The Compound
Much like the Summer of Love, the 80s LA punk scene, Britain in the Swinging 60s, or any other seminal moment in time, if you weren't around for The Compound from 2004-2016-
YOU DON'T KNOW!
You can't. It was magical. Sometimes a group of people find each other and a family is formed. That was what happened to me and my husband Scott in 2004 when we moved into the front house on Coronado Ave. There was a mother-in-law house behind us with it's own backyard, and a small apartment above the double garage at the end of the driveway.
Pete and Josh lived in the MIL house, and a supremely grumpy guy named Johnny English lived in the apartment. P & J were cautiously friendly for a bit then warmed up to us when we all realized we were total dog people.
Johnny would scowl every time he saw us. It took the supreme flirting skills of our 20 pound cat Liam to finally break him. We found out he was a custom guitar builder for Fender guitars. I took to calling him "The Stradivarius upstairs". Josh and Scott started hanging out upstairs and jamming on guitars with him.
Pete was a whiz at repairing and building things. He was always making the place better. Josh was always in the garden caring for things. The plants started to spread to our patio. Soon, we were taking bike rides together, walking the dogs, and sharing regular adventures.
After two years, tragedy struck. Johnny developed brain cancer. We had one last shared early Thanksgiving. He carved the turkey and shared a limoncello he had brewed up. He regaled us with stories of the time he was a chef in Italy. It was a worthy goodbye for such an amazing man. His wake was held at the Fender factory. It was attended by some of the greatest musicians on the planet whose names you'd only know if you were a musician. These were the guys that regular musicians look up to and the public know nothing of.
It still is the only funeral I've attended that had a gift shop where I could by a coffee table book with the deceased's artwork profiled in it. I bought a t-shirt that had Fender Band Camp with a cheerful cartoon beaver playing an electric guitar printed on it.
We worried who was going to replace Johnny. We had become comfortable with the parking. We regularly congregated on the back patio to drink and smoke in peace. We'd BBQ and have groups of friends over to talk epic shit and laugh loudly.
Would the new person fit into our family?
Would they be a cop-calling pain in the ass?
Nope.
Our new family member arrived in a flurry of cats, clothes, and plastic bins filled with rainbow colored classroom supplies. She was a grade school teacher with a rapid fire high-pitched way of speaking, a love for white wine, and fierce fascination of drag queens. She was perfect.
Josh was a bouncer at Ripples, a local historic gay bar that was featured one time on the show "Tabitha Takes Over" . Ripples had an awesome drag show for years. Kirsten and I would go and get total velvet rope treatment, because we knew someone on the inside.
Pete managed a huge warehouse filled with party rentals and one of the employee perks was he could check out anything in the warehouse. We were allowed to "borrow" supplies for our parties as long as they were cleaned and returned in good condition. Our parties were elevated to next level awesome. Kids in a candy store doesn't even begin to describe it.
For Scott's 40th, we had a Animal House style toga party, bedecked with silver and gold fountains of beverages. We had a wine one, and a sparkling fruit juice one for the designated drivers. We had steam tables of food, disco balls, cocktail tables, smoke machines.
We had a 70s slasher flick themed Halloween party. There was a zig zag maze in the driveway with scary scenes at every turn of the maze and the mother effin' Munsters coffin car at the end of it. There was a Purple Hearse with a massive gargoyle painted on the side dubbed "The Cargoyle". The only reason we had this was Josh and Pete knew Brett Barris Jr., son of Hollywood carmaker Brett Barris. The guy who did the original Bat Car.
Yeah. That guy!
The parties! Oh my god! They were epic.
But that wasn't the only thing that made the compound amazing. It was the army of friends that was built around us. We five helped each other. We signed for packages, watched each other's pets, kept an eye on each other's cars when we were home. We took long bike rides together, had riotous brunches at home and abroad. We threw fundraisers with friends, built massive projects, walked our dogs together. We held each other when we cried. We took family members to the Queen Mary together. We met in the backyard almost daily to share a bong or a beer and talk about anything and everything happening.
My house became the holiday house. We would outfit the backyard with heaters and rental tables. Large meals were made. Gatherings of combined families and friends made a larger whole family. There are scads and scads of pictures of us all together. It meant the world to me. Still does.
And now it is over.
It was over for me two years ago when my husband and I moved to our house in Lakewood. Pete, Josh, Kirsten stayed. The neighborhood had gotten progressively worse over the past five years. The landlord decided to sell the house. This prompted the three of them to finally leave. Josh's mom is having health problems. They are moving to Lake Havasu to watch over her. Kirsten was not going to stay without them. I don't blame her. The house has been falling apart for years now. Her stairs are a precarious circus act for anyone brave enough to climb them.
At the end of August the last of us will have left the property.
So ends the era of The Compound.
I feel so lucky to have been there, to have experienced all the adventures and heartfelt moments between true friends. I love those people dearly. I cannot tell you the amount of times truly spectacular things happened, good and bad. And we were there for each other. Now and always we will be there for each other.
