Rock and Roll Girls

Even after the minimal amount of blogging I've done, you can spot a trend. I mention girls at least once a post. Like Lonesome George said, "I really really really, really really really like girls!" Here's my list of the hottest rock and roll girls:

Ann Margret – A rock-and-roll girl because she did Elvis flicks. Redheaded and curvy really works for me. I'm not a guy who rents movies just for nudity, but "Carnal Knowledge" certainly got the pause button pressed. And she is still gorgeous now.

Michelle Phillips of The Mamas & The Papas – She was just beautiful. I'd like to visit her Creeque Alley and ask her, "Who's yer Papa?"

Goldie Hawn on "Laugh-In" – You can't separate rock and 60s counter-culture. They're symbiotic. And Goldie go-go dancing with a stomach of slogans? Goldie, hun, sock it to me.

Goldie's daughter, Kate Hudson – Married a musician, Chris Robinson of the Black Crows, and stole "Almost Famous". Hold me closer, tiny dancer, and tell me how it's all happening.

Martha Quinn – Adorable and knew her shit. From when the M in MTV stood for something. I got in trouble with a girlfriend once for having a picture of her hanging in my locker at the radio station.

Ricki Lake in "Hairspray" – Super-cute. I can dance, and The Madison number blows me away. And I've always had a thing for chubbies. Fat-bottomed girls, you make my rocking world go 'round.

Alicia Silverstone – As a music video star, is responsible for Aerosmith's post-"Pump" success. She's so stinkin' cute, and, thinking of the "Amazing" video, sexy. And I think she was hot as Batgirl, but see the above listing.

And if we're mentioning the girls who brought the sex appeal to rock, well, Tawny Kitaen. I can still rub one out to "Here I Go Again." And she reprised it in Bowling For Soup's "1985."

Liv Tyler – Paired with Alicia in the video for "Crazy." Those lips. "Empire Records." And her father is one of the greats. And she grew up thinking her father was Todd Rundgren, a great musician AND producer (Meat Loaf's "Bat Out of Hell"). Her mother was a legendary groupie...Mick Jagger tried claiming it was his kid.

Gwen Stefani – Loved her from "Tragic Kingdom." Wanted to take that forehead dot and carve my initials in a headboard with it. People have made a fuss about the "Hollaback Girl" video, about how she's too old to be acting this way. Hell, no, people. She makes me bananas – B-A-N-A-N-A-s.

Sheryl Crow – Has hung with The Stones and Kid Rock ("Picture" is in my Top 40 ever). Great, authentic guitarist/singer/songwriter, a rarity in women. Way too much attention is paid to her age. Sheryl, when cancer finally gets to Lance, I'm here for ya, and all I wanna do is have some fun.

Katherine Ross – "The Graduate" was one of the first rock-and-roll movies. And I'd certainly run off with Elaine to an uncertain future.

Phoebe Cates – because no piece of music will ever be as interwined with a visual as when she comes out of the pool to The Cars "Moving in Stereo" in "Fast Times at Ridgemont High." An icon of adolescent male fantasy.

Joss Stone – Hot, and soulful, and can just sang. Aretha's the only soul singer who can hold a candle to her. And I love hips, and she's got them. But really she's too talented for me to objectify like this.

Tiffany – Mock me if you must. Granted she was pure pop, but she went back to the Beatles and Tommy James. My first concert (at an arena, not a mall). She was always cute and played kind of wholesome, but she's been in Playboy since and has a sexy edge to her. She looks better now than she did then, too.

Kelly Clarkson – although she looked better with the weight on. She can really sing, and she's trying with the second album not to be so poppish. And I've written a brilliant screenplay called "When Eric Met Kelly."

Joan Jett – The hottest of the hard rockers. I got a dime for your jukebox, baby.

Gina Gershon – Qualifies because she actually had a rock band that played the Strip. Did a movie and a documentary series ("Rocked") about it. Through her film career, numerous onscreen girl-on-girl kisses with those lips...Oh my god, those lips...What was I saying?

The Donnas – Chicks playing power chords = sexy. Making out with one of the Ramones couldn't happen. But these chicks are the Ramones with tits. If I woke up with a pair of their Chuck Taylors under my bed...

The most rock-and-roll TV show ever (that didn't feature live performances) would be "The Wonder Years." Olivia D'Abo, Kevin's hippie sister...Well, I'd 1969 with her anytime. BUT the prototypical girl-next door Winnie Cooper, played by Danica McKellar, may be my first love.

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Courtney Love – Hot in the skankiest sort of way, and I couldn't actually do her...A Hole I wouldn't fill.

Rachel Perry – Who I considered a VJ until VH1's Full Montyish reality show kicked off. She's cute and hot enough to turn me down, but no longer that rock-and-roll.

I was going to name a "real life" girl who I recently worked with and had a crush on despite the fact that I had declared I would not have a crush on any one at that job. She had a tongue piercing, rocked the studded belts, and had a way of wearing Dress Barn skirts with a jean jacket that kept some Sunset Strip cred. She liked the 80s hair bands like Crue or Poison. But I decided to keep her off the list. Why? Because I'm over it, and I don't want her to read this and think I'm not. Also, I don't want to give the impression that I'm not available.

