One City, One Book: E. Annie Proulx

5:45 a.m. "Why not nominate Annie Proulx?" the interior conversation in my mind asked in committee in regards to West Hollywood's participation in the "One City, One Book" program?

If the camera man for the @#?! Awards Ceremony couldn't even find her face in the Kodak Theatre when she was being thanked by Diana Ossana and Larry McMurty, why not make her the star of an event centered around her and her contributions to literature --she's probably been invited to half of the gay pride celebrations in the country already, but it's a good guess that those doing the inviting haven't read but the one short story that has propelled her again into the public eye.

While her many stories of rural America contrast with WeHo's urbanity, she is an award-winning author of the highest caliber (the Pulitzer Prize, the National Book Award, twice an O. Henry award winner; an NEA grant recipient, to name but a few honors) --and a senior to boot (she thus covers two of WeHo's three main constituencies).

I could imagine an award designed especially for her (mind you, this was as I was half asleep and bolting up out of bed) in the shape of the door with the shrine to Brokeback Mountain and Jack Twist that Ennis del Mar makes at the end of the movie.

I'd like to see a campaign to nominate/draft her now, enlisting any litterati or even the West Hollywood city council on the bandwagon (they've never been known to shy away from a win-win media opportunity). Heck, I could envision her entering an auditorium to thunderous applause and a standing ovation in this town.

Especially in light of the LA Times using that commercial/trailer in movie theatres and print ad that says, "Because you prefer the movie to the book."

...and given that most of WeHo has probably already read the original New Yorker story of Brokeback Mountain, this community is already well acquainted with her work. Most of her stories are all-ages appropriate, too.

If you have any suggestions, admonitions, comments, please tell me.

Or maybe I should just be more careful what I eat before I go to bed.

Now if only we could get Veronica Mars to take on the religious right

Jack Kenny recently wrote a piece for the Advocate asking where the community outrage was when his show was being attacked by the religious right--especially the very well organized AFA.

Some of the responses on the advocate.com website were interesting. Some less than fully informed.

I did my little bit, but in the end, it was like yelling into a hurricane. If that effort had been multiplied by a hundred, or a thousand... well, then.

In case you aren't aware, groups like the AFA don't fight fair. Their people will write multiple letters, and it has been revealed in the past that their computers will generate phone calls up the gazzoo to make it appear that they have an overwhelming groundswell of people behind them. And it's no secret that anti-gay organizations have way more bucks to spend on their campaigns than all the gay organizations put together.

Don't think for a minute that it will end when they've removed every gay image from the television screen either. The Oklahoma legislature just approved a measure to ban all gay material from libraries in the state.

When they've finished steamrolling over the gay community and their allies, do you think they're going to stop there? This isn't even about their homophobia. It's about them flexing their purported influence to control every aspect of your life. Once they've succeeded in ridding the world of those homosexuals, every non-WASP image will be steamrolled and disappear. They will create a mythical world that is 99.9% English speaking of English descent, where men have all the brains and women will be portrayed as happy homemakers whose only purpose in life is to serve and obey their husbands. Title IX? Fuhgettaboudit. The only girl's sports will be in sewing curtains and casserole cooking. The only minorities in your precious books and television and school's educational material will be caricatures along the lines of Stepinfetchit and Charlie Chan. And take a good hard look at what these people are doing to the environment. You thought their "intelligent design" or "creative design" replacing evolution was a hoot? You ain't seen nuthin' yet.

NPR had a news story today on how the government of China puts dissidents in mental hospitals because they figure anybody who doesn't fall in line with them given the consequences and risks must be crazy. America used to do that, too. And they will again, given half a chance.

The people behind these campaigns are devious --and shortsighted. Let them have their Sudentland, and they'll go for all of Europe, then the world. Funny thing, though; as the U.S. lags further and further behind other countries in our national health care, investment infrastructure and in education for all, and extension of suffrage and civil rights to every part of our society, other countries will leave us way behind in the dust. In their unquenchable quest for power, these people who today use the gay community as their scapegoat du jour will one day wake up to find that India or China or perhaps even the Saudis will be running the world --perhaps as or less benevolently than America did at the beginning of the 20th century.

So go ahead, and grumble about the need for an English only movement or offensive images and language in popular culture or how "they're taking 'our' jobs." Tell those uppity people they'll get their equality if they would just sit quietly in the corner. And try not to make a sound as you hide under the bed when the stormtroopers come, because as Pat Parker put it in her poetry, they will come.

And this little planet will probably end up a lifeless, dead rock floating in orbit.

I didn't mean to get so pissed off today. But maybe I should get little more pissed off a little more often. And maybe you should try it, too.

I wish I could tell you what it felt like to stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue in New York and see a million people, as far as you can see, all marching for justice and equality and the right to be. It's one of the most empowering images I can think of (not to mention the rush it gives you!), and I'm glad to have it. And I'm glad that I get passionate and angry for the things that I believe in.

I meant to write something about last night's episode of Veronica Mars, which doesn't as yet have a certain berth on the new network replacing the UPN. But I think I'll write them, instead. It may be too late for the Book of Daniel, though I tried to do my part, but I'm gonna do what ever it takes to let the powers that be know that I want to see this show continue. Or there'll be consequences for them and their wallets.

You want to see the programs on television that you want to see? Read the books you want to read? Live and work where you please? Go wherever you choose to go --and be able to drink the water and breath the air when you get there? Better open your %$?@! mouths today. Tomorrow may be too late.

Bumpersticker of the day: MY CAT CAN BEAT UP YOUR CAT

While browsing the web for one thing, I inevitably get sidetracked by something else that grabs my attention. This is my life off-line as well. Yesterday, my sponsee happened to be parked outside a used bookstore and watched with amusement as I attempted to pass by without getting caught in its gravitational pull. Busted. lt's not like I don't have so many books to read already I can pile more on the stack. Believe me, that's one place you don't want to be standing next to when the Big One hits LA. I remember a moderate quake hit San Diego a few years ago, and an elderly bookworm was trapped inside his apartment by the falling books & tipped over bookshelves. That'll probably be how I go...

While reading Noel Alumit's blog, I found a link to PEN/USA; it was important enough for me to put a link on the header above. I read Noel's entire blog. It's a great place for anyone interested in how to write, or what goes on in the head of a writer. I also did a search that brought up the LA Black Book Expo and Crime Sistahs, a trio of African American mystery writers. Last, but not least, I found a link for Poetry Flash, the most important literary magazine and calendar of events for California and the West. Their links have all been added on the left as well.

"Flush" by Carl Hiaasen

WARNING!

Do not read this book in public! The men with the butterfly nets will com and take you away!

This weekend I read finally Hiaasen's second young adult novel, "Flush." Like its predecessor, "Hoot," while it's meant ostensibly for young people with restraint as to the language and violence, any fan of Carl Hiaasen's work will enjoy it thoroughly. I did get some worried looks from the bus driver in the rear view mirror when I started cracking up, though. We're used to people going 5150 on public transportation in LA as a matter of course. To actually have a book that instigates involuntary convulsions of laughter is practically unheard of in this town. I think I was laughing out loud by page six. If you're on the last of your psych meds and need to level out or just want to be really entertained (far better than any #@?! "reality TV show could do) pick it up and be happy.

Straight? Unhappy? Well, get ready to laugh

Anti-gay comments broadcast in Miami schools. Los Altos outlaws gay pride. And the list goes on and on...

Then I come across this news story that just made my day. Heck, it made my week. Sometimes, the best way to fight the whack jobs is not to hit 'em over the head with a hammer (as fun as that may seem) but to laugh at the sheer idiocy of their stance...

Justin Watt has done a superb job of doing just that on his website.

In Larry Buhl's article on gay.com he mentions that an actual billboard in St. Louis that read, "I questioned homosexuality" was changed by someone who added, "And my answer is yes!"

The real question is, where are we going to put all those ex-straights just waiting to become gay? San Francisco and West Hollywood have just way too few vacancies as it is.

