DIARY OF TOM IN LA DAY 2- Scream studios was everything it should of been . Located a block down from" Intercontinental Absurdities" Frank Zappa's studio and house, it was a relatively unassuming building. Inside however, was covered with platinum and gold records from albums that had been mixed there ranging form Nirvana's Nevermind, Janet Jackson, Motley Crue , Allanis Morisste, Tracey Chapman, etc.tnThe staff were polite, the donuts were fresh, the speakers were loud, the jet lag was minor. We got down to business. At the end of the night having finished 2 songs we were so pleased with ourselves and the mixer that we headed out into the burbs for a "drive" and maybe a "beer". It was an innocent enough premise. I was looking forward to driving into Hollywood and listening to the mixes on the cars stereo and most importantly we were jet lagged and thought we should be having scrambled eggs. "yeah the guy said it was just up this road then left".................... ha....... An hour later, after driving past an Airport, miles of car parks and basically nothingish shops we ended up down town , A place where streets were lined with cocoon like homeless encased in plastic bags and shopping trolleys. Every light we pulled up at hyena people would glance at us like zombie soldiers. Car jacking happens a lot down town at night. We got out of there only to end up on a gay night club strip. I wasn't wearing leather chaps and az had forgotten his make up so we weren't allowed in. No bother. We headed in the rough direction of our cheery ,old El Patio , however we noticed a bar that was on the brink of the sobering 2am cut of time in LA, and found ourselves a couple of drunk loud mouths siting out the front who instantly bought us expensive tequila. One was a brash producer from NYC and the other a Director. Both were well on the way to crazed alcoholic stupor and had in their onslaught worn their waiter down to a slumped wreck, still clutching the bill in one hand and snoring loudly on a table. They related stories of Kings cross and Steve Erwin etc the usual.... They bought us another round of drinks and the Producer went on in a bitter, and muscular vernacular about how his bitch of an ex girlfriend had left him and how he wanted to super-glue her front door shut. He brought her $600 dollar Ug boots and $1000 sunglasses only to have her blow him off at an exclusive cocaine party in the hills. Surprise surprise, He was pissed. The next minute we were following the two jack asses though a lackadaisical soiree of the holly wood hills to her house with 6 cans of whipped cream and another bottle of tequila. You see, he needed a couple of "diggers" for a bit of moral support and we needed a couple of LA boys to show us the town. We were all drunk now and standing on her corner we were abused for waking people with our loud debating over the battle plan. After a long time the producer backed down his original idea and decide instead to write in huge, creamy, fat free letters " I LOVE YOU ROBBIE" on La Brea BLVD below her apartment window. How romantic! How totally creamy! Whatever it meant to him or her it was a lot of fun watching these two fatty corporate guys trying to clearly spell with whipped cream. He bribed us all after our good nights work back to his place in the valley for more beers. It turned out when we walked into his place that he was the Exec Producer of the Jerry Springer show. He was proud of 'his' episode with the man who legally married his horse and, in full permission of the court and all its officials, engages in intercourse with his..,, well,,his wife (ride?). From there the conversation took another left hand turn through the barn yard and the Director who had just finished the new Velvet revolver Video told us a little holly wood tale. Apparently a colleague on a film had invited him to his buddy ,George Clooney's , for a huge bash. He was walking around the party getting drunk and, working if not the room then something out, when he stumbled across Clooney's pet Pot bellied Pig. A 200 kilo prized pet called sally or something un piggy like that. The pig appeared to be in the same state as the guests and was lying on its side in the kitchen enjoying the keen attention of some guy who was writing in the pigs fur. Some pigs have a thick "nap" on there coats that can be written on like velour suede and in it this man was kneeling down drawing the Van Halen logo. Our friend the director had noted the poor reproduction of his favorite bands logo and said "Hey buddy, that doesn't even look like the proper logo. if you're gonna do it ,at least do it right.!" "FUCK OFF" he replied, "Its my band and i can do it how i like" it was none other than Eddie Van Halen Himself. I didn't care if he was lying. He was funny. I guess in our time in LA that's what seems the most bizarre. Rock Stars and movie stars are just people too , who need somewhere to take yoga, or eat or get wasted. It just seems like they all chose this weird place in the desert called Los Angeles. After more tales and tequila and plans to fly us to play Wembley for the new a Jerry Springer show, and a 30 minute call to some Australian guy who wrote the cheques we left. I drove us home in a drunken blaze, and all the way we argued for no other reason than the sheer fire of tequila and big talk. We argued and talked until the light came up and guests had complained about the noise. The next morning the alarm clock with its insistent little yell pulled us out of a churning angry sea of alcohol were we flopped upon the heaving deck of 10 AM. I was rotten. Luckily az was still drunk and ran off to the studio. I however descended into hell and for the next 7 hours fought to keep water down. My body does not like tequila, extra specially not now.