There's still space on the list for you, ladies. "Your Name Here" is at the top.

As Elvis warbled, "I'm just a red-blooded boy and I can't stop thinking 'bout girls." Yeah, right, Elvis. Girls, and peanut butter and banana sammiches.

That's What I Want

It won't always be such a struggle. Will it?

I can imagine it being different. I can certainly see this blog in a better format, with a better font (I like Cheap Trick's), with color, and pictures of me somewhere so the ladies have something to look at. That requires some sort of knowledge and probably an upgrade from the Commodore 64 I'm working with, so for now, y'all have to settle for this, and ignore the random apostrophe by the timestamp.

But I'm talking about the BIGGER picture of where I'd like to be, and I can put on a Who CD and light a candle and see it all, like William in "Almost Famous," and, I can see for miles and miles.

I will move from the Valley to somewhere much closer to the ocean, ideally the bohemian beaches of Venice. I'm not a hippie, but I certainly have that artsy side that'd appreciate being able to stroll on down to the sands where Mr. Mojo Risin incanted "Moonlight Drive." Having nature to walk in would probably lose me some pasty pallor and some paunch as well.

My apartment now has about the vibe of a doctor's waiting office. Well, without the fun of "Highlights" magazine. Goofus, where are you when I need you? It's beige-with-tan throughout, and the furnishings were all here when I landed here, courtesy of my white-collar, self-admitted yuppie, pharmaceutical sales rep roommate. There's a brown couch and a brown loveseat and several framed paintings by classic artists, all chosen for their inoffensiveness rather than for any real love of the pieces. Hey, I don't know art, but I know Van Gogh's "Irises" wouldn't be on my wall if I had my druthers, brother. It's all pretty-like, but Cream's "Disraeli Gears" album cover holds its aesthetic own and would actually speak about me.

My next place will have a red, black, and white living room, the colors of Eddie's guitar and of the Stones' tongue and of White Stripe CD covers. Three walls of red, and the fourth would be wall-to-wall flyposters, like an alleyway under construction sans scaffolding. Adorning the walls would be album covers framed like the artwork they are. There'd be little string lights, maybe little red-and-white guitars or little red and white paper lanterns. There'd be thrift store furniture with loose slipcovers, but a minimal amount. Maybe some beanbag chairs. There'd be some funky rugs, maybe faux fur, over a warped hardwood floor. For sure, there would be a low table in a corner with a turntable on it hooked into the DJ system I'll sooner-or-later rebuild. And there'd be candles and incense, and a right groovy feel. My one "luxury" would be a fireplace. And somewhere in the room there'd have to be a surface for visitors to scrawl graffiti on, which I'd kick off with a "Clapton Is God."

The hallway'd be black, with a wall marked with a mural of a Jack Daniels label, and it'd lead to a kitchenette with a New Orleans voodoo vibe, with Mardi Gras colors and more eclecticism, and my jambalaya on the stove.

My bedroom would be a Hefner-inspired type of place, with leopard prints and pin-ups (including the coolest souvenir I have thus far of my Hollywood life, an autographed Jenny McCarthy Playboy cover) and a hi-fi and a mini-Grotto, like one of those Zen fountains or something. The room would declare, "Abandon all hang-ups, ye who enter here." But minimalism, in guests' clothing and in decor, would be key.

The closet would be jeans, Vans, kick-ass belt buckles, and some vintage-type band t-shirts, like a Billy Squier ringer tee. Stuff that when I wore it, you’d be able to look at me and knew that I rocked.

And the bathroom would be light and childlike with the blue, yellow, and orange of rubber duckies. It can't all be so...dirty. Oh, I'd still nail girls in the shower, but...
Which brings me to the thing that I probably most long for, which is someone to share it all with, some sort of cool, hip-hugger chick to give me my propers when I get home.

Here's why as of late I've really been able to start realistically visualizing all this, and what adds an odd irony to all this: I've pretty much had it all before. Growing up, I had my basement room with wood-paneled walls and James Brown posters, and the twin-turntables... I had the cinder-blocks-and-boards bookcases and hardwood floors of a bohemian Back Bay Boston apartment... I've shared a house that hosted after hours parties at least every other Saturday night... And although my self-deprecating side wouldn't admit it, I've had some ideal girls that kind of rocked. There was an incident I remember that involved the "Back In Black" album and some down-and-dirty f***ing. There was a girl named Cher who was a single mom with a daughter named after an iconic musician, and she had this real bohemian pad and I'd drive her home from our community college and she had an old stereo with a turntable, and we listened to some old Atlantic soul while she sat on my lap.

It’s like Davies and Diamond Dave ask: "Where have all the good times gone?" But it’s not a melancholy, nostalgic thing. It’s not Simon and Garfunkel’s "Bookends." There’s a hope to it. As The Kinks said in "…Good Times Gone," "Let it be like yesterday/Please let me have my happy days." I don’t wanna go back; I wanna go full circle. I’ve evolved to realize I want to revolve.