Why is Sebastian Bach so freakin' cool?

Before I start this week's pithy commentary, I would like to mention the poll question for this week. It turns out it's actually a poll for last week. I wasn't going to do one but then one of the comments was a smart alecky remark about it not being there. And of course, I succumb so easily to peer pressure.

Now I would also like to mention that the following story is, in fact, about Sebastian Bach the former lead singer of Skid Row and not the composer Johann Sebastian Bach. I would also like to mention that I am stating the name Sebastian Bach very frequently in a pathetic attempt to drum up some run-off attention during a Google search for Sebastian Bach. It's shameless and I don't care. Not only will it not stop, it's only going to get worse.

A couple of years ago, I was in the play, "Much Ado About Nothing," by William Shakespeare at the American Globe Theatre in New York, NY. (See what I mean) The character of Claudio was played by Trent Dawson. Trent was a very cool, talented actor who had credits on Broadway and I believe still has a character on, "As The World Turns," a soap opera based in New York. And of course, if anyone does a Google search yadda yadda yadda.

Around this time, Senor Bach was in a production of Rocky Horror Picture show on Broadway. One night, after we finished our show, we hung out at a local watering hole where many actors tend to frequent. And who turns out to be there but none other than the, "18 and Life," singer himself. It also turns out that he's a very tall man of about 6'5". But I still punked him with my 6'7".

Now I didn't approach him or anything at this point. Me and my friends simply tittered in the corner like little schoolgirls. It wasn't so much because I was a big Skid Row fan, (because I wasn't) but more so because he was clearly the most famous person I had seen in person at that point in my life. Plus I was fairly new to the city and it was truly what I had always imagined life in New York would be like. Celebrities in every bar. Little did I know how much better it would become.

So you remember that guy Trent Dawson? It was like two paragraphs ago ... C'mon people ... Well go back and re-read it ... I'll wait ... Got it? Okay, so it turned out that Trent had a friend who was in the same production of Rocky Horror as Sebastian. As a result, the entire Trent Dawson entourage was invited to hang out with the entire Sebastian Bach entourage.

And that would have been enough for me. I would have been very content to just sit in a corner, drink my beer, talk with my friends, and be in the vicinity of an '80's, dare I say, icon. No I won't. But he was famous. However, this would not be enough. It turns out that he is an incredibly cool human being. He actually ended up ... talking to us. And not just that bullshit, "Hey, how ya doing, stop staring at me." No my friends, he was having full on, hanging out, laughing, joking, conversations with the lowly Much Ado crowd.

He talked about how much he loved his hot, porn-star looking, wife. He talked about how she was the best woman in the world for him. He said, "You know that line in that song, 'I've been around the world and I've seen a million girls?' Well I've been around the world and there ain't a million girls. There's only one. So I went back to her and begged her to take me back." Yeah. I know. That's really sweet right. There's more.

He talked about why he supported Bush. (Mind you, this was way before the war and his attempt to drag this country into the ninth circle of hell.) His reasoning was, "I've had the most success in my career when there was a Bush in the White House. During the first Bush administration, my band was really big. And now during the second Bush administration, my career is doing well again. (He was on his second Broadway stint and getting great reviews) So I'm all for Bush." Can any of us argue with that type of reasoning? No, you can't. Oh, it gets better.

At one point during the evening, he busted out two very large bags of marijuana. He said the following, "This is my 'Stay at Home' weed and this is my 'Going Out' weed." He then rolled a joint from the "Stay at home" weed (selfish prick) and proceeded to invite everyone into the bathroom to take a hit. Now I'm not that big of a pot smoker, but I simply could not resist the urge to share a peace pipe with a famous guy. I figured that one day, the Internet would really take off, that blogging would become really popular, and that I would need a cool story to write about. What can I say? I'm a visionary. So about 10 of us crowded into the bathroom and took a hit. It turned out that it didn't do much for me. (I really wished he had shared the "Going Out" weed.) However, it was hilarious to see about 10 people walking into and out of a tiny bathroom like a demented clown car.

