The road to Casa Sinatra

Nancy SinatraI had to see Nancy, no matter what. I did try persuasive and reasoned, impassioned arguments for a while but to no avail. Then, as I nudged some shingles between my boots and smoked my fiftieth cigarette, it occurred to me that Security guards like to speak in riddles. To get the answer you want, you firstly have to ask the right question.

‘No pink Cadillacs,’ said Steve. ‘Yep,’ said Ernie. Then I said, ‘How about I leave the Cadillac here? Can I go in without it?’

And the gate opened, shrieking on its massive hinges.

Before me rose a long drive of blazing white shingles, which shimmered with dust catching the last of the light and heat. The entrance was bordered with olive trees and cherry tomatoes in giant terracotta pots. It was easy to imagine Frank Snr here, pottering around pleasantly like an old Italian man. But the scent of citrus and the shade soon gave way to the famous Sinatra talent for cunt acts.


Now, most people do not approach Casa Sinatra on foot; the drive went on for some time, winding up the hillside, through a rocky, desert garden. It was rough going, with the pebbles reflecting heat and shifting under my Beatle boots.

On and on and on and on. The road took several scenic detours past various points of interest in the desert mountainside garden. There was a natural rock formation, a rock feature, a tumbled dyke, a pile of smoothed heaped stones; a wilderness area for small desert beasts, ornamental cacti and aposematic lizards which crawled idly over the crumbling walls, occasionally poking out their muscular purple tongues to spit out a shell or a bird’s leg.

Next the drive took me to a view facing west; a view facing north, a modernist pagoda, an outcrop of rock hanging over a quarry.


I passed several Frank Snr memorial statues which showed him at various stages of his career, cast in bronze or carved in malachite or rising out of the living mountain. (The statues buzzed with the sound of security cameras, concealed in Frank’s suit buttons or prismatic blue eyes).

item0.rendition.slideshowVertical.frank-sinatra-01-portraitAbout two hours later, thirsty and fagged and sunburned and grey with quarry dust, I finally reached the second gate.

Continued next post: The Second Gate At Casa Sinatra 


Will you still love me when I’m not beautiful

Rare Photographs of Elvis Presley (17)By the time I got back the rain had stopped and an eerie silence had descended upon Shitsville Ranch; even the monkeys were silent in the trees.

Charles Schridde

I came in quietly, flicking on the light switches. I couldn’t hear Archie anywhere. After six months of throbbing jets and tropical steam and blue shadows in the begonia-scented dark, the mists had at last blown out of the lounge room; the couches and kidney-shaped coffee table on their awkward little wooden peg legs had a sort of sparkling clarity, as though they were souls new-born. Now instead of the sonorous roar of shower jets the only sound that could be heard was the drip-drip-drip of the condensation running in streaks down the wood paneling. Dare I dream that it would stay this way?

Elvis Presley 1956 Then I heard Archie sniff. He was sitting on the couch with his back to me, and hadn’t moved since I came in.

‘Well?’ he said. He was wearing little more than a bathrobe and a fine mantle of Cheetohs cheese dust.

‘She’s gone,’ I said.

Sniff. ‘Did… did she say she was coming back?’

‘Never in Hell.’

‘Hell. Damn. Christ.’

He spat on the rug. He looked around with blind eyes. He scratched himself. Then he said, ‘Oh Nancy…’ great dark voice trembling on the y. And then he started to weep.

It is hard to watch a man cry. It is a very raw sight, like a snail unshelled. His shoulders shook with sobs, making his bald spot gleam like a new penny at the bottom of a fountain. The tears ran in streams down the rivets beside his mouth and then pooled in the muttonchops that he grows in order to disguise his jowls. The snot gathered in points at the end of his attenuated nostril hairs. His freshly pink speckled hairless thighs wobbled on the couch like those of a fat lady in a frilled bathing suit too nervous to get in the pool. On either side his cocoanut tanning lotion was forming deep dark parabolas on the upholstery.

This went on for a while; for a long time he couldn’t speak except to say, ‘Nancy, oh Nancy…’ as if hugging the word to his pink speckled cheese-dusted chest.

I shifted from foot to foot. I looked longingly at the clock and the shag pile being ruined with dripping condensation and emotional spit. Then I had to say, ‘Cheer up, pop. Maybe she will come back. Maybe I remembered it wrong. Come to think of it, her intentions were rather ambiguous. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if in another minute she came on a-walkin right through that door.’

Continued here: Young and beautiful ad nauseam.

