My So Called Digital Life
Friday.
Getting back home , I was very,very mellow.
A male friend of mine and I went out too see a band preform French pop songs at El Cid. The woman was half Asian and half French. For driving him over he bought me a drink. I wanted a Margarita on the rocks but not with the cheap stuff they usually make it with.
I ask for some tequila Cazadores - an extra tall glass shows up on my table. It makes the sweetness of the female lead singer - cuter.
It also knocks me out - I head home early-ish for a Friday night. I am hyper mellow.
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Laura is Face-Booking up a storm at home. She was not turned on by the prospect of cute femme French Pop.
I get home and she is mind-welded to the screen. In the meantime my lower back is tightening up. I flop onto the bed, shirt off. I had applied one of those 8 hour heat pad things on my lower back and it had worked, but late into the day it was wearing off. But now I wanted a tequila chaser just to see if I could relax even more. It did not work - I was caught between tightening muscle pain and alcoholic relaxation.
Bored I grabbed the recent bane of my existence - my Digital camera. I had started to take pictures with it but had no real clue how to use the damn thing for real. It takes shots that are too light, too dark, too shaded green, too shaded blue or too muddy.
I ask if I could take pics of her - no go. I decide to take pics of myself. Just to see what the lighting would bring.
I keep my shirt off and take off my glasses. I am wearing baggy boxer shorts. they can double for real shorts in hot weather.
“Yo - baby - take my picture !” - I lay across the bed. She took a full body shot.
“OK - loooook at his pixy smile! - You look like a merman!”
She turned back the mac. I grabbed the camera.
I look at the pic - its me laying on the bed - it was unbelievably cheesy.
I adjust the settings on the hunk o electronics and feverishly press on the delete key.
I wanted something not nerdy - I had been taking pictures on the weekends and have found myself looking, harmless. There may not be too much red blood in me but right then and there I wanted to transcend my casual nerd image. I wanted something - creepy, hinting on a red meat hunger. Leering but not explicit.
I confess - we live in times that do not engage a part of the hetro male experience - at lest for myself personally - in an intelligent way. Its a creepy, leeringly energy that also ties in fear and physic violence into art. I was feeling a digital and self socialized castration with my life choices. I wanted to acknowledge this part of myself - but even drunk I am way too self aware of do’s and dont’s.
I turn the camera around. I take a shot with myself on the bed, very close up to my face. Flipping the camera over I see an extreme close up, the lighting is muted and natural.
A hint of a smile comes across my face.
This pic hinted at being kinda, creepy.
Cool.
I pull the camera back and then turn on the side light.
“Yo, baby. - now take my picture”
Upset she turns away and then take a few pics. - I am still am shirtless.
Then she goes back to the flat-screen.
I lazily scan the pics. I think that look, on the whole, creepy.
A perverse smile crosses my face.
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Later I fenagle my way back on the interwebs and my baby takes a break.
I decide that if she is going to waste the night, she should at lest have the privilege of seeing me in a picture pose in a way that said - yo baby - see me smirk half naked.
One FaceBook login later I post some of the pics - mostly close ups - and post one pic of me with no glasses or shirt on leaned over a wooden TV tray with my arm posed in a way that looked - to me anyway - like I was asking her what the F was up.
I know the pattern, when she wants to do the little applets she will be up all night. I will be awake early then just delete the topless picture. The close ups I could keep. Anyway its nothing that anyone would not be able to see with some beach photos.
I don’t think anyone would notice. Friday night the majority of people would be out. The ones who would be tolling the FB are the straight male single guys. They would not care.
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I wake up. Its early.
In the haze before the coffee celerity, I delete the shirtless pic of myself on Facebook.
Cool. If any of my friends have any sense - they would not be online this early after a friday night. The ones who were - well they probably would not care about my pics.
I get to the coffee maker - java kicks off my day.
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Caffeinization finished - I head out for the daily chores.
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Headed out I go to an afternoon volunteer staff shift at the local lay Nichiren Buddhist center. I do it once a month.
Its a very low key role. Younger people do most of the busy work, I have to deal with most of the staff level issues - such as calling a plumber and dealing with schedule conflicts. In the middle of a Saturday afternoon those issues are non existent.
I decide to get some Diamoku (Buddhist chanting) in. I try and focus. The mantra resounds in the room as a group of people from all walks of life, age groups and ethnicity's. Its a major reason I love the SGI - its really diverse.