Click on the header above for a link to see the original story and the photo of the billboards.

I had wanted originally to comment on how well the Pasadena Art Night was last night. The staff and volunteers of the various art organizations, despite a driving rain, put on a terrific event all over the city. Every year it just keeps getting bigger and better. There's a link to the left about it.

A Special thanks to Susan, the librarian at the Pasadena Public Library for giving me her "Pasadena: One City, One Story" pin honoring the late Octavia Butler. Originally, Butler was scheduled to read and discuss her work on March 17th before she passed away. The event will now be a community tribute and discussion commemorating her work, at All Saints Episcopal Church in Pasadena at 7:30 p.m. Among those speaking will be authors Steven Barnes and Jerry Tervalon. For more information, go to the One City, One Story link to the left. Among the many tributes to Octavia Butler, you can click on the link at left to read the one Noel Alumit wrote on his blog.

Everyone involved with the Art Night Pasadena deserves a big thank you. It was a lot of fun and quite inspirational. Even the rain became a part of the event. Especially in this era when support for arts organizations is so critical, this was a great way for small and large organizations to work together to prove their worth and why they are worthy of your financial support.

This gets my gander up...

The March 3 edition of the Philadelphia Gay News had a story from the Washington Blade about the city council of Los Altos, California, passing a prohibition against proclamations honoring gay pride.

Well, screw you, Los Altos. In the story, they quote Los Altos mayor Ron Packard telling the San Jose Mercury-News that he thinks gay pride proclamations "divisive and [not] appropriate for our community."

You suppose they consider MLK Day or Rosh Hashanah not appropriate? The town is 78% WASP according to the last census. For anyone not familiar with California, Los Altos is a small bedroom community of 27,000 in an upscale suburban part of Santa Clara County, between San Jose and San Francisco.

Los Altos also happens to be about 25 miles north of the epicenter of the Loma Prieta earthquake of 1989, as well as lying just downhill a few miles east of the San Andreas Fault. Yeah, that San Andreas fault.

Oh yeah, and because of its proximity to Silicon Valley, Los Altos is in a high risk area for a terrorist attack.

I'm not saying anything is going to happen to Los Altos, or I want anything to happen to Los Altos, but karma is a muther... and I don't claim any special control over their karma. They'll have brought what ever befalls them on themselves. Including what they teach their kids.

Now, there's a lot of towns large and small around the San Francisco Bay urban area. They obviously aren't all as forward thinking as, say, Berkeley or San Francisco. There must be thousands of political bodies across the country that haven't recognized gay pride (and probably hope this issue never even comes up). There's no rule of thumb that requires Los Altos to celebrate gay pride. For that matter, nobody is looking over their shoulder to see if they recycle, either.

There are gay businesses in the surrounding communities of Palo Alto, Cupertino, and Mountain View. And who wants to go to Los Altos, anyway?

Since the Honorable Mayor Ron Packard doesn't appear to believe that there are any gays or lesbians living in Los Altos, it would behoove members of the GLBT community and their friends and families and non-gay identified men who have sex with men to take all their hard earned dollars to other communities ...and tell the chamber of commerce at 650/948-1455 that you're doing so and why. That's almost better than calling City Hall directly.

Can I be committed to the practice of non-violence and still ask people to take a page from the Mormons and just "shun" the whole town?

Now that might not be fair, since there were actual residents of Los Altos that had gone before the City Council to ask for the recognition of gay pride. The Los Altos High School Gay-Straight Alliance, who raised money for the victims of hurricane Katrina and other worthy causes deserve some measure of support, after all.

Like they say in Sin City, what happens in Los Altos should stay in Los Altos. Only instead, it made the national news wire. Now they run the risk of becoming a beacon of hope to hate-mongers everywhere. I can just hear Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson and Lou Sheldon all praising Los Altos for standing up to the evil homosexual agenda. Maybe even David Duke.

Heck, I'm too tired to make much of a fuss about it. Why even care about a little two-exit on the 280 freeway town like Los Altos, anyway?

I guess I'll just make a an extra conscious effort to spend my little rolls of pennies at places that I know appreciate and respect me. And as for Los Altos, I'll take a cue from Noel Alumit and try to practice lovingkindness. Maybe I'll even blow 'em a kiss from the 280 freeway the next time I'm heading that way up to San Francisco. I'll wish 'em well and put 'em in my prayers 'cuz it sure as heck seems like they're gonna need it.

That's Amore

Okay, now what was behind last night's Without a Trace episode? That was over the top nuts ...in a good way. There were few moments kookier or hotter than the end of the program when Enrique Murciano and Anthony LaPaglia sang "That's Amore" to a recording of Perry Como. Is this Jerry Bruckheimer showing us his softer side? Or is his secret fantasy watching two lipstick lesbians kiss (while being serenaded by Enrique Murciano).

What can I say? Enrique tilted his head, arched his eyebrow, and pursed his lips in the hottest HOTTEST HOTTEST way (like only those boys from Miami can). Oof. And woof.

Enrique Murciano is hot. ...as well as the guy with the sweet baby face to take home to meet the family at the holidays. I can practically hear the sigh of every gay boy from his gym to his barista at his favorite cafe. Then again, I always had a thing for those Miami boys.

Ya gotta have something to dream for, right?

That's part of the charm of Sex in the City, I guess. Underneath all the funny sarcastic New York one-liners and one night stands, there's the promise of a happy ending with the guy. Or at least, the apartment. I don't know that having the perfectly appointed apartment will compensate for not having a guy, but there's something to running your fingers along a fabulous fabric. Then again, there's something to be said for the feel of running your fingers along Enrique Murciano.

Heck, I'd settle for Enrique Murciano in a trailer park. But not in Miami; you know what happens to trailers in hurricanes. But hey --who better to go through a hurricane with than Enrique Murciano?

This is why you gotta be careful what you wish for...

At least Jerry Bruckheimer put one television show on the air that GLAAD and everybody (except, perhaps for the religious right and the Gotti family) could enjoy.

This is when I know I've been watching too much television

Now, I know that the television networks are supposed to be in competition with each other -- but for ratings, not over which one sucks the most. If ABC is going to run a bunch of Wednesday night re-runs, then I wanna see a fresh episode of Veronica Mars. I know I'm a bad, bad American consumer-- I don't have TiVo. And I'm not a very good gay, either-- I don't care at all for America's Next Top Model. Now, some of my best friends and family members do like ANTM, but that won't stop me from being exiled from the Abbey. If I'm going to vegetate in front of the television as is my right as a God-fearin' 'merican, I want at the very least some fresh, sharply written and entertaining Veronica Mars that I haven't been able to see because it now airs at the same time as Lost. At least they repeated the episode with "La Mer." And every time they repeat an episode of Lost, you have to wonder if they're jiggling some newly pertinent clue in front of you for a future plot twist, or if they're just screwing with you.

There was, at least, a fresh episode of Invasion. And what an episode! Eddie Cibrian didn't take off his shirt once and yet still I was at the edge of my seat! Hey! Network suits! This is good television! Of course, so was The Book of Daniel, and is/was Love Monkey, which appears to have fallen into the Bermuda Triangle. Does anybody remember Jay Mohr's short-lived series that had all of Hollywood obsessed and roaring with laughter at their incredibly inside jokes? I could understand if most of the humor on that show made no sense to anyone outside the industry, but it was damn good.

Is there some f-ing rule against intelligent television?

The recent death of former LA Times publisher Otis Chandler brought up his pointed criticism of the Times' faux pas regarding the Staples Center. Who does ABC think they're fooling when they keep running features on Disneyland like they were events of Earth-shattering importance on Eyewitness News?

The Cuban-Americans on Miami talk radio might declare a fatwah on me for saying so, but there's the unvarnished truth: Eyewitness News is no different than the evening news in La Habana. I've watched them both, and while there are a lot of advantages to living in a free United States, believe me, as opposed to a repressive dictatorship, a corporate controlled media with their eye on the bottom line keeps us from unfettered and independent news. Like I'm saying something you don't already know. There, now, I'll let you back to your nice, comfortable denial. After all, denial was created by nature for a purpose. We need our denial. But I do want intelligent fare on the idiot box (like that isn't the contradiction in terms that should tell me I might as well be buying lottery tickets).

