he had a bizarre fascination with bagpipe bands, which is a whole other story I’ll get into at some point this year.

For some reason that I was never able to ascertain, Rodney was pretty sure that Scottish blood pumped through his veins. So on this trip to Philly, we got lost and were somewhere in south Jersey, and in a very bad neighborhood, and there were a bunch of shady looking black dudes on the street. Shady enough the I reached down on the door handle two lock the doors. At which point I said “Rodney, how does it make you feel as a black man in America to see your people acting like this?” And he SNAPPED back – “JAKE I’M SCOTTISH. IF I WAS BLACK I’D BE FROM AFRICA!” Well fuck. Me and Backyard just looked at each other and both exhaled very heavy breaths at the same time, and I never brought it up to Rodney again. But I DID buy him a set of bagpipes for his next birthday. Something Im sure his roommate never forgave me for. And good, because fuck that guy.

That, again, is a story for another day, but today we are going to focus on wrestling. Another amazing trip was to the Hammerstein Ballroom for what turned out to be the final ECW show in New York City. The crew was me and Backyard Bill and Jason Bau. And Rodney was wearing a Mexican wrestling mask. It was the first time Jay had been out with Rodney outside of Wetlands, and at a certain point in the match Rodney started yelling at the referee, screaming about some rule infraction that the heel had committed, asking why the ref wasn’t going to penalize the offending wrestler. At that moment, I looked at Jay, and his head almost exploded. He couldn’t believe that this grown-ass-man, closing in on 40, still believed that Wrestling was real. But it made perfect sense to me. Rodney really had a gift for living in the moment. And not questioning the reality or the roles of entertainers. There was a captivating story being told, and he was all-in. Every time.

Rodney was a liver, and a believer. He loved what he loved and he made no apologies for it. Which is probably why we got along so well. We marched to the beat of our own drummers, often a rhythm that nobody else could hear, or wouldn’t likely even understand if they heard it. We were soul brothers. Still are, really.

I remember another time when we went to Madison Square Garden for a WWE show, after which I had WWE Superstar Chris Jericho booked to play a show with his band Fozzy at the Tribeca Rock Club. At that event it was me, Backyard Bill, Rockin Rod, and Corn Mo. Jericho was in a tag match against the Dudley Boys, and Bubba Ray Dudley cheated in the match to get the pinfall against Jericho and Rondey LOST IT! He stood up out off his seat and cursed the referee for missing yet another infraction, and Corn Mo was in disbelief. It wasn’t so much as Rodney was getting laughed at, but laughed WITH, because yet again another grown man was in admirable disbelief that Rodney could feel so deeply, about something that we sort of took instinctively as entertainment, but to Rodney, IT WAS STILL REAL TO HIM, DAMMIT!

Later that night, Corn Mo was opening for Fozzy and he brought up that Bubba Ray had cheated to win the match, and said, front he stage, “Fuck You Bubba Ray!” At which point Bubba, who was at the club, unbeknownst to Corn Mo, stormed the stage and proceeded to dress down and threaten Corn Mo which had him very obviously scared shitless. I looked over at Rodney, and he almost had a damn heart attack and started screaming yet again.

And in that moment, I fell even deeper in love with Rodney. Which was a spemthign that happened pretty much every time we hung out.

I wish he could have been with men tonight at in Tokyo Korakuen Hall. Really, I wish he was with me everywhere I go. And in many ways, he is. And Always will be.

#RodSpeed

Rodney was a liver, and a believer. He loved what he loved and he made no apologies for it. Which is probably why we got along so well. We marched to the beat if our own drummers, often a rhythm that nobody else could hear, or would likely even understand if they heard it. We were souls brothers. Still are, really.

I remember another time when we went to Madison Square Garden for a WWE show, after which I had WWE Superstar Chris Jericho booked to play a show with his band Fozzy at the Tribeca Rock Club. At that even it was me, Backyard Bill, Rockin Rod, and Corn Mo. Jericho was in a tag match against the Dudley Boys, and Bubba Ray Dudley cheated in the match to get the pinfall against Jericho and Rondey LOST IT! He stood up out off his seat and cursed the referee for missing yet another infraction, and Corn Mo was in disbelief. It wasn’t so much as Rodney was getting laughed at, but laughed WITH, because yet again another grown man was in admirable disbelief that Rodney could feel so deeply, about something that we sort of took instinctively as entertainment, but to Rodney, IT WAS STILL REAL TO HIM, DAMMIT!

Later that night, Corn Mo was opening for Fozzy and he brought up that Bubba Ray had cheated to win the match, and said, front he stage, “Fuck You Bubba Ray!” At which point Bubba, who was at the club, unbeknownst to Corn Mo, stormed the stage and proceeded to dress down and threaten Corn Mo which had him very obviously scared shitless. I looked over at Rodney, and he almost had a damn heart attack and started screaming yet again.

And in that moment, I fell even deeper in love with Rodney. Which was a spemthign that happened pretty much every time we hung out.

I wish he could have been with me tonight in Tokyo at Korakuen Hall. Really, I wish he was with me everywhere I go. And in many ways, he is. And Always will be.

#RodSpeed