Rock and Roll High School: Growing Up in Hollywood During the Decade of Decadence Read online

  ROCK AND ROLL HIGH SCHOOL

  Growing Up in Hollywood During the Decade of Decadence

  MARISA TELLEZ

  Copyright © 2012 by Marisa Tellez. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in articles and book reviews.

  Any use of trademarked or copyrighted names of movies, television shows, songs, products, etc. are used purely for descriptive purposes and are property of their rightful owners.

  Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.

  SECOND EDITION

  Printed in the United States of America

  Published by Pepperland Publishing

  Cover Design by Casey Quintal

  ISBN-10: 0-98864-810-5 ISBN-13: 978-0-9886481-0-4

  CONTENTS

  Foreword by Dave Zink v Preface vii Acknowledgements ix 1 Valley Girl 11 2 Puppy Love, Brawling, and Discovering Hollywood 17 3 High School, Baked Squash, and Handcuffs 39 4 Is That a Boyfriend I Smell? 51 5 Welcome to the Jungle! 77 6 Boiling Bunnies 92 7 Girlfriend of a (pseudo) Rock Star 111 8 Emancipation, Cheating, and Rebounds 137 9 I’m So Goth I Shit Bats 171 10 Crazy? Don’t Mind if I Do! 197 11 Don’t Let the Door Hit Ya Where the Good Lord Split Ya! 239 12 First Love…or Not 254 13 Social Resuscitation 276 14 Let Me Club Your Heart Like a Seal 299

  FOREWORD BY DAVE ZINK

  When writing about the past, however distant or near your current position in space or time, it is vitally important to get your facts straight. Examples could include The Tale of King Arthur, The Warren Commission, voting records in Chicago or even The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. (The latter being the only totally reliable source of facts thus far mentioned.) But I suppose that depends on whom you’ve asked for the facts.

  For the purposes of the book you are about to read, just take my word for it. I’ve known Marisa Tellez since she was a teenager. She’s like the dorky, kid sister my folks never got around to having. The differences between us are subtle but detectable. For starters, she has a slightly more encyclopedic knowledge of Star Wars than I do. I never got my first or any subsequent periods. She is often the brightest person in the room and almost always the prettiest. And unlike myself, she has never been prescribed antibiotics as the result of a romantic encounter.

  As for facts, particularly about Hollywood in the late 80’s and early 90’s, she’s cornered the market. The journals she’s religiously scribbled in since the age of twelve are one of the guides she has relied on for the construction of her book debut. The other is a sharp wit and somewhat sober memory of all the bizarre shit you are about to read. (Bizarre only applies if you are from Utah, New Jersey or Yorba Linda.)

  So come and dive into the shark infested waters of Hollywood! Let Marisa be your guide through the last turbulent years of excess and joy, fun and frolic, rock and roll! She’ll be the one climbing up the side of the pirate ship with a knife between her teeth, and you’ll be the one following behind, looking up her skirt.

  iv

  PREFACE

  v She barfed between my legs. He kicked me in the face. These are my first encounters in Hollywood with two people that I’d come to know as the most genuine people on earth. Since then, I’ve made it a point to never judge anyone based on a first impression.

  When I started keeping journals at the age of twelve, I did it only as a way to imitate my mom, who had been writing her own journals for years. Most of my first entries were fairly generic. I’d usually write about what I had done that day with no opinion on the events that took place whatsoever. But once I turned into a snarling, hormonal, foaming at the mouth teenage girl, the journals became my lifesaver. They morphed into an outlet I could use to express my happiest and darkest thoughts without any fear of judgment.

  I had always bounced around the idea to write a book about my teenage years on The Sunset Strip. It wasn’t until many years later when one of those bands did a reunion show, did I decide it was finally time to pull out my old journals and put this book together.

  But I didn’t want the book to be solely from my point of view. As the old saying goes, “there are two sides to every story.” So I decided to interview some of the musicians and friends I hung out with back then and include their “testimonials” in this book.iv

  At first I was really excited at the idea of writing a book about that time in my life. But once I began reading through my old journals, I quickly realized it wasn’t all happy times. To be perfectly honest, a majority of it wasn’t as happy as I had remembered. There were so many people and events that I had completely blocked out. It wasn’t until I read specific entries over and over again, that I finally started to remember. But along with the bad memories were the good ones too, and you’ll find a mixture of both included in this memoir.

  I used to wonder whether it was a mistake to trade a normal teenage experience of growing up in the valley to go to

  vii rock and roll high school in Hollywood. But looking back on it now, I feel when a special moment in time is happening, so very few people are lucky enough to be a part of it. Even fewer can’t realize when it’s happening, so they don’t take the time to cherish it. I’m fortunate enough to have realized both.

  This book is dedicated to all the people that survived that crazy time with me. And more importantly to those that didn’t. v

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to Casey Quintal for creating a monster book cover and to Martin Kelly for using your artistic insight to guide me in the right direction.