A women I know and have been friends with for a long time sits next to me. She is a survivor of the 1980’s heavy metal music scene.
“Hi R”
“Hello”
---you know Ken. I liked your new photos on FaceBook.
(!!!!) Mental spit take!!!!!)
Ummm - I - ack (internally mortified!!!)
“No really I thought they were very tasteful. You were really aiming to kill the computer nerd image”
“ - well Laura took them - I”
“She did a good job - I thought they were really - showed a different side of you, but they were not sleazy - I liked them! “
“- I have a few more that I did not put on facebook - not explicit but they are in the same vain”
“ I would love to see them”
“ Well I do want a bit more feedback - I will let you get a sneak peak and you give me your honest opinion”
We bantered on for a little bit more. There is an authentic feeling of admiration in her voice.
In tossing a satirical digital tease to Laura I was not counting on being eye candy for a middle aged women. It was not in the cards. As I drove home I was trying to assimilate what I was feeling.
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What i was feeling was taking be a bit to absorb. Feeling something new is - for someone who lives in his head - something that can fool yourself into denying that you feel it.
It was after a bit coughed up the emotional honesty to reveal to myself what i was feeling.
I was being admired for my physical presence. I kinda .... liked it.
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Slightly broke and not interested in the options we had that night I put on the cable box. Takeout Thai and the itunes provide the soundtrack for the night.
I reviewed the pics - what I saw was grainy pictures. Nothing explicit or nasty. Just - kinda.... goofy.
I pick up the camera. I change the settings and place myself next to a naked light-bulb in front of a mirror.
Lets see if I can make something a bit more - eye opening. I take self photos in the bathroom mirror. The light made the shots orange. A twist of my torso and I have my set of pictures, this set tried to suggest something seductive but goofy.
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In the meantime one of the photos on Facebook caused a minor controversy - I was on a running argument that one of my harmless photos - a picture of my from the shoulders up - was way too creepy.
I protested its just me backlight in a grainy photo- but I had no control over the interpretation of what people saw. My own brother thought I was giving out a ‘fuck me” face.
I did not see that at all - and his wife thought he was being cruel. But he did say something that gave me pause. I was the one who placed something that can be interpreted in many ways on the internet.
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I look-over my Facebook friend landscape - its an impressive grouping of work mates, fellow Buddhists, musicians, artists, family, barflies and strangers.
I begin to understand what it means - it means that you will never lack for someone to go out and do something with - you will be invited to more then you can attend. You will be asked to go to breakfast by someone you have not seen in years out of the blue.
But there is a price. In the blurring communal context of Facebook the danger of being misinterpreted is ever present. Even a bit of playful interaction can be looked at as digital infidelity.
Future potential network connection may be spoiled if I at in a way that is too id driven. its a lost in a way - part of my personality is raunchy, goofy, silly and nasty. In a digital way FaceBook is the 1950’s - a subtle but continuous way to keep within a boundary of actions.
In contrast Myspace is the abandoned inner city 1970’s hood that has fallen into squalor - because no one is there, your do not care what you do, say or interact with. I proclaimed I was a Bi curious 3’44 foot swinging bodybuilder for a couple months and no one cared.
I deleted a few of the pictures I had on Facebook, got rid of a few suggestive comments and then cleaned up my notes. My persona is as bland as i can make it without losing my mind.
______________________________________________________________
I place the photos in a locked account on Photo Bucket - then sent a link to my friend - she liked them - they showed a more sultry side
I liked the praise, but I don’t need it per say.
I would miss the ability of my id to scream like a 16 year old at times.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Easy.... like Sunday morning....
During an alcohol fueled communion - I asked a woman how she was doing...
My mistake.
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J.S. is one of those persons who show up at the Tiki upon occasion. She and her buddy LN are semi-regulars. I catch them once every three months or so.
JS is a bit of an expressive Latina - filled with kindly and cutting insult and innuendo. Coming back from the bathroom I asked her - seriously - how she was. I noticed she was ......uneven in a way.
I lean down slightly - she shoots me a look that meant - can you handle the truth?
She licks her upper left lip - suggestively, then she pulls my head close. She brushed my slight hair away from my ear.
(husky, low voice) ......why I’m easy...... easy. like Sunday Morning......
I was taken aback slightly.
I sit my ass back on the stool facing her. She had dumped a boyfriend of a few years just three ago because she felt his lack of direction and the relationships was not worth keeping unless - well that became a topic for an entire nights discussion.