Meanwhile, I managed some delayed gratification with Tom Corcoran's latest mystery, Air Dance Iguana. I timed when I came to the last page just as I finished my espresso at the King's Road Cafe. It wasn't a cortadito from Five Brothers, but it was good. I was surrounded by people talking some serious show business talk as I came to a very satisfying end of the book.

How lucky you people are who haven't yet started reading Tom Corcoran's mysteries. Now you have five books you can read in rapid succession: Gumbo Limbo, The Mango Opera, Bone Island Mambo, Octopus Alibi and Air Dance Iguana, that will drop you into the heart and the heat of the Florida Keys. Ah, to devour them one after the other without waiting a year for the next one!

If you're contemplating a trip to the Keys, or merely dreaming vicariously from your armchair, Corcoran can create mise-en-scene that doesn't just put you there, but let's you experience the change that happens on a daily basis to a place as a resident (or in this case, a virtual Conch) feels it. Like they say, it's not the heat, it's the humidity.

To further get you drawn into the mood of the Keys, which as you might have guessed is one of the most unique and atmospheric places in these United States, here's a few of the books Corcoran himself has mentioned in his books:

The Young Wrecker and the Florida Reef --Richard Meade Bache (first published in 1869 and republished in 1999)
A Key West Companion --Christopher Cox
The Florida Keys and The Coral Reef --Oliver Griswold
Ninety-Two in the Shade --Thomas McGuane
The Sibley Guide to Birds
Reap the Wild Wind --Thelma Stradel

Other authors he's mentioned include Ian Rankin's Black and Blue, the great John D. MacDonald's Cinnamon Skin (although my personal favorite MacDonald novel that explains Florida in one nice easy package--as well as gives you an appreciation for his style-- is Condominium), Alan Furst, S.J. Rozan and Tim Gautreaux.

Some titles that I would add to the ultimate Key West booklist (if you want to truly immerse yourself in the place) include:

Conch Cooking --A.J. Artman, Jr.
Houses of Key West --Alex Caemmeker
Memories of Key West --Lee Dodez
Key West Tales ---John Hersey
Key West Writers and Their Houses --Lynn Mitsouko Kaufelt
Cruising Guide to the Florida Keys --Capt. Frank Papy
Key West Collection --Dorothy Raymer
Mile Zero --Thomas Sanchez
The Walking and Biking Guide to Historic Key West --Sharon White
The Florida Keys: A History and Guide --Joy Williams

...and of course, when I sit down to read about the Keys, I always have a Dolph's map of the Florida Keys beside me along with Capt. Papy's Cruising Guide.

If you are so fortunate as to win the lottery so that you can afford a house in the Keys*, these are required reading. If you want to have any chance in Hell of being accepted as a freshwater Conch, you better study them (but you'll never truly become a native). If you're even going to write about the Keys, you'd best devour them. If you're going down there on a visit, this is merely the short list, mind you. There are some great bookstores there to fill out your knowledge.

Some haunts that Corcoran mentions (of which I've been to most, but not all, since I'm not a bar drinker) include Captain Tony's, the Hog's Breath Saloon, Fast Buck Freddies, Rick's Bar, Mangrove Mama's, The No Name Bar (on No Name Key, of course, with no address), Pepe's, Louie's Back Yard, Cafe Med, Ambrosia, the Turtle Kraals, and of course, the Five Brothers Market for a cortadito and pan cubano or a cuban sandwich. And if you're really lucky and pure of heart, you'll get a chance to see the Key Deer as you make your way down the Overseas Highway. This is a journey words only partly do justice; you do it and you'll know what I mean.

But if you don't have time for all this, just do yourself a favor and read Tom Corcoran's mysteries.

*Don't furnish it with your family heirlooms. The humidity will warp the wood and if you have to evacuate in a hurry ahead of a hurricane, and you will, it'll all end up in the ocean.

Has Oprah Lost It?

Wednesday evening: "Tomorrow: One straight man lives gay for thirty days."


What the Hell was she thinking? Did she get bopped on the head and think this was 25 years ago?

How about, "Millions of gay people live as straight for years on end, in fear of losing their jobs, being evicted from their homes, ostracized from their families, physically attacked or brutally murdered?"

I'm inclined to think that Oprah's heart was in the right place, and she wanted to build bridges of understanding, blah blah blah...

But I'm sorry. This was just so 80s Jerry Springer, no matter how sincerely it was orchestrated. Doesn't she have anybody in her humonguous media empire that can say, "Um, your Imperial Highness, we might want to revisit this idea."

I guess not.

It's not the most totally degrading or thoughtless idea of late that's been on the air lately; not like, for example, the Today show having a white family live as African-Americans and an African-American family live as whites. Where in the world was Matt Lauer's mind then?

That wasn't even 80s ---more like the 1960s.

But hey, what do I know? I'm not a big-shot producer earning six figures. Maybe their focus groups or staff meetings or random pollings came to the conclusion, after much wrangling, that this was all necessary and would do good. Maybe all those millions of Oprah and Today show viewers will be enlightened and educated.

After all, I seem to be the only person in this damn town that doesn't give a hoot about 'reality' television, at the risk of being run out town on a rail, cash cow for the industry that it is.

"Coming up on Oprah: Black women who date white men." Is she trying to tell Stedman something?

Fallen Fruit

There is a great article by Lance Webster in the March issue of BLADE magazine about Fallen Fruit, a trio in Silver Lake that search for and harvest "public" fruit from around LA. They share the fruit with each other and organizations feeding the hungry, as well as educate the public about the fruits they find.

I can remember how excited Mom was when she discovered that our first home in Los Angeles actually had an avocado tree in the yard! She was beside herself with glee, city girl (and avocado lover) that she was. Our last house in Los Angeles had an olive tree in the front yard that we never harvested, to our regret. Now I'm an olive oil fiend, and to think we once had our own tree!

I understand the new owners took the tree out. I don't even want to go past the house to see... To pull up a healthy, fruit bearing tree with a life span of some 300-800 years has to be one of the true crimes against nature.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I took a drive down to El Toro with my first lover and my best friend. The three of us happened on an old orange grove no longer commercially viable (there are, in fact, no longer any orange groves in Orange County) where the farmer let us pick all the oranges we could carry. In no time, we filled the car with bushels of oranges that we later distributed to everyone in our neighborhood. It was a lot of fun --I remember us laughing and climbing and gathering with glee; we hadn't known even five minutes earlier how we would be spending our afternoon. Later we sat on a bluff looking out to the Pacific Ocean and talking about the future and dreams and stuff.

The last time I went up that same road, the orange groves had all been replaced by suburban sprawl and a city of a quarter million people. I couldn't tell if where we'd picked our oranges was now the mall or the Marie Callender's or the Jiffy Lube.

Of the trio behind Fallen Fruit, I recognized the name of Matias Viegener. I haven't seen him in ages. He teaches at CalArts; in another galaxy, a long, long, time ago, he read as part of the Gay Men's Writers Series at A Different Light in Silver Lake. It was one of the most magical and incredibly entertaining nights at a reading that I've ever been to. We're both in the same anthology, Sundays at Seven, of literature from the series edited by the late James Carroll Pickett and Rondo Mieczkowski.

There's a link in the header above to Fallen Fruit.

Well, since I'm not I member of AMPAS I could give a rat's ass

Mar 4th, 2 pm: Well, the Los Angeles-Italia festival at Hollywood & Highland turned out to be a bust -- and the Havana Hut which only recently opened (great Cuban food!) was shuttered along with all the other eateries around the Kodak Theatre due to Hollywood's Big! Night! so I decided to head over to the Grove to eat at Pampas, my favorite Brazilian buffet (as opposed to Bossa Nova, my favorite sit-down Brazilian restaurant).

