Last Wednesday I wanted to get a massage. I was having a rough week, and thought that it would help relax me. Unfortunately, the place in Studio City where I went last time (for the one and only massage I’ve ever had) was overbooked. Luckily for me, this past week was one of the most grueling work-weeks — physically — I’ve ever had. I don’t remember having to lift and cary so much since my days as a lowly intern/assistant engineer at Water Music Studios. Today being one of my off-days, I was very much looking forward to a nice, relaxing massage.
Instead, I was beaten, bruised and nearly bloodied by a Thai masseuse whose level of brutally rivaled that of Josef Mengele.
Pho Siam in Westlake (technically Historic Filipinotown, a block or two from where I lived when I first moved to LA) came highly recommended by one of the women who works with Nicci. They specialize in Thai massage. The only massage I’ve ever had is a Swedish massage. That one was nice. The only thing I know about Thai massages are that little Asian women standing on you. In reality though, the experience is so much worse.
I was told to strip down and put on a pair of pants that closely resembled OR scrubs, except they were about twenty sizes too large. I don’t know what size waist I have, but these pants might fit comfortably on a person with a 60-inch waist. I tied the waistband around myself twice and tightened it as best I could. I then laid down on the uncomfortable padded thing on the floor, and awaited my masseuse. Then the torture began. To say that her kneeding was rough would be an understatement. I felt like my skin was being ripped away from my body, and if I’d stood upright, it would be hanging and sagging off my bones like Dr. Zoidberg without his shell. The woman kept working on my right shoulder, and as I sit and type this, it is still sore. Also, the walking on my legs and back was totally useless and painful. Whenever she stepped near the back of my knee, my knee was crushed against he floor. She also might have broken my ankle. The most comfortable moments were when she massaged my arms and hands, but my right wrist has been giving my problems lately (from lifting things improperly, not from masturbation) and she kind of made it worse. When she returned to kneading my neck again, I suddenly realized why I had to sign an agreement upon entering the establishment. If you leave the spa feeling worse than when you entered, it’s your own fault.
The best part was that there was no sign near the entrance stipulating “Non-sexual,” so I figured I might actually receive a “happy ending,” for all my troubles. A handjob was not in the cards; Pho Siam is so high-class there was no chance my Asian punisher was going to lube up and yank my dick off before sending me home.
After a brief trip home to shower and listen to some records (two Goblin soundtracks: Roller and Suspiria, two Stash Records compliations, Reefer Songs and Copulatin’ Blues Vol. 1), I went to the 711 in Highland Park to get some beers. They somehow managed to stock Goose Island Bourbon County Stout, which is one of the best-tasting beers I’ve ever encountered. I also brought home a bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter (2008), Stone Sublimely Righteous Ale, and a new Pizza Port beer I was so excited to try I didn’t even check to see what it was called! I’ll tell you later when I’m good and drunk. LOST is going to be amazing tonight.
Grayceon – It Begins And So It Ends
Eric Dolphy – South Street Exit
Assemble Head In Sunburst Sound – Clive And Lyre
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds – Dig Lazarus Dig
My Education – This Old House