They were separated for three weeks at that point - she was feeling very,,ummm frisky. I was trying to talk her down. But the conversation kept moving to - other (far more personal) territory.
I restrained my helpful Big Brother influences - that is not my job. But it is a reflexive part of me. When she and her friend started to imply I had shortcomings (the myths about Asian guys...) I departed.
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It is impossible to describe to anyone born in this current digital amniotic fluid how omnipresent top 40 was. Every supermarket, retail establishment, public spaces tuned to easy listening stations or top 40 station would pump in a select group of inoffensive songs. The more popular they were, the more they were played.
For the next three days, in my absent minded moments, when my brain was parked on nutral - that song would filter out from my subconscious
"Ooh,that's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning
That's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning"
...Lionel Ritchie’s death-grip on my mind would be complete.
During an alcohol fueled communion - I asked a woman how she was doing...
My mistake.
---------------------------------------
J.S. is one of those persons who show up at the Tiki upon occasion. She and her buddy LN are semi-regulars. I catch them once every three months or so.
JS is a bit of an expressive Latina - filled with kindly and cutting insult and innuendo. Coming back from the bathroom I asked her - seriously - how she was. I noticed she was ......uneven in a way.
I lean down slightly - she shoots me a look that meant - can you handle the truth?
She licks her upper left lip - suggestively, then she pulls my head close. She brushed my slight hair away from my ear.
(husky, low voice) ......why I’m easy...... easy. like Sunday Morning......
I was taken aback slightly.
I sit my ass back on the stool facing her. She had dumped a boyfriend of a few years just three ago because she felt his lack of direction and the relationships was not worth keeping unless - well that became a topic for an entire nights discussion.
They were separated for three weeks at that point - she was feeling very,,ummm frisky. I was trying to talk her down. But the conversation kept moving to - other (far more personal) territory.
I restrained my helpful Big Brother influences - that is not my job. But it is a reflexive part of me. When she and her friend started to imply I had shortcomings (the myths about Asian guys...) I departed.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
It is impossible to describe to anyone born in this current digital amniotic fluid how omnipresent top 40 was. Every supermarket, retail establishment, public spaces tuned to easy listening stations or top 40 station would pump in a select group of inoffensive songs. The more popular they were, the more they were played.
For the next three days, in my absent minded moments, when my brain was parked on nutral - that song would filter out from my subconscious
"Ooh,that's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning
That's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning"
...Lionel Ritchie’s death-grip on my mind would be complete.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Omnia mutantur, nihil interit - Part One
In my blue 81 Civic I could do anything. It sipped gas, the top speed was 80 MPH and had the tightest turning ratio I had in any car a major plus for any driver in heavy traffic. A five speed with a rusted dent on the back, I still miss that car.
My hand moves to my thigh and I grab the clipboard with the mess of papers, I glance at the neatly made hand drawn map and take in destination one - the Capital Records building. My first stop - I know where that’s located.
A quick U-turn and I am on Vine. Even though I have a temporary parking pass the street is empty enough. I pop into a nearby parking space, some spare change later I make my way to the building. Parking is plentiful in this part of town at this time of day.
I enter the building; a security guard eyes me with deep suspicion. The receptionist is nice enough. I drop the clipboard on the desk and try to block the negative vibes the rent-a-gargoyle is tossing my way. I produce the proper papers and with one phone call I am given the green light. The guard softens and produces a key (?!) one click and the elevator is calling for me - as I rush I am told to go to floor 14.
The elevator button layout is at first glance confusing. I think I pressed on the right one but as I walk out I stand confused. The floor receptionist is puzzled at my inquiry and she turns around asking about the person I am to meet. A large vibrant woman with an east coast accent speaks above a normal office din - the button for the 14th floor is next to the 7th on the left. Mildly chagrined, I head back to the elevator but I take a good look at the office itself.
Paper everywhere. Gold records line the upper part of the walls. The desks seems to be crammed with an unholy mess of envelopes, small boxes and papers piled high. The impression is a gold lined banality with a bitchin’ view- it was a busy office, that much was clear.
Floor 14 is a different vibe. Manila envelopes are around but the room seems too still. I sit at a chair and a middle aged man looks at my paper with the air of a crackerjack reference librarian. A pair of keys are produced, a desk is opened and an envelope is checked and then resealed. A pause then one more signature and i am sent on my way. I can easily tell this man was far more significant then a clerk. I am entrusted with the hopes and prayers that are in this envelope.