There's a character on the bus loudly giving out misinformation to tourists --more than half of what he's saying is so off base that it's more amusing than annoying.

Yesterday's rain and today's sun makes for a pleasant day to be outside at the Grove. There are times when it is kind of nice to look at one's town through the eyes of tourists and gain --or regain-- a sense of appreciation for what we take for granted. Because of Hollywood's! Big! Night! we have throngs of visitors from all over the world everywhere you go. It's particle's midsummer.

Tomorrow I'll go to South Pasadena for the Sisters in Crime/Los Angeles meeting after my morning meeting in WeHo. Mystery author Gary Phillips will be their guest speaker.

Traffic will be a little nuts around here then. The street closures and construction for all the big post-Oscar parties makes for a lot of detours. The clubs are filled with revelers.

March 5th, 1:45 p.m.: Not only did I enjoy a leisurely train ride on the Gold Line to South Pasadena, but I entertained myself thoroughly going in and out of shops on Mission Street and arriving a good 20 minutes early for the SinC event.

So, I went across the street to the Kaldi Coffee and Tea at 1019 El Centro for an espresso to wait. Most of the patrons were lookers (something about those art students and engineering students is hot) ...even the bespectacled nerdy beauty behind the counter. Oh, that blase attitude of liberal arts grad students! Yum! Maybe part of it is cuz I use to help my dad grade his students work back when I was in the eighth grade (if they only knew!). Sometimes, when the foreign students were left alone over the holidays with no place to go we would have them over for dinner. They would kill me at our pool table, but I didn't mind.

More patrons came in and out of the cafe as I sat, listening to "Sing, Sing, Sing" and other big band hits. This cafe is art student central, a little touch of Cambridge in the San Gabriel Valley (the breeders are all in the cafes on Mission street).

It wouldn't be LA is there wasn't a CREW PARKING sign across the street, and one of the patrons had a jacket with "The Contender/Crew Season II" across the back.

Twelve stained glass art pieces hang in the windows, including a homage to Route 66 (Mission Street was part of the fabled highway) and my favorite piece in the place of honor over the door, a rendering of the facade of the Pan Pacific Auditorium. I picked up some Art Night Pasadena guides while I was there.

The triangular-shaped Buster's Cafe next to the train tracks on Mission had the chocolate croissant I'd craved; a block away at Zinnia's, at 1040 Mission St. there was a t-shirt lettering kit that I want. ...not need, but want.

Had I not come on a whim to South Pasadena today, I might not have heard that next Friday was Art Night, when a number of galleries, art organizations and the venerable Norton Simon Museum throw open their doors, with shuttle buses carrying throngs from venue to venue. The quite provincial Pasadena at times doesn't let the rest of LA in on when they're doing these sorts of things. They like to thumb their noses up at the rest of Southern California quite a bit.

Well, I see people heading into the library now, so I better make my way back across the street.

Twas the night before Oscar....

All the tents are up, there's not a cloud in the sky, swept clean by yesterday's showers. All Hollywood is getting ready for their big day.

I'm not feeling it.

Oh, I'll get into the mood, soon enough. There's an Italian-American Festival with lots of (hopefully) good food at Hollywood & Highland, next to the Kodak Theatre. If you wanted to pick up a tourist this weekend, that's where you'd hang out. Myself, I'd like to find a nice grilled veggie pannini. Some people get their kicks out of dating out-of-towners, but I've not found it conducive to LTR. Even the spontaneity of it seems a little forced. Of course, it's a different story when I'm out of town... Then it's picking up some Gilmore Girls-style snacks for the Big Show...

Le Roi es Mort, Vive le Roi.. Oscar!

I just saw a limo that refused to yield the right of way to a fire engine with sirens blazing. This town sure has it's priorities in order.

For you information, the latest update provided by the City of West Hollywood:

Oscar Night Street Closures

Sunday, March 5th, brings with it the prestige of the Academy Awards. Of course, the ceremony sometimes pale in comparison to the glitz and glamour of the subsequent celebration events. West Hollywood is home to several large events that evening.

To accommodate the various Oscar Parties in West Hollywood, the following streets will be closed from 3:00 p.m., Sunday, March 5th to 3:00 a.m., Monday, March 6th.

• San Vicente between Santa Monica and Melrose
• Melrose between Almont and Norwich
• La Peer between Santa Monica and Melrose
• Southbound Almont between Santa Monica and Melrose
  

For more information, contact Bonnie Smith-Ruiz at (323) 848-6456.

_________________________________

Oh, the joys of living in a company town.

What a difference a day makes...

My post from yesterday had to be completely redone... probably all for the better. I had deviated from what I had planned to originally post, so I tried to keep some of the mood that I was in yesterday as when I recomposed it... but yesterday is no more. Today is an entirely different day. No need to worry about scaring any skittish people today (what's up with that? Are some people afraid of their own shadows, or are there some who just have the ability to project their fears onto others?).

Maybe my higher power wanted me to type out La Vida Es Un Carnaval twice 'cuz I needed to be hit over the head with the message in the song.

At any rate, today the sun is shining, there is still the faint sound of children playing in the park nearby. The big tent for one of the fabulous after parties this Sunday has been erected right out the window from where I sit.

The snow that graced the mountain peaks in the distance has all melted --the mountains with the ski resorts where there is still snow aplenty are hidden behind them from where I sit at this moment. I've got things to do, and it's somebody else's turn to be morose. I might just take an afternoon stroll up to 'Daddy Starbucks' later, if for no other reason than to feel the warm sun wash over my face. As Mom used to say to us when we were watching television, 'Go out and play! It's a beautiful day outside!'

Who knows, I might even see Joan and Melissa's tour bus go by again (they seem to be on an endless search for a parking space or using their RV as a moving billboard).

Whoops

So last night sucked for the most part. I frightened the pink off of some poor white boy's skin. I saw that look of terror in his face one would expect to have if staring at a mad bull that was staring back at ya. You'd have thought I was the first Negro he'd ever seen. Either that, or in a past life he lived on a plantation, in constant fear of a slave uprising, and there was a hatchet missing.

Anyone who knows me would get how ludicrous it is to be frightened of me. It isn't the first time that it has happened; and as for most people of color, we get accustomed to this happening from time to time, that is, to say, if one ever gets accustomed to it. Normally --after years of being around WeHo, especially-- it isn't a problem insulating myself from the dysfunction of others, and despite the number of well-adjusted people in WeHo (Yes, Virginia, they do exist!)t it does tend to live up to it's rep as a magnet for those who may appear okay from a distance but up close one discovers they're just plain... --how can I put this delicately?-- nuts. They give crazy people a bad name.

It was not how I wanted to spend my Mardi Gras. There was no way to excise the feeling that it put me in. I guess for the anniversary of the night before i began my sobriety, I should expect to fell a little out of sorts.

Twenty-five years ago today, I woke up at sunrise at the end of the bus line by the Korean Friendship Bell in San Pedro. That was one long walk home, believe you me. A number of times since then I've gone back to the site, especially on my anniversary, high on a bluff overlooking the LA & Long Beach harbors with a million dollar view of Santa Catalina Island. There are usually kids flying kites near the old WW II artillery sites. That section of Fort MacArthur has been made into a park dedicated to peace, with a small museum and even a little-used youth hostel. It's easily one of the most beautiful (and surprisingly unknown) picnic spots in all of Los Angeles. A great place to quietly meditate and reflect on my sobriety birthday.

I don't get down there as often as I'd like to; but when I do I never forget that the circumstances of my visit are a far cry from that stormy morning 25 years ago.

Everybody probably has --or ought to, at any rate-- their own special place to go to, even if you can only usually visit it in a day dream. As the town all around me gets ready for Hollywood's! Big! Night! this Sunday, l can't help but think about what has transpired over these last 25 years. So I wasn't able to keep from internalizing the effect of that poor kid staring at me in fear... that ebbs in time. The good news is, thanks to my recovery, I'm not a person who should be feared and avoided like that.

