If the phone doesn't ring, you know it's me

This town is famous for attempting to destroy anything of a local historical value in the name of money. Even really old places have to get a face lift of some sort to get back in the game. Then, and only then, can we start talking about how great it's been through the years. We're talking about a strip of land where more wackos come each day in search of the dream - when the New Yorkers finally step aside or move back, that land has to be snatched. Hell, the kid who grilled up the tasty grub at Skooby's last night just arrived off a cow from WI, ready to make it in punk rock. Or, "video production." Of course. But Skoob's is such a place where that kind of talk gets you a reward. Another employee oh-so-casually mentioned that their storage room used to be The Masque. HAH??! The first punk club in Hollywood? Early gigs by Fear, Black Flag, X, Circle Jerks? Don't fuck with me, is this the Truth?

Well, it was. Places like this don't just spring up...plus, anything you read about them doesn't give an address. So, it was a quick (thankfully, this thing doesn't have many rides left) elevator trip to the basement of an old building. And there it is, it hits you. Graffiti. All over the place. "Boredom in the 80s." Shit about Blondie, the Germs. Even an old flyer or two is stuck on the wall. Shit, this was like stumbling on the Pyramids.

The more I walked around this legendary hell hole, the more I was figuring out what went where. The always-broken bathroom. The stage. The backstage. As full of history as it is, it makes sense for why it survived beyond all others - if you didn't know it was there, how in god's gray earth would you find this place?

A trip to Amoeba to find some of the bands that played this haunt didn't turn up so successful. The Germs Anthology was a pricey $17...a charge Minnesota Laughs debated but I knew had to be cheaper online (I was right). Just looking for these bands brought the old, fat punks out of the woodwork. As I stood by the X section:

"Dude, I saw them last year, they still rock." Oh, really? Ok. "Dude, that's a great album." I know. "Their first album, that shit rocks." Yes it does. Go eat something.

The trip home wouldn't have been as amazing as earlier if Laughs didn't have to use the can. At that moment I looked across the street and to my amazement, the Pacific Theater, long since dead, was open. Lights on. Barricade gone. Hmmm...let's see. And see I did. Some smooth talking to the guy at the door about "digital projection testing" and we were in.

Suddenly, it's 1940. Well, maybe not, but it's all coming through my head. Giant movie palace. Times tough on the Boulevard in the 70s...they add screens in the balcony (?!). Earthquake hits. It's done. For years it sits unused. USC wants to test there - could it be open? Is it safe? LA says yes, but who'd want it? The plush carpets, if worn, are clearly of a bygone era. Chandeliers hang above me as wide hallways escort you anywhere. Oh - I see stairs down. Hmmm. Walking through there is a sight more impressive than a bathroom untouched since the 40s. (It had been cleaned up but not really used) Two giant fireplaces. And then...a banquet room, UNDERNEATH THE STREET. How in the hell did they find this? It's as if someone started to restore this place and just stopped halfway, finding everything. Oh, and the screen? The size of a football field.

You know, Trip, LA isn't the 70s anymore. Ay yingo, have I heard that tripe a billion times. But in an image-conscious town, it's hard to find. When you do, it's swank. When you uncover it...well, that's gold. California Gold.