But let me tell you the absolute best part. Around this time, there was a magician's conference in town and one of the magician's happened to be in the bar. He also happened to be a HUGE Skid Row fan. So, during the entire conversation with the Rock Star, he was performing a series of magic tricks. Like a court jester. I mean, the whole thing was beyond surreal. My favorite trick was the one that wasn't really a trick but more of a prank. He used me as his guinea pig. He balls up a napkin and places it in my right hand. Then he tells me that he's going to make it jump into my left hand. I, of course, was dying to see this. So he holds me by both wrists, tells me to concentrate, and says some mumbo jumbo. When the trick failed to work and the napkin was still in my hand, I was very disappointed. That is, until I looked up and saw Sebastian Bach giggling like a little schoolboy and holding my watch. Yes, the magician stole my watch. So if the magic thing doesn't work out, he's got excellent potential as a pickpocket.

Our time with him ended with the owner of the establishment, who upon seeing the weed smoking incident, invited the celebrity up to a private room where he could do that sort of thing without jeopardizing his business. So it was goodnight and goodbye to Sebastian Bach. The evening, unfortunately, ended on a slightly sour note. It turned out that there were two huge parties of drinkers there. And as the night wore on, people began to peel off and leave a little money for the check. Well, by the end of the night, there was a huge bill, not nearly enough money, and about three of us left to pay it. Now, I will make this absolutely clear that the waitress did not make us pay for Sebastian Bach's drinks. That was on a separate tab. He's many things but a deadbeat is not one of them. But the thought did cross my mind. Since I was phenomenally broke at the time, there was no way that I could chip in anything additional to that bill. Thankfully, one of the Much Ado guys had a decent job and was willing to float the rest of it. Phew!

And that, my friends, was my first encounter with a celebrity. It was also, the best. I've met others while I was waiting tables which is fine and all. But there's nothing like hanging out with a famous dude like a "peer". A bunch of fellow actors getting together for a couple of drinks after their respective shows. It was all very glamorous. And now, I'm ready for the moment when some young actor is star-struck by my presence. Hell Yeah.

Why the hell do I like golf?!

First and foremost, let me extend my apologies to my faithful readership. I know that it is extremely difficult to get through a week without getting your fix of my hilarious blog. But sometimes, even I get sick of the sound of my own voice. Even when it's in written form. Besides, absence makes the heart grow fonder.


So, to the question of the week: Why the hell does a 6'7", Black man enjoy hitting the links? The answer to that is that I honestly have no idea. It just doesn't make any sense. It's a very expensive and elitist hobby. It takes forever to come close to being remotely good at it. Oh, and let's not forget the latent and blatant racist undertones and overtones that score this entire activity.


I would be remiss if I were to proceed any further without telling a little story that my old friend shared with me. If you're a real reader and not the fake type, you know him as Thousand Fields. The story goes like this: He was watching an episode of, "The Late Show with David Letterman." The guest that evening was the talented Mr. Samuel L. Jackson. During the interview, Mr. Jackson expressed his interest in golf. In fact, as a sidebar, I personally know that whenever Samuel L. Jackson does a movie, he has it written in his contract that the producers pay for his membership in the local country club. Mr. Jackson went on to describe an incident where he was out playing golf at one of these exclusive clubs and the grounds keeping crew gave him rather sideways glances. Thus implying that maybe he didn't belong there. At the very least that his presence was out of the ordinary. Mr. Jackson then humorously inferred that those glances were the crew's way of saying, "Does Mr. Williams know you're out here?"