Old Photographs of Elvis Presley in the Beginning by Alfred Wertheimer (16)

Life advice from Shitsville

LON67993 Marilyn Monroe on vacation in Amagansett, New York by Sam Shaw, 1957 (3)Since there is no rule that says every day on facebook has to be an inspirational quote wankfest, and to combat the tides of creepy upworthy shit, I have compiled a list of good solid Shitsville advice to guide you through this awful life. Bookmark it. Print it out and stick it on your wall. Thank me later.

1. Technically a lifeline is also enough rope to hang yourself with.

2. What most people think of as pessimism is in my case a kind of inspired prescience for being able to see shit coming from the far off distance.

3. You too might turn to drink if your atrium became a nest of rat’s heads.

4. Never let them tell you that drink isn’t the answer.

5. Scotch is an unkind mistress.

6. People who post pictures of their food on facebook can fuck off.

7. You should abandon your acting pursuits. You are 28 now. Too old to dream.

8. Every jerk thinks he’s entitled to an opinion.

9. You can sit at home and not meet anyone; or you can go out and meet people, and provided you apply yourself to this form of masochism over a period of time you will meet more and more people, and in time you will have met so many people you may find yourself wishing that you had stuck at home alone by yourself after all.


10. The flow-on effect of the ‘everybody loves Santa’ thing is that old bearded fat guys who could be bikies or pedos for all anyone knows are automatically assumed to be jolly and kind.

11. It is safe to say that you can always judge a person by their shoes. Shoes never lie. Write this down.

12. You should really never underestimate the power that attaches to having fabulously skinny legs in white chaps.

13. Galliano is a turd: an ugly, anti-semitic dick of the highest order (like Cecil Beaton), who designs couture gowns for Disney princesses and Barbie dolls (also like Cecil Beaton, who is now mercifully dead). I would swap John Galliano for the re-animated corpse of Alexander McQueen in a smoker’s-quickened heartbeat.

14. The population is sustained by inbreeding.

15. While we do make exceptions to the rules in the case of medical conditions, ‘stupidity’ is not a medical condition, tho it is something unfortunate you have to live with.

16. “Sunshine brings out the worst in people. You can see their flaws quite clearly.”

17. They say that blood is thicker than water, but then again so is Scotch, and in my experience Scotch will quickly produce a more magnificent happiness and less enduring misery than any relation.

marilyn monroe milton greene 16

18. “That’s what Motherhood will do to you: give you an aversion to small children.”

19. “You won’t like it if the vegans take you. They’ll force you to walk around free-range in the sunlight and live in a utopian commune with scraggy chickens. You won’t be the biggest cock there. Demented roosters will crow in your ear all night. You’ll catch avian flu dicking one of the water fowls. And, worst of all, they’ll spend all of their time telling you how wonderful and beautiful you are, which is an insult coming from someone who’ll wear hessian pants and brown sandals. Well I mean it doesn’t mean a lot if you’re being praised by someone who has no discernment.”

20. If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that it’s impossible to ever sit around feeling content for any given period of time before some arsehole with a briefcase appears on the horizon, approaches from a distance and comes to fuck it all up.

21. “They are labouring under a misapprehension… assuming that comedians are buoyant & happy people. When really it is no joke thinking up jokes all of the time & depressing too as I think you’ll agree looking around us now that there’s little here that could be considered amusing.”

22. To improve the collective gene pool, more folks oughter marry their cousins.

23. You have to wonder why these people worry so much about going to hell when they already live in Texas.

24. There is no colour more beautiful or disgusting than pink; it is the colour of the womb, flushed lips, spring flowers, raw meat, spliced birds that have been massacred by gorgeous fluffy cats, albino’s eyes, broken veins scattered across alcoholic noses and Pepto-Bismol.

25. Once he said to me, “Honey, you gotta try harder to be nicer to people you despise.” But I said, “If I were nicer, they wouldn’t know I despised them, then what incentive would they have to change?”

26. “Surely when two women come together, and one of them says, ‘How are you, sister?’ and the other one says, ‘Sister, I’m miserable,’ then the topic of men is going to come up at some point?”


27. He stood before the mirror every day (squinting through the grime) repeating “I must – I must be thinner. A new me. The best me I can be!” It was his motivating mantra. That day when he was thin, he said, would be the day when all of his other life’s achievements would pale in comparison. Every woman he passed on the street would be attracted to his long, lean figure, and come panting after him; men would doff their hats as a sign of respect for his ability to attract high-class crumpet. Clearly that is bullshit. Don’t bother. 

28.  You can only get hurt when you love something. If you don’t love anything, nothing can hurt you.