La Vida Es Un Carnaval...

This song is one of my all-time favorites by Celia Cruz. Not only is it a popular, upbeat danceable numer, but the very lyrics seem to lend themselves to a philosophy for my recovery. Considering that Celia Cruz already knew that she was dying of cancer when she wrote it makes it all the more poignant. You don't even need to know Spanish to enjoy it, but I've enclosed a translation of the lyrics I found on the web for anyone who may want it. Sorry that this font doesn't have the necessary accents.

La Vida Es Un Carnaval --Celia Cruz

Todo aquel que piense que la vida es desigual,
Tiene que saber que no es asi,
que la vida es una hermosura,
hay que vivirla.
Todo aquel que piense que esta solo y esta mal,
tiene que saber que no es asi,
que en la vida no hay nadie solo,
siempre hay alguien.

Ay, no ha que llorar,
que la vida es un carnaval,
es mas bello vivir cantando.
Oh, oh, oh, Ay, no hay que llorar,
que la vida es un carnaval
y las penas se van cantando.

Todo aquel que piense la vida siempre es cruel,
tiene que sabe que no es asi,
que tan solo hay momentos malos,
y todo pasa.
Todo aquel que piense que esto nunca va a cambiar,
tiene que saber que no es asi,
que al mal tiempo buena cara,
y todo pasa.

Ay, no ha que llorar,
que la vida es un carnaval,
es mas bello vivir cantando.
Oh, oh, oh, Ay, no hay que llorar,
que la vida es un carnaval,
y las penas se van cantando.

Para aquellos que se quejan tanto.
Para aquellos que solo critican.
Para aquellos que usan las armas.
Para aquellos que nos contamin.
Para aquellos que hacen la guerra.
Para aquellos que viven pecando.
Para aquellos que nos maltratan.
Para aquellos que no contagian.

Translation:

Everyone out there that thinks that life is unfair,
Needs to know that's not the case,
because life is beautiful,
you just have to live it.
Everyone out there that thinks they are alone and that's bad,
Needs to know that's not the case,
Because in life no one is alone,
there is always someone.

Ay, there's no need to cry,
because%2

If Ever I Cease To Love

Today's link is The Gumbo Pages by Chuck Taggart which will teach you everything you need to know about New Orleans ...and why you should care what happens to the Crescent City.

2/27 4:42 p.m. Torino. I had not planned on watching the Winter Olympics at all. I'm not a fan of winter sports per se --not even the feyest of ice skating routines. I know, minus ten gay points.

I have some residual memory of when I was a kid getting a kick out of the feel and sound of the crunch of snow under my shoes and the tinkling of the trickling of melting ice. Sledding at recess behind our one room school house. Throwing open the curtains to watch with awe as snow fell on Christmas Eve. Catching snowflakes on the tip of your tongue.

That was a long time ago.

So, of course, not in my plan, but I end up watching the opening ceremonies of the Winter Olympics at Torino on television. It was nice. Neat, even. I'd even cal it inspiring. Then Bode Miller's face started showing up everywhere --on the cover of every magazine, including the NY Times Sports magazine. I honestly had never heard of the guy. And if I never hear of him again, I wouldn't mind.

Ah, but then along came Apolo Anton Ohno. In every interview he's unfailingly articulate and polite. And cute as all get out. And he could skate. He's got five Olympic medals that says so, too. Not 'til today did I learn he was on the cover of Cosmopolitan and somebody's 50 sexiest men list. I don't have a list, but if I did... he'd beat out Matthew McConaughey (and George Clooney) in a heartbeat.

Do enough interviews with people and you get a feel for who's genuine. I like the kid. He's got the great All-American story: raised by a single parent who worked two jobs to support Ohno's training. Found sport to stay out of trouble. He's helped raise money (I think the last count I saw was in the nature of $11 million) for Ronald McDonald House in his native Seattle in addition to giving back to innumerable other charities. A role model --and dare I say it?-- hero, to the entire Asian-American community.

And did I mention he was cute? I'm not a betting kind of person as a rule, but I have a feeling he's not likely to end up in Betty Ford. Of course, he's young still, and the Island of Lost Boys may yet sing their siren song.

If I was annoyed at anybody during the Winter Olympics, it was the NBC reporter who kept repeatedly pressing Ohno to say if he was going to Vancouver in 2010 or retire --while the kid was still trying to get his breath back and process the single most important moment in his life. It was like sticking a microphone in the face of a mother who just lost her kids in a fire and asking, "How do you feel?" Even if you didn't go to j-school, you know what I mean.

The closing ceremonies were even better than the opening. I want one of those 125 mph air blowers! Way cool! Look at those guys flying in the air! You just knew they were having a good time! It looked like a lot of fun to me.

Tom Brokaw's moving segment on the role of African Americans in the liberation of Torino from the Nazis, had it aired prior to the Olympics or at the beginning, along with the stunning kick-ass photography of Torino and the Alps they showed in the last 30 seconds of Sunday night before they started running their credits, might have given NBC a big boost in their ratings. Instead of the worst television viewing audience in 20 years, it could have been the highest. Someone tell the mucky-mucks at NBC they blew it. Nobody's fault but their own. They can't blame it on "Dancing with the Stars" or whatever other crap was on television. The major networks all had re-runs on, I guess in assumption that everyone would be watching the Olympics. And in just a few minutes of airtime at the end of it all, it was obvious that NBC had assembled the talent in Torino that they needed to hold the audience.

I caught myself thinking how great it would have been to watch the final footage on a flatscreen. Hey, I got to see it. And the NY Times did have a full page photo of Ohno inside. Was it racism that had the (presumably heterosexual) white male on cover of every major media outlet? Was it the conventional wisdom or presumption of Miller's celebrity draw that made them proceed with the biggest embarrassment of amateur athletics for the foreseeable future? I'd like to listen in on what some journalism profs would have to say about that in their classroom discussions.

Whatever. The Winter Olympics are over now. I found a new poster boy. The next time I get to see Apolo Anton Ohno will probably be on a Wheaties box. If he doesn't compete in Vancouver, NBC would be fools not to have him do commentary. He never faltered once on camera that I saw. Oh, that's right. They are fools. But even fools can learn from their mistakes. Or not.

Anyway, enough of that. It's Mardi Gras and time for some serious celebrating. ...and that is not a contradiction in terms, especially where this year's Mardi Gras is concerned. Do yourself a favor and click onto the Gumbo Pages, and you'll see what I mean. The sun is shining, it's a beautiful day out. Go out and play.

Laissez les Bon Temps Roulez!

2/25 8 p.m. Saturday night before the impending storm I picked up a po' boy at the Gumbo Pot, serenaded by musicians from New Orleans. Hollering for beads was infectious --they had little girls throwing them, as often as not, on the roof.

In WeHo the LA Times newsrack had a little sign advertising their ongoing coverage of the mother of all awards shows (when people in "the industry" think the sun rises and sets around them) that read, "Who's going to go home with the little guy?" --Did they come up with that just for Boystown, I wonder?

The Feb. 27 issue of Newsweek had a nice piece about Mardi Gras in New Orleans by Michael Patrick Welch that complemented their 'hard' coverage of New Orleans recovery very poignantly.

2/26 2 p.m. I'm such a pig. I listen to the fascinating experiences of others, and envision myself living their lives. I'm the kid in the candy store who doesn't understand why I can't have one of everything. It completely slips my mind that hey! I've had one of those lives, too! It's been full of a lot of laughs, tons of excitement, and more experiences and sensations and variety than most people could ever dream of.

And you know what? It's perfectly okay to want more. No, I don't discount the life I've had, thinking it more constricted and narrow than some (there's no winning at that); it isn't at all a case of envy or coveting what I don't have. No, just a good old fashioned case of if some is good, more is better. After all, someday it will all come to an end, and I don't want any regrets for what I could have done but didn't.