If you weren't there, you'll never know.
YOU DON'T KNOW!
You can't. It was magical. Sometimes a group of people find each other and a family is formed. That was what happened to me and my husband Scott in 2004 when we moved into the front house on Coronado Ave. There was a mother-in-law house behind us with it's own backyard, and a small apartment above the double garage at the end of the driveway.
Pete and Josh lived in the MIL house, and a supremely grumpy guy named Johnny English lived in the apartment. P & J were cautiously friendly for a bit then warmed up to us when we all realized we were total dog people.
Johnny would scowl every time he saw us. It took the supreme flirting skills of our 20 pound cat Liam to finally break him. We found out he was a custom guitar builder for Fender guitars. I took to calling him "The Stradivarius upstairs". Josh and Scott started hanging out upstairs and jamming on guitars with him.
Pete was a whiz at repairing and building things. He was always making the place better. Josh was always in the garden caring for things. The plants started to spread to our patio. Soon, we were taking bike rides together, walking the dogs, and sharing regular adventures.
After two years, tragedy struck. Johnny developed brain cancer. We had one last shared early Thanksgiving. He carved the turkey and shared a limoncello he had brewed up. He regaled us with stories of the time he was a chef in Italy. It was a worthy goodbye for such an amazing man. His wake was held at the Fender factory. It was attended by some of the greatest musicians on the planet whose names you'd only know if you were a musician. These were the guys that regular musicians look up to and the public know nothing of.
It still is the only funeral I've attended that had a gift shop where I could by a coffee table book with the deceased's artwork profiled in it. I bought a t-shirt that had Fender Band Camp with a cheerful cartoon beaver playing an electric guitar printed on it.
We worried who was going to replace Johnny. We had become comfortable with the parking. We regularly congregated on the back patio to drink and smoke in peace. We'd BBQ and have groups of friends over to talk epic shit and laugh loudly.
Would the new person fit into our family?
Would they be a cop-calling pain in the ass?
Nope.
Our new family member arrived in a flurry of cats, clothes, and plastic bins filled with rainbow colored classroom supplies. She was a grade school teacher with a rapid fire high-pitched way of speaking, a love for white wine, and fierce fascination of drag queens. She was perfect.
Josh was a bouncer at Ripples, a local historic gay bar that was featured one time on the show "Tabitha Takes Over" . Ripples had an awesome drag show for years. Kirsten and I would go and get total velvet rope treatment, because we knew someone on the inside.
Pete managed a huge warehouse filled with party rentals and one of the employee perks was he could check out anything in the warehouse. We were allowed to "borrow" supplies for our parties as long as they were cleaned and returned in good condition. Our parties were elevated to next level awesome. Kids in a candy store doesn't even begin to describe it.
For Scott's 40th, we had a Animal House style toga party, bedecked with silver and gold fountains of beverages. We had a wine one, and a sparkling fruit juice one for the designated drivers. We had steam tables of food, disco balls, cocktail tables, smoke machines.
We had a 70s slasher flick themed Halloween party. There was a zig zag maze in the driveway with scary scenes at every turn of the maze and the mother effin' Munsters coffin car at the end of it. There was a Purple Hearse with a massive gargoyle painted on the side dubbed "The Cargoyle". The only reason we had this was Josh and Pete knew Brett Barris Jr., son of Hollywood carmaker Brett Barris. The guy who did the original Bat Car.
Yeah. That guy!
The parties! Oh my god! They were epic.
But that wasn't the only thing that made the compound amazing. It was the army of friends that was built around us. We five helped each other. We signed for packages, watched each other's pets, kept an eye on each other's cars when we were home. We took long bike rides together, had riotous brunches at home and abroad. We threw fundraisers with friends, built massive projects, walked our dogs together. We held each other when we cried. We took family members to the Queen Mary together. We met in the backyard almost daily to share a bong or a beer and talk about anything and everything happening.
My house became the holiday house. We would outfit the backyard with heaters and rental tables. Large meals were made. Gatherings of combined families and friends made a larger whole family. There are scads and scads of pictures of us all together. It meant the world to me. Still does.
And now it is over.
It was over for me two years ago when my husband and I moved to our house in Lakewood. Pete, Josh, Kirsten stayed. The neighborhood had gotten progressively worse over the past five years. The landlord decided to sell the house. This prompted the three of them to finally leave. Josh's mom is having health problems. They are moving to Lake Havasu to watch over her. Kirsten was not going to stay without them. I don't blame her. The house has been falling apart for years now. Her stairs are a precarious circus act for anyone brave enough to climb them.
At the end of August the last of us will have left the property.
So ends the era of The Compound.
I feel so lucky to have been there, to have experienced all the adventures and heartfelt moments between true friends. I love those people dearly. I cannot tell you the amount of times truly spectacular things happened, good and bad. And we were there for each other. Now and always we will be there for each other.
If you weren't there, you'll never know.
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