  Extra special thanks to the following for contributing their stories to this book: Britt (Blackboard Jungle), Cassidy, Chris Penketh (Swingin Thing), Dave Zink (Blackboard Jungle), Dina Palmer-Gomes, Greg Warkel, J. Sinn aka “Skitz” (The Glamour Punks), Joe Howard, Joel Patterson (Blackboard (Blackboard Jungle), Screaming Boy Punks), Spencer, Sunny Phillips (Swingin Thing). Jungle), Kenny Price

  Mandie (The Glamour Thank you to Evan for being my rock and providing me with an endless amount of love and support throughout the duration of this project. You calm my heart and make me a better person.

  viii

  Unconditional love and thanks to my family, especially my mom and dad for never giving up on me when I was at my absolute worst. For every time you told me no, disciplined me, and grounded me, I thank you. It’s the only thing that saved me.1vii

  ix

  1 VALLEY GIRL

  The vibration of the bass drum rattles my liver and slowly shakes the foam earplugs out of my ears. I put my drink down, wipe the condensation from my hands onto my jeans and gently push my earplugs back in to muffle the sound of my friends’ horrible band.

  The drummer’s mom suddenly grabs my arm and pulls me towards her as she dances offbeat to the song.

  “This song is SOOOO good!” she yells into my ear.

  I smile politely and look around the half empty club. The only people showing any sign of interest aside from the drummer’s mom are the girlfriends of this band.

  When the song ends, I give a mercy clap.

  Is this what my life has come to? To be in my 30’s and STILL going to see a friend’s shitty band play at The Whisky a Go Go?

  I’m quite familiar with The Whisky and the rest of the clubs along The Sunset Strip in Hollywood. I was well ingrained in that music scene during the late 80’s and early 90’s. It’s where I spent the span of my teenage years and the #1 r
eason I racked up countless hours of being grounded at the hands of my parents. I can’t say I blame them though. Compared to where they’re from, I’m sure it was quite a culture shock to be raising a family in Los Angeles.

  My dad was the youngest of 13 kids, and my mom was the second youngest of 11. Both sides of my family grew up together in a small mining town in Arizona.

  Although my parents and all their siblings went to school together, my folks actually didn’t start dating until they were in their late 20’s. My dad joined the U.S. Army shortly after he graduated high school and was stationed in Germany during the Korean War. My mom on the other hand, came to Los Angeles after graduating to visit one of her older brothers, who had just relocated with his wife and kids. Within a few weeks, my mom landed a job in downtown L.A. as a telephone operator and decided to stay in California.

  When she broke the news to my grandma that she wouldn’t be returning to Arizona, it didn’t go over very well. Regardless, my mom left Arizona and made a life for herself in Southern California. It wasn’t until years later that she got back in touch with my dad after running into one of his brothers in downtown L.A. By that time, he had finished his term in the Army and had a good paying job in construction. After dating only a few months, they got married and settled down in Rosemead, a little suburb in the San Gabriel Valley about twenty minutes east of Los Angeles. A few months later, my mom became pregnant with my older sister Lucy. I came along about three years later, and my little sister Ginger followed seven years after that.

  Our house had a big front yard and back yard to play in, and we spent our summers on the beach in Orange County. We’d have barbecues in the afternoon and bonfires well into the night.

  I had a few Barbie’s growing up like every other little girl, but being around power tools were more my thing. With my dad being a construction worker, he was always building things around the house, and I was more than happy to oblige. Since I was too young to handle power tools, he made me his assistant. He taught me simple things like how to change a drill bit in his power drill, how to tell the difference between a Phillips and flat head screwdriver, what nails were for as opposed to screws and what washers and nuts were for. Anytime he started to build something, I would stand by and hand him whatever items he asked for, just like a trusty assistant helping out a surgeon during an operation. I turned out to be a well-seasoned little construction worker by the time I started pre-school around the age of 4.

  It was around the same time that I started getting into music, which was all under the influence of my parents of course. Artists like The Beatles, Elvis, Chuck Berry, and James Brown were always playing in our house, along with popular bands of the time like Blondie and Queen, which were my dad’s favorites.

  My parents had one of those old 1970’s style stereos that was the size of a loveseat and made entirely of wood. You’d lift the top like it was the hood to a car and find a record player, a radio, and a little slot to put your records in. The fancier ones also came with an 8-track player. One of my dad’s favorite records was a 45 of “Burning Love” by Elvis. He and I would dance so hard to that song that it would shake the whole stereo and cause the record to skip. I remember howling the words to “Bohemian Rhapsody” (or what I guessed were the words) and thinking it was classical music like Beethoven or Mozart because it was so theatrical.

  My mom, on the other hand, was a huge Beatles fan. She had a collection of their original albums from the 60’s. She totally suckered me into liking them by showing me their animated movie, The Yellow Submarine. Despite my fear of blue meanies, I loved all the songs in that movie and became an instant Beatle fan. At that young age, singing “Yellow Submarine” was no different than singing the theme to The Muppet Show. It took me a while to realize that The Beatles were actually a REAL band and not in the same realm as Kermit the Frog. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t realize how much I loved The Beatles until December of 1980.