2/27 'Fat Monday' 6:33 a.m. This year especially, as New Orleans and the Gulf Coast celebrates Mardi Gras as well as declares to the world its determination to come back after the natural (and government) disasters, it signifies more than the 'farewell to the flesh' but the whole of the pagan holiday that represents renewal and the spirit of rejoicing and reaffirming their survival through the darkest hour.

Perhaps no one as much as those in recovery could appreciate the symbolism. It is very much a part of what sets Southern California AA apart from the rest of the country: how we shout and cheer and celebrate and acknowledge various lengths of sobriety, recognizing that especially at certain points our spirit may waver a bit or be more vulnerable than at others. Like handing Gatorade to a runner to prevent their dehydration, we spur each other on, knowing what it means to have survived.

For those not in recovery, it may be hard to fathom, but this path we have had to walk has been divinely ordained for us to follow. It is an awesome responsibility, to be silent partners on this spiritual journey. Why couldn't it have been a little easier? And with a lower body count? This, the eve of my last drink 25 years ago is cause for some navel-gazing, to be sure, but it is something that for those of us who have been given this incredible gift we know --and must be constantly reminded-- of the obligation that comes with it. If you saw yourself die, and come back, how could you possibly delude yourself in thinking that your life is yours to do with as you please? To some degree, there is a lot of latitude in the choices we are allowed to make. But we must never, ever, forget that when all is said and done that we have turned our lives over to a power greater than ourselves; and it is in the service of that greater good that we must be.

It's weird, and wonderful, and scary. Even after all these years, like your first trip to Disneyland or the seeing Northern Lights. Sobriety is the ultimate orgasm, and whatever Tantric tricks Sting is doing to make his last, ours are even longer, and more of a rush, guaranteed. It's a life with a really yucky birthing process, though, and I wouldn't wish it on anybody. Anybody who isn't already slated to receive it, that is. If you are, then it's like, wow! Flying over the Swiss Alps like Peter Pan. Like those flying dreams I used to have when I was a kid (I had the top bunk and would wake up in the morning on the floor, but man, it was flying).

One of my favorite stores just moved to the heart of WeHo

My Twelve Step Store has moved into the building where Little Frida's used to be, at 8730 Santa Monica, #B.

It's a great little gift shop with books, candles (no bells), t-shirts, birthday cards and lots of twelve step-oriented gifts. Check it out if you're in the neighborhood.

"And now, for the winner of the ugliest drag queen prostitute contest..."

Last night as I arrived home there was a drag queen prostitute working the corner by my apartment building-- and trust me, she did not direct any James Bond movies.

Picture Chaka Khan, eating like Kirstie Alley before she hooked up with Jenny Craig, with the lips of Jessica Rabbit and a wig that consisted of the tangled and flea-ridden pelts of several mangy brownish-orange mutts.

Could heterosexual men be that desperate? She was tragic and scary at the same time. And I won't even start on her dress...

Vivir en Hollywood...

This morning KPCC's Airtalk with Larry Mantle* had a segment broadcasting live from the corner of Hollywood and Gower, 1.44 miles from my front door.

Residents, business owners, community activists and homeless youth spoke out for and against a proposed 60 bed facility that would provide transitional housing and services for the enormous homeless youth population in Hollywood. Three guesses which side of the debate the homeowners and the youth were on-- and you're first two don't count.

There are more homeless youth on the streets of Hollywood than there were residents left in New Orleans last fall. This issue has been studied, argued, planned for, and underserved for more than forty years!

In the 1920s, the good people of Hollywood went so far as to take out ads in newspapers back east, urging people not to try their luck at seeking fame and fortune here, as the community was already overwhelmed by hopefuls who were destitute. Police routinely turned back people trying to enter California during the Great Depression.

Next year will be the 40th anniversary of the "Summer of Love," which fueled an even greater migration of youth to California. Many of today's young people are refugees of unspeakable abusive horrors which negates any humane possibility of them returning to their families of origin.

California has known nothing but waves of newcomers since --well, since the Spanish began annihilating the indigenous population before America was even a country.

The representative for the homeowner's association who spoke on the program appeared to be out of touch with scale of the problem taking place below her home in the hills. In voicing her concerns that providing services to those most critically at need, she suggested that the area would become a magnet for even more homeless. Hello?!? Not only does the need exist now but it has existed at crisis levels since long before the gentrified sections of Hollywood began commanding rents on the order of the toniest quarters of Paris, New York, or Rio. The only solution to make the problem go away for those in denial would be along the order of methods tried in Serbia or Rwanda.

The issue is not going to wait until we have another dot-com styled bubble in our economy; it's here, now. These kids are dying on the streets and we as a society are killing them.

Kudos to Larry Mantle for putting the issue right in front of us so we can't ignore it.



* Click on the link at left to KPCC and Airtalk to hear the program.

some new posts of interest

Since all Americans should be watching and reading what's going on in New Orleans, I've included a couple of local sites for reputable information there: The Times-Picayune, and the N.O. Public Library.

My brother turned me on to a hilarious parody site, "Rude Pundit" ...because sometimes the real news is too much to take (and at times it's hard to tell where the parody stops and the real news begins).

And last, a couple more literary sites, including one of my favorite SoCal mystery writers (and a former newspaperman), John Morgan Wilson.

It was just too nice of a day to be true... *

...So I get tagged for jury duty in downtown LA come April.

This weekend there was an incredible sunset with clear skies and a gentle breeze that turned into a flag waving, teeth-chattering reminder that it was still February as soon as the last of the sun's rays had disappeared. I wrote the following on the way back into town:


I live in Hollywood, California, USA.

The land of a million dreams. A place built on illusion and fantasy...

...and hope.

Daily there are the throngs of tourists from around the globe (and who knows? Perhaps the galaxy--we've been beaming those radio waves into space for more than 80 years now) shuffling bewildered from one "attraction" to another. We are entertained by sidewalk musicians who have dreams of hitting it big one day. We are hit up for change by those who lost the faith in the dream, or came here because they saw a place on the television one night where the wind won't chill you to the bone or life will be sparkling instead of bleak.

Some of those who come here feel bitter; they'd been tricked, sold a false bill of goods. But any con man will tell you that you can't cheat somebody who doesn't want to believe in the illusion.

There are plenty of folks here who persist in that belief, when all evidence points to the contrary. Sad to say, but there are even those among us who conspire on purpose to prop us the illusion at all cost, even when it would be better for them and everyone else if they'd just let it fall.

It seems to defy all sense of reason at times for anyone to populate an arid stretch of coast fraught with faultlines prone to periodic upheaval.

Still, they persist in coming here: the dreamers, those with a hunger they presume this place will satiate. Why would they with a parched throat flock to a desert?

Even if the natural landscape has been obscured and reshaped by human hands, filled with non-indigenous plant life from the world over irrigated by water brought a staggering distance, that unique quality of place persists in revealing itself. Some come as pilgrims to see and touch and return home, others to begin life anew here, to reinvent themselves as has the land itself.

There has been no shortage of critics who have felt compelled to rip into their interpretation of what they perceive to be false and fake and full of folly. Sadly, they may be the only ones it could be said are unable to see.

Perhaps it takes a seemingly barren scene for us to view the oasis as it truly is-- not ought to be or could be made over as, but could exist in its own right.

*Click on this header for the Hermosa Beach webcam and a view of one of our better beaches in LA. Great site for seeing LA sunsets over the Pacific...

Exactly Two Months until the 100th Anniversary of the 1906 Earthquake!

Could there be a better time for FEMA to reveal that they have no plan to deal with a catastrophic earthquake in California!

Some New Literary Links

The Lambda Literary Foundation has reorganized, and has a new website:

Lambda Literary Foundation

To my list of favorite bookstores, I want to add the best source for Florida mysteries:

Murder on the Beach

The largest book fair in the country, and a champion of all things literary in South Florida and Latin America, it has been a vacation destination in its own right for book lovers from around the country:

Miami International Book Fair

And the logical organization to find out more about Florida mysteries and the authors who write them:

Mystery Writers of America - Florida Chapter

A list of some of the Florida authors whose work I thoroughly enjoy, and give a well-rounded look at life in the sunshine State:

Tom Corcoran --who is the writer to read for Key West--in one novel recently he even cleverly slipped in a list of his favorite books about the Florida Keys.

