Meet Bud Seigel

“In every human society of which we have a record, there has been a class of people who were in some way outsiders, whether it was because of their accent, their complexion, their beliefs, or the amount of money they possessed."

— George Orwell

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A couple of weeks ago, I drove up to LA to meet Denise to document the aftermath of the Palestine protest turned chaos at UCLA. However, our plans were thwarted by barriers and police blocking all entrances to Royce Hall, where most of the destruction occurred. Despite our efforts, 24 hours after law enforcement arrived to break up expanding encampments, a cleanup crew was already on-site, and the 3,000 students who gathered the following day were successfully dispersed.

Frustrated by our failed attempt, I decided to wait for Denise at a Chevron near the university to figure out a lunch spot instead of sitting in rush-hour traffic on our way home. I dozed off briefly before being abruptly awoken by a man passionately ranting about the protestors. His anger was directed at what he believed were paid efforts to empower "fake jihadists." His resentment extended to masked students and young men with small dogs, whom he saw as symbolic of an emasculated society. I sat there, captivated by his fury, for a good 20 minutes before deciding to engage with him.

I rolled my window down and introduced myself. When I asked if I could film him, he happily agreed.

In our 23-minute conversation, he name dropped several rock stars he'd grown up with, fashion industry insiders, mobsters, reality stars, and a fortune teller he swears predicted his fate, as well as Roseanne Barr's and Bon Jovi's.

His name is Bud. He’s the kind of character most people try to avoid on daily outings, but I'm innately drawn to. Rarely do I pass up a compelling parking lot ranter, despite my friend's (sometimes) better urgings. One year, I even invited a homeless violin player I met at a Ralphs parking lot to play at our Christmas party later that night. He showed up in a ragged flannel, bringing the house to tears with a busted violin on classic Christmas carols. 

I can’t help that I prefer misfits added to the mix. 

So when I dug into Bud’s claims, fact-checking various references, and they all proved valid, I decided his outlook offers a fair perspective on the events at UCLA, the societal tensions attached, and politics in general. Based on our brief interaction, his worldview appears to be shaped by a blend of life experience with intimate corners of the entertainment industry, natural intellect, bouts of mania, disillusionment, and a deep sense of societal decay not any different from what many Americans share.

I thought maybe his rants could be the start of a short series to delve into the diverse American perspectives we encounter throughout the campaign trail. Whether it's billionaire donors with connections to Mar-a-Lago or spontaneous connections cemented at gas stations, there is always a story wanting to be told.

As Bud would me text later — a mantra I believe and support — there are no coincidences in connections. I missed the protest content but ended up with something better, something richer. 

Among Things Discussed

• A tale of Trump (during the Marla Maple years) amused by a bunch of "trannys" that ended up on his yacht during fashion week 

• Small dog men as ungodly creatures society is forced to endure 

• Paid movements framed as cultural reckonings 

• The Grateful Dead's lawyer in his life 

• New Jersey in the 90s

• Eric Nies as proftting spiritual fraud 

• Old-school Bullies missed

• Why Trump is different than all the rest

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Many of Bud’s Stories Trace Back to His Friendship With Ray Brown And The Iconic Calvin Klein Model Elaine Irwin — More on That Later . . .

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“Wendy Williams Was My First Friend”

Bud recalls the impressive ambitions of a 13 year old Wendy Williams.

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Rosanne & The Fortune Teller Bit

This fortune teller Bud encountered years ago has successfully predicted his path so far. We’ll learn more about that soon.

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