I think my first memory is of the MASH theme song. My bedroom was adjacent to the living room and MASH was a staple (My Dad being a diehard TV fan and ex-military). It wasn't until later that I finally heard the words to "Suicide Is Painless" - which is another epiphany worthy of it's own posting - the MASH theme song has WORDS!? (Ok, maybe not). But I'm sure this show's proximity to my brain in the dream state is directly responsible for what I'm about to tell you.
I have long had a re-occurring fantasy of living in MASH, the TV show. Now, I'm sure I qualify for some sad, post-modern TV kid-divorced from reality, war-as-entertainment blah-diddy-blah award, but I'm totally serious. MASH is my cave.
Of course, I wanted to be Hawkeye. I think it's down to the fact that we both had black hair and that his name was
Hawkeye Pierce - pretty much the name that every eight year old would pick for themselves. Was it a parallel to my broken home? A sparkling, jovial wit in the face of serious chaos? I think I just really liked the uniforms. (I've always, basically been an adolescent boy, though Nat Turner insists I'm essentially an aging gentleman.) So, the uniforms, the cavalier attitudes, the make-shift living quarters and extended family. You're a surgeon, but you always have time for poker, drinking, and hijinks, and who knows, after this crazy thing is all over you might just make it back home.
If you lived in MASH, you could have scandalous, gay love with B.J. Hunnicut (ahem) 'cause Hot Lips? Really not my thing...
You could run to and from helicopters, drive jeeps, and buy things on the black market. What things? Just things.
Oh, well. The Royal Tears are still practicing if you're still interested, with eyes on a show at Summer's End or Fall's Begin. What? What was that B.J.? Korean war fatigues? Who? Get your mind out of the gutter.

Also, heartfelt apologies to Kate Lee for missing her fantabulous Birthday...Much love and homemade, post-birthday cupcakes at the hobbit house hermitage?

Alchemy, The Shadow World, and a drive through Orean Vegetarian Shack.
I now have three memories of Pasadena.
The first: Sunday Brunch at Burger Continental. Of course, this little gem needs no introduction. Let's just say that day included passing out on a random lawn (which later turned out to be the house of a friend) and an unforgettable rendition of the Godfather theme on electric violin.
The second: A long,happy, walking journey following a trail of discarded toiletries and lunch meat, culminating in a feast at Pie'n'Burger.
And lastly: Yesterday, Nat Turner and I decided that Orean was the perfect place to discuss our opinions regarding the collective unconscious, voodoo, the spirit world, and making gold. (We also witnessed someone trying to pay for sex in front of the 'coffee stop' which resulted in a shouting match between the sex customer and the 'coffee stop' manager. Why do people often resort to 'old-timey' sayings when confronted with violence? Nat heard something like "bursting...Bottle of courage" which seems like an unholy amalgam of 'open up a can of whoop-ass' and "liquid courage" to these ears.)

The point is- as June wears on, the Royal Tears would like to explore the paranormal and unseen parts of our world. Excursions in musical trance states, psychic drawing parties, evocation of archetypical demons, and what have you. We're also looking for a bassist. And I'm writing a television pilot about the daily operations of a second rate zoo, if you'd like to help with that.