Performer: The Monkees
Songwriters: Gerry Goffin,
Carole King
Original
Release:
Head
Year: 1968
Definitive
Version:
None
The
first time I went to visit Jin in Los Angeles in 1996, she took me to one of
her favorite restaurants—an Italian joint on Melrose (yes, THAT Melrose) called
Caffe Luna. It was this cool, bohemie joint. We sat in the front room with the
windows open, and I liked it well enough to suggest it a year later when Debbie
and I were in L.A. to visit Jin.
We
again sat in the front room, and this time, I got the spaghetti carbonara. This
was a revelation along the lines of the first time I had real Chinese food and
not La Choy. It was so good that it holds a legendary place in my food catalog:
All future carbonaras are compared with the carbonara at Caffe Luna, and all
have been found wanting—even Dave’s Italian Kitchen in Evanston, which is my
current favorite.
The
carbonara made Caffe Luna a destination. Every time I visited Los Angeles from
1997 up to the final time in 2002 before the restaurant somewhat mysteriously
closed, we had to go to Caffe Luna for the carbonara. We
typically took care of this requirement the night I’d fly into town, because it
was more convenient to go to West Hollywood after Jin picked me up at LAX while
we still were on that side of the mountains.
That’s
all prelude to the story that I’m about to relate, which is a story I’ve been anticipating
writing about for some time. It’s the story of my trip to Los Angeles in
September 2001.
As
I mentioned, the purpose of the trip was to hang out with Jin before we headed
East to attend the annual Ratpack outing in Las Vegas. 2001 was the first time
I had been invited, because it also was the first time I could attend—now
recently unencumbered from a long-term relationship.
Vegas
was a blast, but the L.A. portion of the trip was profound. I remember the
morning I flew out of Columbus, I cabbed it to the airport, because I didn’t
want to deal with long-term parking. As we hit the street that leads into the
airport, the oldies station that the cabbie had on played What a Wonderful
World by Louis Armstrong. I thought that was a good omen.
Up
to about August, I had been deeply depressed by the end of my relationship with
Debbie, but I was coming out of it. By the time my flight to L.A. took off, I
was pretty excited to get out of town and do something new—Vegas.
The
new ended up extending to L.A., as well. About the only things Jin and I did in
L.A. that were repeated experiences were a Dodgers game (story to come) and
Caffe Luna. But to compare the dinner at Caffe Luna that night with previous
ones would be like comparing, say, The Who’s music pre-Tommy with what came
after. In other words, there’s no comparison.
This
time, we sat out back in this great bistro courtyard that was bustling with
activity on a packed weekend night. We ordered—I didn’t have to look at the
menu to know I wanted the carbonara—and Jin leaned in close, saying she had an
announcement.
She
seemed a little nervous, and I couldn’t imagine what it was. She was pregnant?
She was a lesbian? She was a Republican? (OK, that last one was impossible.)
No. She said she was a Pagan.
My
family had been brought up nominally in the Christian faith, but let’s face it:
We were an areligious family. Jin told me about her awakening and how she came
to conclude that she wasn’t just shedding Christianity but really
nonspirituality. She had something she believed in now, and because it was
unconventional, she was a little apprehensive about announcing it, but now she
felt she had to do that.
Well,
I was, by far, the easiest person with whom to break the news. Jin even
admitted she knew I wouldn’t have any problems with it, but I still felt very
honored that she chose me to be the first person outside of her close circle of
friends that she told.
I
had a lot of questions. I knew a little—very little—about Wiccanism and asked
if it was like that. She said it was—there were spells and rituals—but it
wasn’t the same. Wiccanism is more organized; Paganism is about as unorganized
as you could get and still call it a religion (as I would see in practice
later).
It
was an interesting and excellent conversation, and I felt my sister and I grow
closer together than ever before. We had a great dinner—the carbonara was its
usual hearty perfection—and I felt better than I had in months.
As
we finished up, a woman came to our table and asked if we wanted a card
reading. Well, talk about perfect timing, given Jin’s announcement. Seriously?
A Tarot card reading after our long discussion of Paganism? Had she overheared
our conversation? Apparently, Caffe Luna hired or allowed this woman—let’s call
her Lucia—to solicit patrons, like a strolling violinist. Only in L.A. would it
be a Tarot card reading, right?
Jin
immediately invited Lucia to have a seat, and she took the one next to mine at
the four-person table. As she began to work the cards for Jin, I immediately
took notice that Lucia was extremely attractive—maybe Jin’s age, maybe a little
younger, so around 30; slim with curly black hair that hung a little above
shoulder length. Hmm, I’m starting to get the allure of this Pagan thing.
Anyway,
Lucia did the reading for Jin, and then Jin asked if I wanted one—she said
she’d pay. Considering my attraction to Lucia and that I was very much in a
just-go-with-the-flow vibe, I said why not.
It
pretty much identified that I was in a void, in between what was and what would
be. But I’ll never forget one specific thing Lucia said. She was talking about
various cards and at one point said that a particular arrangement indicated
that a person from my past—an ex, who was a bit arty—would come back in my life
and want to restart our relationship. I immediately thought of Debbie.
Lucia
then went to the unclear, the reader consults to the deck for guidance. Lucia
cut the deck and looked at one card, repeated the act and shook her head, then
did it a third time and made a face like she just had been fed castor oil. “Oh!
Don’t do it!” OK, there’s some clarity right there.
We
finished, and Lucia and Jin talked a bit before she departed. Jin said she
liked Lucia’s vibe and should invite her to join her circle. I wholeheartedly
endorsed that idea.
When
we finally made it to Jin’s home in The Valley, she said she had something she
wanted to show me. Jin had been a Monkee’s fan pretty much from Day One, but
she never had seen Head before and just recently viewed it. She wanted to show
me the opening, which she just loved, before the movie devolved into, as Jin
called it, “more-typical Monkees goofiness.”
If
you know the movie, you know the scene. The rest of the band, for reasons never
made known, chase Mickey Dolenz off a bridge to his death. “He actually dies,”
Jin emphasized in amazement, as Mickey’s lifeless body floated in the water
before being hauled off to eternity by a mermaid to the strains of this song,
which I never had heard before. Woah. THIS is a Monkees song? It became an
instant favorite and has been one of my favorites ever since.
Oh,
and as for what Lucia said, two months later, after 9/11 completely knocked the
wind out of my sails, Debbie visited me one day for lunch and began to cry. She
said she came to realize that her worst fears were true—that she made a huge
mistake in letting me go. She said she wanted us to get back together.
Holy
crap! Lucia completely called it! I was stunned, but I remembered her expression.
So with her words ringing in my ears, I told Debbie it was too late for us. She
never asked again, and I never said why I turned her down until now: I decided
to trust the word of a stranger whom I never saw again. If I hadn’t met Lucia
that time in L.A., it’s entirely possible Debbie and I would have gotten back
together to an unknown fate.
I
wasn’t always happy afterward, but I never regretted my decision.
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