Page 2 of 5
"I don't want it to be, 'Yeah, you can come and kick Josh Freese in the balls for $10,000,'" he says. "I put these things together, they're selling, we'll have a couple of drinks at this bar, we'll get haircuts or take a tour of Disneyland, and that's it.
"I'm a clown, not a complete whore."
Paul James, 41, and his girlfriend, Charlene Mulharsky, 36, of Huntington Beach, wait with Freese in Float Lab Technologies, located in a nondescript, unlabeled storefront right on the world-famous Venice Boardwalk in Los Angeles, with its tourists, balmy weather, and sketchy dudes handing out their hip-hop demos next to smoking paraphernalia shops and pop-up tents selling two pairs of sunglasses for $10.
James, who has a shaved head, is wearing a green plaid top and Jack Purcells; Mulharsky, a L.A.M.B. tote bag, pink T, and cargos. At Mitsubishi Motors, where they both work, they're known as the "wild-and-crazy accountants."
After hearing about the fan packages on KROQ-FM, James and Mulharsky quickly settled on the $500 listing — the Sizzler dinner sealed the deal.
"This whole thing is awesome," James says to Freese when he arrives. "Like, I mean, I was really fired up for the Sizzler. When I heard you on the radio talking about the Sizzler, I was like, 'I'm dooooown; I am so down.'"
After a quick read-over of the one-page sensory-deprivation-tank guidelines presented by the owner, known only as "Crash," James and Freese strip down (yes, totally nude) and climb into their respective tanks —which look like heated, glorified, darkened meat freezers — and disappear. (A glowing recommendation from Rick Rubin some five years ago had turned Freese on to the tanks.)
Some 40 minutes later, after the two emerge, Freese asks how James' float was.
"I was kind of scared at first," he admits.
"You know what the problem is?" Freese asks. "If I'm laying down there for a long time, the whole time, I'm like, 'What am I doing here?' I've got, like, 3,000 messages, man. I've got to go to lunch and a session; I can't just sit here!"
"I'm not much of a relaxing kind of person," James replies.
"Me, neither," Freese says. He pauses. "What are we doing here? Let's get out of here!"
After weaving through Friday-afternoon Los Angeles traffic, the group arrives at a Sizzler on Wilshire Boulevard. The three pose briefly for a photo-op just inside the entrance in front of a sign advertising new dinner specials.
"I hadn't been here in a while until recently, but I do enjoy it," Freese says while in line at the cash register. "You know, I love airplane food." He pauses for a chorus of ewwwwwwws and wrinkled noses. "I'm not being funny; I'm not being ironic. It reminds me of being 12 years old and putting food in the microwave."
He orders three steak-and-all-you-can-eat-shrimp dinners, cooked medium, with Diet Pepsis and baked potatoes. The total comes to $58.27 (Sizzler: not as cheap as you remember), and everyone shuffles into a green-vinyl booth by the drink station and the hot-appetizers bar.
Topics of discussion before the food arrives: feeling old at concerts; Freese having to lie to Amdurer about working too much; Keenan's winery; how both James and Mulharsky have been to an astounding number of NIN and A Perfect Circle concerts.
Just as James puts in his plea to get A Perfect Circle back together for a reunion, the three steak plates arrive. Freese wasn't kidding about loving the food there — he inhales the steak and shrimp as he gives diplomatic answers about which fellow musicians are "cool" and which aren't. It's really the ultimate fan opportunity to geek out with one of your favorites.
"Aaron North or Robin Finck?" James asks, referring to the former and present guitarists for Nine Inch Nails. (Answer: They're different people, he hedges; he loves them both.)
James mentions that he and his girlfriend will be seeing three NIN shows within a six-day span.
Freese dives into his cheesebread. "I'm going for it, man," he says. "I'm really enjoying the Sizzler experience, by the way, guys."
"Mmmmhm!" James responds. "No, it's spectacular."
Forty minutes later, Freese announces he has to book it to Hollywood to make a recording session with Devo before rushing home for some family time.
Upon departure, James gives it one last shot: "Well, get Maynard, Billy Howerdel, and get them all in a room ..."
"WE'RE GETTING THE BAND BACK TOGETHER!!" Freese yells.
Freese hates his dog. Frankie, a brown Chihuahua, doesn't seem so bad, but Freese points out that Frankie almost always wakes up the kids after he finally manages to get everyone to bed.
Freese is sitting in the back house of his almost-oceanfront-but-still-modest one-story Long Beach home. He shares the house with his fiancée of 10 years (Amdurer), their children (Hunter, 8; August, 2; and Olive, 3 months), two cats, two fish, and, yes, Frankie.
The home is beautifully decorated, with plenty of art displayed and kids' toys strewn about. The back house holds some children's-sized teal- and lime-green–colored, rounded-edge furniture. Large, translucent bears stand on a white credenza, and a large-scale model of the Tiki Room at Disneyland sits atop a tall bookshelf.
August, whom Freese refers to as Auggy, stands just outside the door and screams, "Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddy!"
Freese talks about his kids constantly and turns into a puddle at the very sight of them. "Auggy, you wanna come sit with me? I love this guy so much; he's such a cutie. We were talking this morning, and he's just learning how to talk and communicate and getting his vocabulary together, and it's so cute!" he says, kissing the curly-haired toddler. "Hey, Auggy. Hi. Hey. Do you know you're cute? You did know that?" He rapid-fire kisses his son's forehead.