Down to the main lobby and I jump into my Civic and onto stop two.
Omnia mutantur, nihil interit - Part Two
The second stop is close. It’s just down the street of the Ivar library. I love libraries. A block warehouse down the block I back into the driveway. A new paper is produced and the back of my hatchback is opened up and equipment is placed - ten cans of paint and an apologetic workman explaining that he was out of a type of paint and he had called around his local rivals for a can but it was no go.
Light gels and some plastic screens are added. Looks good.
Technicolor calls - I jump into my Cvvc powered car and jolt. A large warehouse that is covered in Ivy - it seems the Ivy was meant to hide the very fact of its existence. I produce a slip of paper and 12 8mm film rolls are entrusted to my care.
Omnia mutantur, nihil interit - Part Three
The Honda unloads the cargo - a group of workmen take out the items and I go over the manifest with the Director and crew.
In my blue 81 Civic I could do anything. It sipped gas, the top speed was 80 MPH and had the tightest turning ratio I had in any car a major plus for any driver in heavy traffic. A five speed with a rusted dent on the back, I still miss that car.
My hand moves to my thigh and I grab the clipboard with the mess of papers, I glance at the neatly made hand drawn map and take in destination one - the Capital Records building. My first stop - I know where that’s located.
A quick U-turn and I am on Vine. Even though I have a temporary parking pass the street is empty enough. I pop into a nearby parking space, some spare change later I make my way to the building. Parking is plentiful in this part of town at this time of day.
I enter the building; a security guard eyes me with deep suspicion. The receptionist is nice enough. I drop the clipboard on the desk and try to block the negative vibes the rent-a-gargoyle is tossing my way. I produce the proper papers and with one phone call I am given the green light. The guard softens and produces a key (?!) one click and the elevator is calling for me - as I rush I am told to go to floor 14.
The elevator button layout is at first glance confusing. I think I pressed on the right one but as I walk out I stand confused. The floor receptionist is puzzled at my inquiry and she turns around asking about the person I am to meet. A large vibrant woman with an east coast accent speaks above a normal office din - the button for the 14th floor is next to the 7th on the left. Mildly chagrined, I head back to the elevator but I take a good look at the office itself.
Paper everywhere. Gold records line the upper part of the walls. The desks seems to be crammed with an unholy mess of envelopes, small boxes and papers piled high. The impression is a gold lined banality with a bitchin’ view- it was a busy office, that much was clear.
Floor 14 is a different vibe. Manila envelopes are around but the room seems too still. I sit at a chair and a middle aged man looks at my paper with the air of a crackerjack reference librarian. A pair of keys are produced, a desk is opened and an envelope is checked and then resealed. A pause then one more signature and i am sent on my way. I can easily tell this man was far more significant then a clerk. I am entrusted with the hopes and prayers that are in this envelope.
Down to the main lobby and I jump into my Civic and onto stop two.
Omnia mutantur, nihil interit - Part Two
The second stop is close. It’s just down the street of the Ivar library. I love libraries. A block warehouse down the block I back into the driveway. A new paper is produced and the back of my hatchback is opened up and equipment is placed - ten cans of paint and an apologetic workman explaining that he was out of a type of paint and he had called around his local rivals for a can but it was no go.
Light gels and some plastic screens are added. Looks good.
Technicolor calls - I jump into my Cvvc powered car and jolt. A large warehouse that is covered in Ivy - it seems the Ivy was meant to hide the very fact of its existence. I produce a slip of paper and 12 8mm film rolls are entrusted to my care.
Omnia mutantur, nihil interit - Part Three
The Honda unloads the cargo - a group of workmen take out the items and I go over the manifest with the Director and crew.
Well Equipped - or how I spent my Tax refund
Well Equipped - or how I spent my Tax refund
What I did with money I got back from the feds- who withheld it so they could finance our government ......the feds who where busy breaking our treasury, killing our young, and keeping the materialistic Pinocchio’s Pleasure Island merry go round going for a new round all the while ecologically ruining our planet
.
!