  My mom was sitting on the living room couch with my little sister Ginger, who was just a few months old at the time. We were watching TV when a live news report suddenly broke in. I had never really watched the news before. Considering I was only 7 at the time, I had no reason to. Cartoons were obviously more interesting to me than hearing about whatever Dan Rather was reporting on. Regardless, I remember watching the first bits of news footage come in. Women were crying, children, even grown men. I had never seen anything like it. It wasn’t until I saw footage of people holding pictures of John Lennon, that it hit me.

  “Mom…he was a Beatle huh? Our Beatles, like on the records we always play,” I said as more of a statement than a question.

  “Yeah, he was. Aye dios, I can’t believe he’s gone,” she said shaking her head.

  I don’t recall seeing either of my parents cry. But I do remember things being a bit more solemn in the house during those first few days after John was killed. Even my teachers at school were acting differently. Day after day, people across the country and the world for that matter, were holding vigils and singing John Lennon songs. It was as if a family member had died. It was awful.

  While I continued to keep the music of The Beatles close to my heart, I also started to develop my own musical tastes due to a new cable channel called MTV.

  MTV was the first cable channel to play music videos 24/7. It was THE channel for any young kid to have. Unfortunately, my family couldn’t afford cable. So I got my music video fix by watching a local 1-hour show called Video One, which was hosted by a radio DJ named Richard Blade. I immediately took to bands like Duran Duran, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Culture Club, and soon to be pop icon, Madonna. There I was, not even in double digits yet and already being exposed to rampant sexuality and homosexuality by my favorite artists, which my parents tried to combat at every turn.

  I was about 9 years old when an artist named Johnny Cougar released a single called “Hurt So Good”. He was scheduled to appear on a Top 10 TV show called Solid Gold, which featured scantily clad dancers, grinding and spinning about as musical guests performed their latest hit. Johnny Cougar hit the stage, and I began singing the chorus to “Hurt So Good” as my mom walked into the living room with a plate of food for me.

  “Come on mom, sing it!” I said shaking my butt.

  My mom put down the plate of food, gave me a few choice words in Spanish like cochina and told me never to sing that song out loud again.

  As for my crash course in homosexuality, that was the result of an offhand comment made by my older sister Lucy after I told her I liked Culture Club.

  “Did you know that Boy George makes out with the drummer? They’re boyfriend and boyfriend!” she blurted out.

  My mom happened to be within an earshot when Lucy made that comment and noticed the confused look on my face. Slightly annoyed, she immediately took me aside and was forced to have a birds and bee’s conversation with me way earlier than she had planned on. That was just the first of several mini heart attacks I would give my mom. A more significant one would be when I discovered Madonna.

  I was absolutely obsessed with her as every little girl was during the mid 80’s. Sure my mom allowed me to get my ears pierced, wear pounds of jangling bracelets and put lace ribbons in my hair. But she put her foot down when I wanted to cut off my long, dark locks to bleach them blonde, and she absolutely had a fit when I asked her if I could wear the rosary I received for my First Communion as part of my daily ensemble.

  And while we’re on the subject of blond hair and overactive hormones, let me tell you about my first crush, Brandon Weller, the boy who started it all.

  2

  PUPPY LOVE, BRAWLING, AND DISCOVERING HOLLYWOOD

  Iwas in 5th grade when I met Brandon, who was a year older and in grade 6. He had long blond bangs that cascaded over his big hazel eyes and was one of the most popular skateboarders at Janson Elementary. The first time I saw him was in a recreational dance class we had at school. I had no idea why he would be in a dance class because skaters were way too cool
for stuff like that. It was much more suited to dorks like me, but nonetheless, that’s how we met.

  My first encounter with Brandon was a brief one. After weeks of shuffling around with various dance partners, our dance teacher finally paired me to dance with him. But my moment of euphoria was cut short when Brandon quickly lied to our teacher to get out of dancing with me.

  “Actually, Jeanne’s my partner!” he said as he quickly grabbed her wrist.

  Jeanne Wilkins was a 6th grader in Brandon’s class and the most popular girl in school. How do I know he lied? Because I saw the look of surprise on Jeanne’s face when he said she was his dance partner. I was immediately heartbroken.

  I can’t say I blame him though. That was during the peak of me being bullied in grade school. I was a scrawny, little 5th grader with a massive overbite. The kids in school called me names like Buckie Beaver, Forklift, Trapjaw, Can Opener. The list was endless.

  Despite the dance class incident, I wasn’t ready to give up on Brandon just yet. Like any other girl who has a crush, I made the decision to find interest in the things Brandon liked to do. And since his life was all about skateboarding, I decided to take up skateboarding.

  My house had a long driveway, which I practiced on daily and a huge lawn right beside it to break my many falls. I read up on the history of skateboarding and took to learning as much as I could about his hero, Tony Hawk.

  I noticed Brandon walking by himself to class one day, so I immediately ran up to him with a head full of Tony Hawk related items to spark up a conversation. Unfortunately, one of my many bullies, a fellow 5th grader named Natalie, caught up to us as well. She had made these huge walrus shaped tusks from white construction paper and put them in her mouth as I tried to talk to Brandon. Then she started dancing around us in circles like a monkey saying, “I’m Marisa, hardy har har!” Brandon ran away almost instantly, and I was devastated.