S. V. Date --the Palm Beach Post reporter holds the honor of being the only journalist to be thrown out of the Florida State House --for reporting that the Speaker of the House had hired a stripper as a secretary. He has a keen sense of the workings and shenanigans of Florida state government like no other writer.

Tim Dorsey --Former Tampa Tribune author who has a bottomless pit of Floridiana ephemera that makes his madcap mysteries a must for anyone visiting Florida or the armchair tourist.

Carl Hiaasen --aside from his masterful, hilarious novels, his columns in the Miami Herald offer an ongoing look at the dirty dealings of Florida politics. There are two books of some of his collected columns that offer a rare non-fiction counterpoint to the scandals he skewers in his mystery novels.

John MacDonald --while his Travis McGee mysteries have sold in the millions, don't overlook his novel Condominium which doesn't exactly fall in the mystery category, yet describes what it happening in Florida today as clearly as when it was written 30 years ago.

Barbara Parker --a former Federal prosecutor in Miami turned mystery writer with a keen sense of Miami history and an unmatched ability to guide the reader through the legal world without talking down to you.


These are but a few of my favorite authors, of course, limited in part by those which I readily knew their website addresses. No doubt I'll add more as time goes on.

There are 325,000 names on the government terrorist list

That works out to be about one terrorist for every 912 people in the United States.

Who are they? You? Your neighbor? Your kindergarten teacher?

Everyone from Warren Olney on KCRW to Towleroad among others have brought up points about the latest wrinkle in this Cheney business that need to be looked at by everyone. The 'incident' is not over just because the president said so and for us to go about our business.

Thank you Mr. President, but it'll be over when the people of the United states say it's over. Does anyone else think if this had been a Democratic VP accidentally shooting someone that we'd have --at the very least-- another $40 million special prosecutor on our hands?

Click on the header above find a link to listen to Feb. 17th's To The Point with Warren Olney on KCRW. For a comprehensive look at the Cheney shooting incident (and its ramifications) go to the towleroad link on the left and go to Feb 17.

A brief note about who my links are

Now that I've got the first of my links posted, I should explain a little about who they are.

First up are the Miami links. I can't get enough on urban preservation, and I'm a fan of mystery fiction; and in no city in America do urban politics and mysteries go hand in hand more than in Miami. As Carl Hiaasen and so many others have said better than I could, something just happens to the most normal, even-keeled folks when they get to Miami that makes the truth stranger than fiction... and damn entertaining, even though so much is at stake--even people's lives and the outrageous damage to the environment and flaunting of the most basic civil rights.

If the evening news or your fictional television drama aren't doing it for ya, check these out:

The 26th Parallel
Critical Miami
miamist
Miamista
Miamity
The Next Few Hours

Next up are some of the independent bookstores around the country that offer not only unique selections at times not found in the superstore chains with 100,000 books. Don't even get me started on the degree of familiarization with literature they offer--and if it isn't on the shelf, they cane most likely get it for you. Most independents offer an array of and intimate setting for readings not found in chains. They are also on the front line of vigilance for protecting your human rights. 'Nuff said. Please preserve what shred of democracy we still have and patronize them:

Books and Books
Equal Writes
Skylight Books

A couple of my favorite artists:

Scott Haile
Jordi Labanda
Paul Madonna

and with links to a number of artists:

Salsa e Pimenta, from Portugal, of all places.

and music:

Phideaux Xavier

Some fun sites that I visit now and then:

The B Squad
hangten
Joe.My.God.
Made in Brazil, with links for everything Brasil as well as fashion news from an insider (and eye candy tastefully done)
The Pretty Boys Club

For entertainment news:

Notes From Hollywood

One of the best blogs written from a recovery perspective (with yet more tasteful eye candy):

One Gay at a Time

One of the best reliable and trustworthy sources for news and information online (which as anyone reading this probably already knows is often something you have to take on faith and hope):

Towleroad

The local online Hollywood community news source:

WeHo News

I'll try to be more diligent about explaining who my links are and why I felt compelled to put them there as I add them.

Brrrr! It's only 60 degrees outside!

I happened to find a painting of the New Upper Terrace Market in San Francisco by artist E. Dale Erickson. It really captures the building and it's setting marvelously.

Now that is San Francisco. I've only seen a few other works depicting scenes in the City by the same artist, but if I had to live with this one... life would be good.

It might be noticed that for the San Franciscan, most familiar points of reference contrast quite a bit from those the tourists know. It really is a shame that most people scurry to and fro to all the tourist traps and don't experience San Francisco. Of course, those who remember the City from the 30s and 40s and 50s are fond of saying (like the residents of Miami Beach), "ah, but you should have seen it back then..."

And it is true, that since the early 1960s when my family first came to the Bay Area that the City has changed a great deal. The number of Victorians homes, for example, has shrunk from 18,000 then to about 14,000 now. Fortunately, the 60s brought about --along with all of the very significant change to the skyline and the psyche of the City-- a very strong sense of public stewardship in the protection of the cultural heritage of San Francisco... in far more than just the skyline.

If you should ever be so fortunate as to have the chance to visit San Francisco --or for that matter, return for a repeat visit or even live there, do your best to look at the City through a different perspective. It amazes me that not until years after I left did I ever wander around the ruins of the Sutro Baths, or see the Golden Gate Bridge from the walkway mid-span, or from the ocean-side view in Lincoln Park.

Part of the little ritual I do upon entering San Francisco that I've described before is a silent thanks that I have one more chance to see the City. It makes me look at where I live at present with an entirely different perspective and appreciation as well. Not that any other place could ever be San Francisco.

Be patient... God isn't finished with me yet....

I've flown around the world in a plane,
I've settled revolutions in Spain,
The North Pole I have charted,
Still I can't get started...

with learning some of the basics of how to post links and so on. Given that I have but a few minute of the day to spend online, it'll be a while yet before I get up to speed.

...so if a hyperlink doesn't work, or takes you on a hunting trip with the vice president instead of where I was trying to send you, be kind. I'm getting there... I'm not sure where there is yet, but I'm getting there...

Thanks for understanding-- and if I make a gaff, please let me know.

Tomorrow They Will Kiss

Eduardo Santiago's first novel, Tomorrow They Will Kiss, will be out this July. He passed around the postcard of the bookcover and it is drop-dead gorgeous. This will be the one time in recorded history that you can judge a book by it's cover. If I only had a way to scan it! The cover graphics look so good it should be up for as many awards as the book. Of course, having already read excerpts of the book, I can say that.

Everyone is really happy for Eduardo--this has been a long time coming. His website (http://www.eduardosantiago.com) isn't up yet. We like it when good things happen to deserving people.

I like it, too, when the guilty get what's comin' to them. The Cheney hunting jokes have been better on the web than on television (although Letterman was good). One blogger (sorry--I've already forgotten who) however added the sobering reminder that this is the number two man in charge of the largest nuclear arsenal on the planet. Gulp. As the bumper sticker says,

IMPEACH CHENEY FIRST

Two Days After The Day After tomorrow

If Jake Gyllenhaal and Dennis Quaid show up in New York ...it's time to evacuate New York!

I almost felt guilty (but almost isn't good enough!) that the temps hit 90 degrees again in LA while the New York Times reports the storm across the eastern seaboard was 1200 miles by 500 miles...

I remember sledding at recess in kindergarten behind our one room school house (can you get more f-n American than that?) the winter of the big blizzard in Cheyenne. Yes, that was 1963. I think our family went through Sage (the home of Ennis del Mar in the original Annie Proulx story of Brokeback Mountain) in order to get to Utah, as it was on the main highway. I'm pretty sure though that we never made it up to Lightning Flat (the hamlet where Jack Twist was born and raised).