I needed a drink ...no Fuck that --- I need a fucking BAR
Prelude to a Family Affair
One Bottle of gold Jamacan Run
One Bottle of dark Jamacan Rum
One Bottle of Demerara Rum
One Bottle of 151 Demerara Rum
One Bottle of Barcrdi Select
One Bottle of Barcardi Gold
One Bottle of Cockspur Rum
One Bottle of Haitian Rum
One Bottle of Trader Vic’s Mai-Tai Rum
One Bottle of Trader Vic’s Mai-Tai Mix
Two Bottles of Bourbon - one sipping, one mixing
One Bottle of Vodka
One Bottle of Gin
Two Bottles of Scotch Whisky - blended and single malt
Two Bottles of Tequila, Gold and Anejo
One Bottle of Cream De Banana
One Bottle of Simple syrup
One Bottle of Passion fruit syrup
One Bottle of Grand Marnier
One Bottle of Triple Sec
One Bottle of Maraschino Liqueur
One Bottle of Cointreau
One Bottle of Grenadine
One Bottle of Falernum
One Bottle of Sweet and Sour
A half liter of Club Soda
One Ikea Ice crusher
Four Collins glasses
Four Double Old Fashioned glasses
Two Cocktail glasses
Two shakers , one small and one large
Freshly squeezed lime juice and lemon juice
Two books by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry - the Grog Log and Intoxica! - the definitive how to make and mix Tiki Drink books
A small cigar box with Cuban seeded cigars
Three Tiki Mugs
and ... a salvaged wooden cabinet that was needed some TLC - with 20.00 bucks of wood stain and cleaners from Home Depot and an inherited mantle piece to hold all of the glasses
Some ice
OK - I think I am ready
Invite the brothers over....
What I did with money I got back from the feds- who withheld it so they could finance our government ......the feds who where busy breaking our treasury, killing our young, and keeping the materialistic Pinocchio’s Pleasure Island merry go round going for a new round all the while ecologically ruining our planet
.
!
I needed a drink ...no Fuck that --- I need a fucking BAR
Prelude to a Family Affair
One Bottle of gold Jamacan Run
One Bottle of dark Jamacan Rum
One Bottle of Demerara Rum
One Bottle of 151 Demerara Rum
One Bottle of Barcrdi Select
One Bottle of Barcardi Gold
One Bottle of Cockspur Rum
One Bottle of Haitian Rum
One Bottle of Trader Vic’s Mai-Tai Rum
One Bottle of Trader Vic’s Mai-Tai Mix
Two Bottles of Bourbon - one sipping, one mixing
One Bottle of Vodka
One Bottle of Gin
Two Bottles of Scotch Whisky - blended and single malt
Two Bottles of Tequila, Gold and Anejo
One Bottle of Cream De Banana
One Bottle of Simple syrup
One Bottle of Passion fruit syrup
One Bottle of Grand Marnier
One Bottle of Triple Sec
One Bottle of Maraschino Liqueur
One Bottle of Cointreau
One Bottle of Grenadine
One Bottle of Falernum
One Bottle of Sweet and Sour
A half liter of Club Soda
One Ikea Ice crusher
Four Collins glasses
Four Double Old Fashioned glasses
Two Cocktail glasses
Two shakers , one small and one large
Freshly squeezed lime juice and lemon juice
Two books by Jeff “Beachbum” Berry - the Grog Log and Intoxica! - the definitive how to make and mix Tiki Drink books
A small cigar box with Cuban seeded cigars
Three Tiki Mugs
and ... a salvaged wooden cabinet that was needed some TLC - with 20.00 bucks of wood stain and cleaners from Home Depot and an inherited mantle piece to hold all of the glasses
Some ice
OK - I think I am ready
Invite the brothers over....
Segments of the city
Segments of the city
Venice Beach
A lazy Sunday floated by with no particular notice. chores done, meals consumed. The coolness of lazing in a new place - a bungalow - way under market rate rental - that has its own laundry room and an airy living room was not worn out for me. But a lingering restlessness keep me plugged in onto the digital tubes
The vast teaming chilled lazy outline of an empty city yields rewards to those who have the energy and will to seek. A bulletin board message about a panel discussion about the 50th year of On The Road’s publishing stirred something in me. I was less interested in the panel and more interested in the space it was taking place in.
