I’m taking a nap on the sofa in the back room of the Duder Bar, right, and I’m dreaming and then things get very strange because I realize I’m dreaming like the dream yoga guy, Chogyam Dada, was talking about the other day and I say...to myself...well fuck me...so this is what that guy was talking about. Where the fuck am I anyway...looks like the parking lot of some nightclub or something...big neon sign with a martini glass...some broad’s sexy neon eyes above it...some neon spike heels...some words…
ANGEL EYES…COCKTAILS…BOWLING…POOL…GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS…
You gotta be kidding...a topless bowling alley?
An early 1970s vintage LAPD black and white pulls up and parks in front of the joint. A big Orson Welles looking cop...overcoat and fedora...gets out of the driver’s side and slams the door.
A rangy, hippy type...fedora also...off the wall Hawaiian shirt...gets out of the front seat and out of the back piles...swear to god...The Dude...also going Hawaiian...and Walter Sobchak in his Walter uniform. They all head inside ANGEL EYES talking and gesturing. Looks like they know each other.
I decide to check this out myself. A cab pulls up and a grinning Chogyam Dada gets out waving to get my attention.
“Hey, Hieronymus...glad you could make it...I told you you could...”
I wake up...look around. The back room of the Duder looks kind of peculiar.
“What the fuck was that!?”
I look for the number Chogyam gave me for the Dream Yoga Institute.
A couple hours later I am sitting at the bar trying to sort things out with Chogyam. We are both several cocktails into the conversation.
“So...what you're telling me is that you were dreaming that little scenario last night at the same time I was...and that we were both THERE...at this topless bowling alley...and the Dude and Walter and these other guys pull up...and you wanted me to go in and just sit down and order a round and then just nonchalantly chat with THE DUDE like nothing fucking was even a little OUT OF THE ORDINARY?”
“I would have introduced you Hieronymus...they would have been cool with you joining us.”
“Joining US?...you rolling with the Dude these days Chogyam? Would you mind filling in some blanks...connecting some dots. I know all the fictitious character as independent thought form bullshit...and hanging out in your “Imaginal Realm” bullshit...but man I was THERE ...somewhere. It was REAL Chogyam”
“Yes Hieronymus...it was real and still is. We can go there again if you want to.”
“How did I get there in the first place?”
“I have been leading you in your dreams. You don’t remember...weren’t going lucid yet... ”
“You’ve been in my head without asking? You hoodoo asshole! I should . . . ”
Louise brings us some more drinks and then quickly moves away.
“I thought you wanted to meet the Dude...”
After a long silence, during which I attempt to get some kind of grip on all this, I calmly speak again.
“So Chogyam...tell me about this Angel Eyes Strip Joint and Bowl...and who was the cop and the other guy.
With his Mississippi accent in full bloom....thickening on account of the Jack Daniels...Chogyam fills me in...
“Angel Eyes is a fictitious place. The cop is a hardon LAPD detective named Bigfoot Bjornsen and the other guy is a private eye named Larry “Doc” Sportello. They are both characters in a novel called Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon which came out a few months back. Book is really about Doc and his world. Here...I got an unauthorized copy before it hit the street."
He takes the book out of his bag and shoves it across the bar.
Angel Eyes now sits where the fictitious Club Asiatique once was located in fictitious San Pedro ...not real San Pedro…not far from fictitious Gordita Beach...where Doc lives...not real Manhattan Beach…where Pynchon lived in the 70s. Angel Eyes has stuff from Doc’s world and from the Dude’s world so, naturally, it got dreamed up so they would both have a place to hang. Welcome to the Dude’s Otherworld my friend. It has gotten more solid…more stable…with all the attention the book has gotten plus the continuing exercising of the Lebowskians by the fans like I was telling you about the other day. All the reviewers are saying that Doc and Inherent Vice are REALLY a lot like the Dude’s world. Rolling Stone even called it The BIGGER Lebowski. Don’t know about that, but, anyhow…looks like the Dude and Doc and their cronies are hanging out. How’s about a visit?”
Much later…I wake up inside Angel Eyes. Lots of blue-green and pink neon. Long bar full of customers…a mixture of fictitious characters and dreamers I figure. Some of the faces seem oddly familiar…create little ripples of déjà vu. Chogyam joins me grinning.
We order our usuals. There is a stack of Angel Eyes postcards on the bar. I put one in my shirt pocket. There is a translucent blue green plexiglass stage with a pole at the far end of the room. A g-stringed, spike heeled dancer twirls to the throbbing music. Many other barely clad, to good to be real looking girls mingle with the customers. The wall opposite the bar is glass. Beyond the glass is an outrageous, neon bedecked bowling alley. The lanes are made of the same translucent blue green material as the stage. The bowling balls liquidly streaming down the lanes glow with colors not normally found in nature.