Sunday was the 30th anniversary of Sal Mineo's murder. I recall one night about 10 years ago walking down Holloway Drive and realizing it was Feb. 12th. It was creepy enough that I'd never do it again. I'm not one for those macabre 'graveline tours' of the sites of Hollywood tragedies that have become so popular in recent years. The traffic jam to get around the Hollywood Forever cemetery on the nights of their movie series are bad enough.

It was fun back in high school to drive with my friends up Sunset Plaza Drive to Wonderland Avenue in dense fog while telling ghost stories. For atmosphere that will electrify the hairs on the back of your neck, nothing in my book beats a nocturnal foggy drive on either Highway One through Big Sur or along the lanes through Golden Gate Park.

Oh, how my mom could read "the bogeyman will get you if you don't watch out!" She was a one woman old-time radio show, breathing life into every character in every bedtime story she ever read. I've heard literally thousands of writers read over the years; while their delivery may have been eloquent or mesmerizing, they could never hold a candle to Mom. My love of literature --both reading and writing-- I owe to her. It's things like that I think of now, on the day before what would have been her birthday on Feb. 15th.

Well, whatever else I was going to write was lost as my mind drifted back in time. I wanted to search for the best hunting-with-Dick Cheney jokes, but I'm just not in the mood now.

Bad enough, I have to get around town with all this Valentine's Day crap everywhere. Whoopee. I regaled my neighbors with Billy Holliday this morning singing "Good Morning, Heartache." Funny thing though... before I left home, I found myself putting on Vince Guaraldi's "Linus and Lucy" --what I refer to as the 'Snoopy dance song.' It has to be about the most subconsciously uplifting song for those of us baby boomers who came of age back in the day. It's pretty hard not to be assailed with a barrage of happy memories of childhood and an outpouring of hope from some unseen source while listening to that song.

I wonder which one drives the neighbors crazy more...

Given that you can see where Peggy Entwhistle took her leap off the Hollywood sign back in 1932 from the window at the end of the hall, the Snoopy dance song is pretty cheap therapy if you ask me-- although I don't know what all that thumping around may sound like to the poor folks in the apartment under me.

Anyone up for golf with Dick Cheney?

Seldom have I so looked forward to Jay Leno's monologue (not to mention Saturday Night Live) as this week...

What do you suppose the poor fellow said before Cheney shot him?

"Sir, thank you for being so understanding about me not voting with the Party on this matter...."


What people ought to be concerned about is that the White House tried their darndest to keep this story under wraps. They're more than happy to tell you how the VP likes his eggs cooked, but when he shoots a fella, well, heck; that's another matter that's just too insignificant for the public to know...

LA: 90 degrees Minneapolis: 28 degrees NY: 35 degrees!

I don't trust the ratings system that the networks use that lets shows I like be kicked to the curb while television is awash in @#?! reality shows. I guess I'm just not your typical viewer. Bad, bad, American, me.

I don't spend a lot of time (any, as a rule) on industry gossip (a crime punishable by death --or worse-- social exile) but I'm surrounded by the aftershocks around WB and UPN and this new CBS Warner venture. I'm relieved that Veronica Mars is already assured a slot; the Gilmore Girls may safe as well (even if does seem to be nearing the end of it's natural life cycle. It's still written better than most of the stuff on the screen.

Last night's Love Monkey was funny, intelligent; maybe not as tight as the premiere, but still well done.

And how cheeky was it calling that the "season finale" of Surface; as much as I want to see more of it, I don't trust the network to continue it in the Fall (nothing is sure in this town, except that the ground will shake underneath you at some point). In that final scene where the four heroes were running through downtown Wilmington away from the tsunami, I focused on the Princess Street sign they passed under, near the site of my great-grandfather Alex Manly's newspaper, the Wilmington Record, destroyed by a lynch mob on Nov. 10, 1898. Freaky. Then that last shot when the camera pulled away with them atop the church steeple, the whole town underwater. Cool. Cheesy CGI (like I could even tell --that I only had a 72" plasma screen to really see how cheesy!) but still it was cool nevertheless.

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On page 31 and again on page 78 of the Feb. 20 issue of IN Los Angeles, there were two attacks on GLAAD questioning whether it was an organization that had outlived it's usefulness. Yet on page 20 of the same issue, no less than a half dozen incidents of antigay violence or hate speech were documented. It would seem most of those who think GLAAD unnecessary are less than willing to risk their own necks along with whatever tenuous status they have with the majority at the expense of the gay community as a whole. Hmmm.

It may seem cruel to say this, but forest fires make for spectacular sunsets. Of course, the wind has to blow just right, or you can't see it. This afternoon, downtown LA was clear and windswept clean with the strange gray mass in the sky making a great backdrop. The drifting smoke made for all manner of pinks and oranges once the sun lowered to the horizon, with the silhouettes of the palm trees pillars of black.

The falling ash recalled the nuclear fallout that never came during the Cold War. Jim took me to see "It Came From Beyond" last week, a musical spoof of those drive-in movies of the 1950s. It mostly worked; one number in particular included 'duck and cover' choreography familiar to any baby boomer. Today the ash was less benign (for those of use who don't live near any of the fires). What's really scary: the first of the boomers are turning 60! That's news I just do not want to hear!

Another 400 more homes were evacuated, and there are more fires in Malibu and Santa Clarita. So very Nathaniel West.

Ashes From the Fire Land in My Coffee

It was more than a little annoying at first, being unable to avoid the swirling little bits of ash that were coming down all around me. There was the realization that I was inevitably going to end up with ash in my coffee, and there was nothing that I could do about it. I'd not watched the news, so I wasn't aware of the extent of the fire to the east in the Cleveland National Forest that had caused at last count the evacuation of at least 2,000 homes.

Today the fire continues unabated; but the wind seemes to have changed direction enough so that the ugly, ominous cloud was no longer hanging overhead and the heat of the day could be enjoyed in full. Ironically, it's the first day in weeks that I'm not sneezing my head off incessantly.

The sidewalks of West Hollywood seem largely deserted; Ginger Rogers Beach is in all likelihood packed with anyone who has the time free to enjoy it. Perhaps I'll head out there tomorrow. The November before the Northridge earthquake, you could watch the Malibu fires burn from the shore. I watched the lines of fire marching like Sherman to the sea flames late at night from the end of the Santa Monica pier, warmed by the same Santa Ana winds that fanned the flames. It was quite the unexpected sight for the tourists. When Yuki came to visit the following summer, after we'd recovered --emotionally, at least-- from the quake, I took him on a tour of the Malibu area to show him the houses without chimneys and chimneys without houses.

Sean Penn was camping atop a mountain in a trailer on what had been the home estate he'd shared with Madonna when they were married. He had the money to rebuild, but his smoldering rage at the loss left him sitting there alone sucking on beer after beer staring at his ruins, frightening away any and all offers of help from his friends and family. The recent death of his brother makes me wonder if his family is afflicted with that curious Irish disease.

Just as the victims in most horror flicks tend to be white, so too, many of the victims of this fire, as with the last one and the one before that, were people trying to escape the hordes of darker skinned people who made up the masses of LA. It tended to temper my sympathy a bit, as beautiful as the mountains are.

Of course, a number of retreats and artist's colonies were lost in the last fire, too.

Oh, goody! My books have arrived!

I have only just finished David Rakoff's new book, "Don't Get Too Comfortable." I got his signature on his first book "Fraud" at Vroman's in Pasadena a while back and have been content (not) with his occasional contributions to "This American Life." You could get locked up for laughing out loud so much... that's how wickedly funny he is. He's a compatriot of David Sedaris, need I say more?

Speaking of appearances, Sarah Vowell, a friend to both Rakoff and Sedaris will be at Skylight Books in Los Feliz Thursday, Feb. 7 ( http://www.skylightbooks.com) and I will do my best to get to hear her read.

Meanwhile, I've just started Tom Corcoran's new mystery, "Air Dance Iguana" (finally). He is the absolute required author for getting a Key Wet vibe. No one does the Florida Keys as he does.