Venice Beach is a bright, sun filled grotto with uber-gentrification, credit debt-fueled prosperity swelling the briny air. The ghosts that inspired danger have been cornered and expelled with dark marble home refurbishment, gelato shops and very good clean coffee corners. The past still lingers simply because the constant gnawing of the sea air will erode all human endeavors - but the dark myths that the ruins of faux euro inspired housing inspired - the raw meat, its stagnant canals and fading facades given to a whole generation of poets and musicians has long been painted over. Panorama City’s Wal-Mart anchored mall with the Aztec pyramid inspired electronics retail store has way more menace if only due to the inspiration that borrowing imagery from a culture that practiced routine human sacrifice to ensure the sun rose is the best decorative motif to inspire sales of 42” plasma screen TV’s on monthly installment plans.
The space is a non profit organization dedicated to local poetry and lit. It’s a two story white building keeping the flame alive from a largely forgotten past. LA has spaces like this place and businesses that exist from other times and somehow are held in a psychic amber - do you want a 30’s era tiki drink or do you want to gaze upon movie palaces from the Jazz era, or eat a French dip with sawdusty floors and pig feet snacks appetizers? It’s around if you look. Time has unrelenting effects and more and more the quirk is slowing being drained out of the city by unrelenting family friendly or neo-decadence (tm) newness.
A quick solo freeway trip and I find the place. I take in the very obsolete bathrooms and the small corner books store amid the white walls and the empty second story photography gallery. There is a pic of Viggo Mortensen at a recital in protesting the Iraq war. The building was turn of the previous century old and held a faint underlying pulse of a hardscrabble group of idealists keeping on keeping on. The location alone is something a developer would sell his firstborn twice over to condo-fy.
A few males are browsing in the bookstore - mostly my age and looking like lost english teachers undergoing a decades long neutering process. I can slouch with the best of them and I fit right in much to my quiet bemusement.
A woman about 50ish or so opens up a side door with a beaten up cashbox - I donate my 5 bucks and get in. The seats are leftovers from old movie theaters and I head to the back of the four rows and sit in the back.
It starts with a woman doing a folk song, then the panel is introduced. I survey the crowd. It’s a little of what I expect - middle aged male loners, old school hippies, bespectacled late 30ish Gen X boys - and what I don’t expect: a small group of women, sprinkled about the audience - younger and older. It was not an extra credit assignment for the younger ones, I just did not get that vibe - and no BF in site for most of them. For Kerouac?? Hmmm..
The people are filling up the seats - an excuse me and a young woman sits next to me.
She is blond, light-skinned 19-22 if she is an hour. Just filling in the slippers, longish shorts for a misty cold night and perfectly painted fingernails. Nice.
Just as the introductions to the panelists start my body starts feeling something it has not felt in awhile. After the thyroid being nuked at the age of 29 my body has been on a major even keel that discouraged spontaneous displays of testosterone engorgement. I have been very comfortable with this body. Its a low key body - hefty for someone used to being rail thin but it kept me unembarrassed and de geeked to a point. Now it was stirring with a feeling both familiar and alien to me. Just sitting next to this young woman was carbonating hormones in a way that lay dormant for a decade. Involuntary and unexpected.
After the first panelist noted that the jazz bob that Kerouac based his writing style on was totally lost to the readers of today, I was struggling with my intense desire to get away from her - and move to a different row. I wanted to have a backpack or sweater or something I could use to ummm.... block the visual. I adjusted my arm, kept my focus face forward, crossed my leg and kept as still as I could while my body - achingly, almost painfully - relived it teenage years for a bit.
One of the younger dark haired panelists recited up a Tibetan Buddhist prayer for Jack - after a bit my body calmed down and the sensation passed. I even asked her for the time and she read it off a retro digital watch in the style of watches from the legendary 80’s. I loved that watch. I don’t think much of the 80’s.
After some tantalizing but inconclusive bantering - hinting at flashes about what kept people intrigued about the Duluoz myths - the QA session started. I ranted about how I never wanted to see a On the Road movie - why? - Some things should be kept in its time and place as the form its born to be in.
A women in the next row - brunette and tattooed - using everything to look like a punk’ed Betty Page and she succeeded - in her mid 30’s spoke up. She exclaimed her enthusiasm about an author who wanted to revive hitchhiking - what was her point - she enthused the point was to hitchhike and to make love and to be in the moment. The older male panelists made ummmmmmm sounds exclaiming some discomfit - at the hitchhiking suggestion but I also think it was the purity of emotion she had when she made the making love comment - dourly I think the men felt the times are too entrenched with evil but also the rebellious, alive feeling that Karouc engendered was long gone - replaced by a meager but well earned stability.