The Dude, Doc, Bigfoot, Walter and several girls are sharing a lane. Walter and Bigfoot are talking and gesturing to each other excitedly. The Dude and Doc seem to be sizing each other up. Chogyam is watching me stare at them. He provides a running commentary…
“Bigfoot and Walter are talking about going in together on some new private bodyguard thing. Doc wants the Dude to get his act together and join his operation…L.S.D (Location…Surveillance…Detection…dig…) Investigations, but the Dude wants none of it. They all like the attention they are getting in the press but aren’t sure they agree with everything that’s being spread around town. Tabloid headlines are beginning to appear in The Realm. Fictitious Hollywood scandal can’t be far behind. Are undercover reporters illicitly dreaming their way into Angel Eyes they wonder?”
The Dude drains his drink and walks away from the others toward the bar. He nudges his way up to the bar next to me and Chogyam, looks at us and smiles, then orders…
“Another one of those Caucasians please and a tequila zombie for my friend Doc.” Looking at me, “I don’t know, man…no accounting for some people’s tastes…” Recognizing Chogyam, “Hey, man…did you get home all right last night? You looked a little pale…”
“Yeah…I managed to make it OK Dude…”
“Good, man…we were worried…”
Finally, I manage to speak, “Can I ask you something Dude?”
“Oh…you know who I am?”
“Yes Dude, I do…your reputation precedes you…”
“That’s what I hear, man…what do you want to know?”
I look around at the scene at Angel Eyes, “How do you like the Angel Eyes spot here?”
“Kinda different from your usual neighborhood lanes, huh, man…but the Dude makes the best of it, man…you know. They even let me name it, man…”
“Oh yeah…Angel Eyes?”
“Its not all Creedence all the time, man…”
The Dude’s drinks arrive and he picks them up, turns and heads away.
“…sometimes its Creedence sometimes its Sinatra…great for P.I.s and sentimental cops, man…you know? You guys come on down and join us, man…having you guys around sort of ties the evening together…(suspiciously) undercover eyeballs, man, huh?…intrigue… like the man said…Come On Down!”
He is gone. Our surroundings fade for an instant, then return. We follow the Dude into the VIP bowling salon of Angel Eyes not knowing what is in store for us as we approach this spooky crew…
I hear a loud “pop” and jerk myself awake. I am in the back room of the Duder Bar sitting up now on the sofa. Dazed. I reach into my shirt pocket and pull out the Angel Eyes postcard.
ANGEL EYES…COCKTAILS…BOWLING…POOL…GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS…
TO BE CONTINUED...
ANGEL EYES…COCKTAILS…BOWLING…POOL…GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS…
You gotta be kidding...a topless bowling alley?
An early 1970s vintage LAPD black and white pulls up and parks in front of the joint. A big Orson Welles looking cop...overcoat and fedora...gets out of the driver’s side and slams the door.
A rangy, hippy type...fedora also...off the wall Hawaiian shirt...gets out of the front seat and out of the back piles...swear to god...The Dude...also going Hawaiian...and Walter Sobchak in his Walter uniform. They all head inside ANGEL EYES talking and gesturing. Looks like they know each other.I decide to check this out myself. A cab pulls up and a grinning Chogyam Dada gets out waving to get my attention.
“Hey, Hieronymus...glad you could make it...I told you you could...”
I wake up...look around. The back room of the Duder looks kind of peculiar.
“What the fuck was that!?”
I look for the number Chogyam gave me for the Dream Yoga Institute.
A couple hours later I am sitting at the bar trying to sort things out with Chogyam. We are both several cocktails into the conversation.
“So...what you're telling me is that you were dreaming that little scenario last night at the same time I was...and that we were both THERE...at this topless bowling alley...and the Dude and Walter and these other guys pull up...and you wanted me to go in and just sit down and order a round and then just nonchalantly chat with THE DUDE like nothing fucking was even a little OUT OF THE ORDINARY?”
“I would have introduced you Hieronymus...they would have been cool with you joining us.”
“Joining US?...you rolling with the Dude these days Chogyam? Would you mind filling in some blanks...connecting some dots. I know all the fictitious character as independent thought form bullshit...and hanging out in your “Imaginal Realm” bullshit...but man I was THERE ...somewhere. It was REAL Chogyam”
“Yes Hieronymus...it was real and still is. We can go there again if you want to.”
“How did I get there in the first place?”
“I have been leading you in your dreams. You don’t remember...weren’t going lucid yet... ”
“You’ve been in my head without asking? You hoodoo asshole! I should . . . ”
Louise brings us some more drinks and then quickly moves away.
“I thought you wanted to meet the Dude...”
After a long silence, during which I attempt to get some kind of grip on all this, I calmly speak again.