Now I've never actually experienced anything like that. And certainly, as golf has become more and more popular, I've seen an increase in the diversity of players. Nevertheless, I have felt a certain amount of "pressure" as I've attempted to play a round of golf. One incident that comes to mind was when I was at the driving range at Chelsea Piers. It was a particularly hot day and I decided to take a break from hitting balls (badly I might add) and hang out inside with the air conditioning. I was on the second or third floor of the facility so there weren't that many people around. So as I'm hanging out there a guy walks up to me and says, "Do you know where the bathrooms are?" Now, maybe I'm over-reacting, but I got the distinct feeling that he was asking me that question as if I worked there. And I sure as hell didn't pay an outrageous sum of money to be mistaken for an employee. (Not that there's anything wrong with employees) I responded with a very terse, "I have no idea." He very quickly ascertained the insensitivity of his question and began to apologize profusely.


But to be perfectly honest, I think that a lot of the tension that exists is primarily self-generated. For the most part, golfers are a community of people who have been playing for years. Some people are pretty good at it and some suck ass. Everyone is trying to get better. Everyone is actually trying to enjoy themselves. Even when it doesn't look like it. Granted, some people are assholes. But that doesn't make them racist. It just makes them assholes. My concern has always been that if I were to screw up in some major way or commit some horrible golfing faux pas, then whoever would see the infraction would draw some derogatory conclusion about my race in general. And I can assure you, it is very difficult to bear the entire imaginary weight of a race of people on your shoulders. I don't recommend it.


The bottom line is: Nobody gives a shit. They're all just trying to do their thing. If anyone is focused on who I am or what I'm doing, then they're a dick. And dicks come in all colors. (I've heard)


So let's move on to some of the good things about golf . . . Um . . . Hang on a minute . . . I know there's at least one . . . Well for one thing it's a great way to get outside. Yeah, I know that reason sucks. All I can really say is that I've been fascinated by this "sport" for a very long time. I remember when I was about 12 years old and I lived about 3 blocks away from a public course. One day, a bunch of friends and I just snuck on to the course and started playing. We had 1 golf club between about 8 of us and everybody had one golf ball for themselves. And since I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, I was promptly demoted from participant to observer. Which sucked, but like I said before, it was a great way to get outside. I never went anywhere near a golf course again until many years later.


While I was working at Xerox, a co-worker and friend of mine expressed his interest in golf. During the lunch hour, he would drive to the range and hit a few balls. Since my curiosity had never waned, I decided to accompany him on these outings. I did surprisingly well to start. But then, as I learned more and more about the proper way to swing a golf club, the worse I became at it. As the years passed, and my obsession became more, well, obsessive, I finally decided to break down and buy a set of golf clubs.

And now, many years later, I've invested tons of money and time and, while I have gotten somewhat better, I still have yet to break 100. (Which is a huge improvement from like 140. By the way, professionals shoot around 68) But I keep at it. I must master it. I read tips online; I watch the Golf Channel; (The Golf Channel?! Really?!) I play whenever I can get a chance. In fact, one of the great pleasures of the recent Passover was the fact that I was able to arrange a golf game with my girlfriend's brother-in-law. What the hell is wrong me?!

Okay, I'm actually going to give a serious answer. It may not be sexy or exciting, but it really is the truth. Whenever I go out and play golf; No matter how well or shitty I am playing, I can't think about anything else but golf. That's it. If I've had a bad day; If I've had a great day; If I have a big audition coming up; If I haven't had a decent audition in weeks. None of it matters. All I want to do is play well on that day. All I want to do is be successful on that one shot. And it takes every single fiber of my mental being in order to pull it off. If I make bad shot, then I have to figure out what I did wrong. If I make a good shot, then I have the even more difficult task of trying to figure out what I did right.

Whether you want to believe me or not, golfing has become an incredibly expensive form of meditation. It is the ultimate exercise in mindfulness. It is a highly intricate and complex activity. And it just so happens that I love things that are complicated. Some may say that I even over-complicate things. But I don't have to worry about that with golf. It's plenty complicated as it is.

So there you have it. I think the worst part about this week's blog is that people will actually have less respect for me now than when I admitted to puking down 5 flights of stairs.