To my ears she held a feeling that was alive - expressed in a way that my gender had no license for in this context. The subject matter somehow would have its unseen influence regardless how staid the environment was.
I smiled internally - at the end I made some small talk and pulled my scarf around my neck and went into the misty night - happily bemused.
Venice Beach
A lazy Sunday floated by with no particular notice. chores done, meals consumed. The coolness of lazing in a new place - a bungalow - way under market rate rental - that has its own laundry room and an airy living room was not worn out for me. But a lingering restlessness keep me plugged in onto the digital tubes
The vast teaming chilled lazy outline of an empty city yields rewards to those who have the energy and will to seek. A bulletin board message about a panel discussion about the 50th year of On The Road’s publishing stirred something in me. I was less interested in the panel and more interested in the space it was taking place in.
Venice Beach is a bright, sun filled grotto with uber-gentrification, credit debt-fueled prosperity swelling the briny air. The ghosts that inspired danger have been cornered and expelled with dark marble home refurbishment, gelato shops and very good clean coffee corners. The past still lingers simply because the constant gnawing of the sea air will erode all human endeavors - but the dark myths that the ruins of faux euro inspired housing inspired - the raw meat, its stagnant canals and fading facades given to a whole generation of poets and musicians has long been painted over. Panorama City’s Wal-Mart anchored mall with the Aztec pyramid inspired electronics retail store has way more menace if only due to the inspiration that borrowing imagery from a culture that practiced routine human sacrifice to ensure the sun rose is the best decorative motif to inspire sales of 42” plasma screen TV’s on monthly installment plans.
The space is a non profit organization dedicated to local poetry and lit. It’s a two story white building keeping the flame alive from a largely forgotten past. LA has spaces like this place and businesses that exist from other times and somehow are held in a psychic amber - do you want a 30’s era tiki drink or do you want to gaze upon movie palaces from the Jazz era, or eat a French dip with sawdusty floors and pig feet snacks appetizers? It’s around if you look. Time has unrelenting effects and more and more the quirk is slowing being drained out of the city by unrelenting family friendly or neo-decadence (tm) newness.
A quick solo freeway trip and I find the place. I take in the very obsolete bathrooms and the small corner books store amid the white walls and the empty second story photography gallery. There is a pic of Viggo Mortensen at a recital in protesting the Iraq war. The building was turn of the previous century old and held a faint underlying pulse of a hardscrabble group of idealists keeping on keeping on. The location alone is something a developer would sell his firstborn twice over to condo-fy.
A few males are browsing in the bookstore - mostly my age and looking like lost english teachers undergoing a decades long neutering process. I can slouch with the best of them and I fit right in much to my quiet bemusement.
A woman about 50ish or so opens up a side door with a beaten up cashbox - I donate my 5 bucks and get in. The seats are leftovers from old movie theaters and I head to the back of the four rows and sit in the back.
It starts with a woman doing a folk song, then the panel is introduced. I survey the crowd. It’s a little of what I expect - middle aged male loners, old school hippies, bespectacled late 30ish Gen X boys - and what I don’t expect: a small group of women, sprinkled about the audience - younger and older. It was not an extra credit assignment for the younger ones, I just did not get that vibe - and no BF in site for most of them. For Kerouac?? Hmmm..
The people are filling up the seats - an excuse me and a young woman sits next to me.
She is blond, light-skinned 19-22 if she is an hour. Just filling in the slippers, longish shorts for a misty cold night and perfectly painted fingernails. Nice.
Just as the introductions to the panelists start my body starts feeling something it has not felt in awhile. After the thyroid being nuked at the age of 29 my body has been on a major even keel that discouraged spontaneous displays of testosterone engorgement. I have been very comfortable with this body. Its a low key body - hefty for someone used to being rail thin but it kept me unembarrassed and de geeked to a point. Now it was stirring with a feeling both familiar and alien to me. Just sitting next to this young woman was carbonating hormones in a way that lay dormant for a decade. Involuntary and unexpected.
After the first panelist noted that the jazz bob that Kerouac based his writing style on was totally lost to the readers of today, I was struggling with my intense desire to get away from her - and move to a different row. I wanted to have a backpack or sweater or something I could use to ummm.... block the visual. I adjusted my arm, kept my focus face forward, crossed my leg and kept as still as I could while my body - achingly, almost painfully - relived it teenage years for a bit.