“So Chogyam...tell me about this Angel Eyes Strip Joint and Bowl...and who was the cop and the other guy.
With his Mississippi accent in full bloom....thickening on account of the Jack Daniels...Chogyam fills me in...
“Angel Eyes is a fictitious place. The cop is a hardon LAPD detective named Bigfoot Bjornsen and the other guy is a private eye named Larry “Doc” Sportello. They are both characters in a novel called Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon which came out a few months back. Book is really about Doc and his world. Here...I got an unauthorized copy before it hit the street."
He takes the book out of his bag and shoves it across the bar.
Angel Eyes now sits where the fictitious Club Asiatique once was located in fictitious San Pedro ...not real San Pedro…not far from fictitious Gordita Beach...where Doc lives...not real Manhattan Beach…where Pynchon lived in the 70s. Angel Eyes has stuff from Doc’s world and from the Dude’s world so, naturally, it got dreamed up so they would both have a place to hang. Welcome to the Dude’s Otherworld my friend. It has gotten more solid…more stable…with all the attention the book has gotten plus the continuing exercising of the Lebowskians by the fans like I was telling you about the other day. All the reviewers are saying that Doc and Inherent Vice are REALLY a lot like the Dude’s world. Rolling Stone even called it The BIGGER Lebowski. Don’t know about that, but, anyhow…looks like the Dude and Doc and their cronies are hanging out. How’s about a visit?”
Much later…I wake up inside Angel Eyes. Lots of blue-green and pink neon. Long bar full of customers…a mixture of fictitious characters and dreamers I figure. Some of the faces seem oddly familiar…create little ripples of déjà vu. Chogyam joins me grinning.
We order our usuals. There is a stack of Angel Eyes postcards on the bar. I put one in my shirt pocket. There is a translucent blue green plexiglass stage with a pole at the far end of the room. A g-stringed, spike heeled dancer twirls to the throbbing music. Many other barely clad, to good to be real looking girls mingle with the customers. The wall opposite the bar is glass. Beyond the glass is an outrageous, neon bedecked bowling alley. The lanes are made of the same translucent blue green material as the stage. The bowling balls liquidly streaming down the lanes glow with colors not normally found in nature.
The Dude, Doc, Bigfoot, Walter and several girls are sharing a lane. Walter and Bigfoot are talking and gesturing to each other excitedly. The Dude and Doc seem to be sizing each other up. Chogyam is watching me stare at them. He provides a running commentary…“Bigfoot and Walter are talking about going in together on some new private bodyguard thing. Doc wants the Dude to get his act together and join his operation…L.S.D (Location…Surveillance…Detection…dig…) Investigations, but the Dude wants none of it. They all like the attention they are getting in the press but aren’t sure they agree with everything that’s being spread around town. Tabloid headlines are beginning to appear in The Realm. Fictitious Hollywood scandal can’t be far behind. Are undercover reporters illicitly dreaming their way into Angel Eyes they wonder?”
The Dude drains his drink and walks away from the others toward the bar. He nudges his way up to the bar next to me and Chogyam, looks at us and smiles, then orders…
“Another one of those Caucasians please and a tequila zombie for my friend Doc.” Looking at me, “I don’t know, man…no accounting for some people’s tastes…” Recognizing Chogyam, “Hey, man…did you get home all right last night? You looked a little pale…”
“Yeah…I managed to make it OK Dude…”
“Good, man…we were worried…”
Finally, I manage to speak, “Can I ask you something Dude?”
“Oh…you know who I am?”
“Yes Dude, I do…your reputation precedes you…”
“That’s what I hear, man…what do you want to know?”
I look around at the scene at Angel Eyes, “How do you like the Angel Eyes spot here?”
“Kinda different from your usual neighborhood lanes, huh, man…but the Dude makes the best of it, man…you know. They even let me name it, man…”
“Oh yeah…Angel Eyes?”
“Its not all Creedence all the time, man…”
The Dude’s drinks arrive and he picks them up, turns and heads away.
“…sometimes its Creedence sometimes its Sinatra…great for P.I.s and sentimental cops, man…you know? You guys come on down and join us, man…having you guys around sort of ties the evening together…(suspiciously) undercover eyeballs, man, huh?…intrigue… like the man said…Come On Down!”
He is gone. Our surroundings fade for an instant, then return. We follow the Dude into the VIP bowling salon of Angel Eyes not knowing what is in store for us as we approach this spooky crew…I hear a loud “pop” and jerk myself awake. I am in the back room of the Duder Bar sitting up now on the sofa. Dazed. I reach into my shirt pocket and pull out the Angel Eyes postcard.
ANGEL EYES…COCKTAILS…BOWLING…POOL…GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS…
TO BE CONTINUED...
No comments:
Post a Comment