The next day, my ever-industrious Paulista cousin, Theo Castilho showed up again at the Lizard Lodge Hotel where we were holed up. This time he came bearing a rare invitation to me and the now calm and collected love of my life. Cousin Theo asked us to join him as his Guests of Honor that evening (being engaged has its perks – even to the devil!) at a fancy dinner party at one of his many fancy friends’ new expensive resteraunts in the chic São Paulo Jardins district.

Spike Jonez, another friend of Cousin Theo’s, was there with some other friends from America. There were a bunch of other pals of Theo’s there too. A very lively and friendly crowd.  Thank God too, since the tempermental Miss Terror was on the rag again by the time we arrived the posh eatery. This time the big crisis was that she felt overwhelmed and out of place in such an upscale, trendy setting. My girl, like myself is a bit of a caveman when it comes to social scenes niceties.

Thankfully her little social-leper spell didn’t last very long this time. At Cousin Theo’s and my urging, some of the other girls at the party graciously stepped in and took her under their wings, putting her more at ease. Soon enough they were all bosom buddies. Finally Theo introduced me and Spike and we hit it off too. We spoke for a long time about the creative process of writing and so on and I signed a copy of Narcisa and my other new book and gave them to him. It was a good meeting and a great night. I’m glad we went. Valeu, Theo!

Spike seemed like a really nice cat. An artist. Soft spoken and intelligent. God knows the world needs more of that. We waited in front of the restaurant for a table, smoking and talking outside the luxurious watering-hole with Lambriginnis and Fagarottis or whatever lined up outside. Johnny Depp’s new orange monster car woulda felt right at home! Finally we were called to our table. As dinner and drinks were served, a wonderful time was had by all. Thanks for the great meal, Cousin Theo, and thanks, Spike Jonez for the pleasant company and talk!

The next day, my good-natured friend, Tonico Monteiro de Carvalho flew down from Rio to join us for the show — the same Tonico who’s responsible for my write up on page 70 of the new Brazilian emagazine, denguemag.com.

Tonico and my girl and I rode on several hair-raising, gut-wrenching rides at the rusty third-world amusement park where the  show was being held. Finally, dizzy and sea-sick, we wobbled over to the backstage area. We found our way up to the side of the big festival stage just in time to catch Sonic Youth, who were opening up for Iggy.

Sonic Youth seem to be opening for Iggy every time and everywhere I see him lately, usually in South America. Last time was Buenos Aires, I think. And it’s always a pleasure, especially seeing Kim Gordon — who I actually went to the same high school with (before I dropped out in the first year). Its quite strange and just a wee bit un-rock n roll to know someone like that for 40 fucking years. But there it is. Rock on, Kim!

We were still hanging out in Sonic Youth’s dressing room after their set, talking of this and that, when we heard a soul-shivering roar go up from the crowd to the familiar sound of the first few bars of LUST FOR LIFE. Iggy was raping the stage! We ran out of the dressing room and got up to the side of the stage and watched the first few songs from there. Iggy was in full comand, as usual, and the large, unruly audience was going totally ape-shit.

Just as I was thanking my lucky stars for not being down there in the middle of that slobbering, drooling rabid monkey pit, Tonico and my girl decided that’s exactally where they were gonna go to have a better view. I wished them well and said a prayer as they wandered off to join the ranks of the Great Unwashed. And that’s just where they stayed to enjoy the rest of the show. Everything went fine for them there — at least for the next fifteen minutes, until Iggy decided to start a full scale riot by inviting the huge manic crowd of savage adolescent reprobates and mother-killers to come up and invade the stage. Mayhem. Violence. Fun. Flying bodies rained back down from the stage, where an acid-tripping Cousin Theo and I had our hands full helping Iggy’s roadies punch and strangle his over-entheusiastic fans. As steel-toed boots kicked in peoples heads down below, Tonico grabbed my girl by the arm and got her out of the life-threatening melee all in one piece. Thanks, Tony the Tiger. You’re Grrrr-eeaat!

After the show we hung out with Iggy’s beautiful and simpatica wife, Nina for a long time while Iggy battled it out with his band in a top-secret backstage band meeting. From the more-stressed-out-than-usual look on his manager Henry’s face, bullets were flying behind closed doors there. The overall vibe was so tense, in fact, that I didn’t even get to give a quick hug to his Iggy’s bass player, Mike Watt who’s a really nice guy, besides being an overall amazing player. Since so many of Iggy’s bass players have died untimely deaths over the years, I said a said prayer to Pai Ogum to protect the good Mike Watt.

Finally Henry called us back to the dressing room where Iggy and I caught up after much too long, chatting away like a pair of dying children in a refugee camp for a half-hour. Then his manager looked into the dressing room and gave him the nod. After a last hug and a quick Photo Op with Tonico and my girl, Iggy jumped into his bullet-proof limo and we jumped into Tonico’s bullet-proof Town Car. We all rode off our seperate ways into the endless night of that screaming megalopolis where drab, faceless white sky-scrapers dot the horizon like the rotting teeth of all the sharks of Hunger. God help us all.

Backstage

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