One of the younger dark haired panelists recited up a Tibetan Buddhist prayer for Jack - after a bit my body calmed down and the sensation passed. I even asked her for the time and she read it off a retro digital watch in the style of watches from the legendary 80’s. I loved that watch. I don’t think much of the 80’s.
After some tantalizing but inconclusive bantering - hinting at flashes about what kept people intrigued about the Duluoz myths - the QA session started. I ranted about how I never wanted to see a On the Road movie - why? - Some things should be kept in its time and place as the form its born to be in.
A women in the next row - brunette and tattooed - using everything to look like a punk’ed Betty Page and she succeeded - in her mid 30’s spoke up. She exclaimed her enthusiasm about an author who wanted to revive hitchhiking - what was her point - she enthused the point was to hitchhike and to make love and to be in the moment. The older male panelists made ummmmmmm sounds exclaiming some discomfit - at the hitchhiking suggestion but I also think it was the purity of emotion she had when she made the making love comment - dourly I think the men felt the times are too entrenched with evil but also the rebellious, alive feeling that Karouc engendered was long gone - replaced by a meager but well earned stability.
To my ears she held a feeling that was alive - expressed in a way that my gender had no license for in this context. The subject matter somehow would have its unseen influence regardless how staid the environment was.
I smiled internally - at the end I made some small talk and pulled my scarf around my neck and went into the misty night - happily bemused.
Accidental Wingman and the Art of the cheesy Pick Up Line
Accidental Wingman and the Art of the cheesy Pick Up Line
For Teresa who ??? me about this.
Feeling somewhat -- disassociated and needing some need for a mild visceral escape I wondered aimlessly around the Hollywood area last Wednesday. After a bit I arrived solo at bar Tiki Ti where I have become a (once a week) regular for some strong rum drinks and familiar company. The wide ethnic mix helps the vibe.
The regulars are a cast of characters that have been anchored at the last old school Tiki bar west of the Mississippi. All of them know me and Laura - her appearances are irregular in part because she does not drink.
During my second drink I fell into a conversation with a 50 yo man - younger in looks and attitude - African american and alive. In the ensuing conservation I kept to listening mode. I have - at the Tiki - heard people express the most personal details of there life journeys. This was no exception. I enjoyed the fraternal camaraderie. He had been going to the Tiki for 30 years. He had not met or socialized with me.
In part due to alcohol I did not get a part of the conversation - that I would help him with a pair of women who were arriving shortly. One women was his intended point of focus (ie target) - because he told them that he would have a male friend with him the women brought a female friend. Her friend - if I was lucky - has very nice breasts.
His buddy flaked - I was drafted to be the “friend”. Its was unfolding to me in a slightly unreal haze.
Enter in two lovely, cosmopolitan Latina women. One with feathered hair and the other was - yup a young 20 something women with very nice breasts. A fine featured dark haired brown shaded women. Tasteful display of cleavage.
I peel off to go to the bathroom - when I come back the bar stool is next to the 20 something, her friend the the left of me.
I asked her name - “ Laura “
The universe is filled with irony.
I wait for the potent cocktails arrive - a few tentative sips and I mildly touch into my loser persona. She with some pose says I should not put myself down.
My Philippino side - gregarious and full of shit was pouring out of my alcohol soaked brain. I was trying to get her to be disinterested in me in a charming way so the other guy could keep up his conversation with his object of desire.
I decide to go for broke. As a drafted Wingman I could hear my “buddy” faltering slightly with his paired up gal. I knew if I wanted to keep there interest I would have to amuse Laura but at the same time make her disinterested in me in particular. Its very easy to make someone disinterested in you of you are male. If harder to do so in an entertaining manner.
In my slightly inebriated state - I think of something.
“Your an attractive women - you must get pick up lines all of the time”
“ Not really - I think there cheesy”
“Want to hear my worse Pick up line”
*slight smile* “sure”
“ Do you have any Filipino in you?
“ ..noo”
“Do you want some?”
* a momentary pause - then a chuckle
I then ask - no entreatingly demand anyone around me in this tiny bar to try there worst line pick up line - both male and female. Not surpassingly the women remembered some lines that they recited.
One tall blond guy with a halting delivery
“ I may not he Fred Flintstone - but I do know how to make your BED ROCK”
One regular
“Do you sleep with strangers? Because I am the strangest guy in this bar!!”
A women
“ One gay said to me - Why don’t you sit on my lap and lets see what pops up?”
“ They call me coffee - because I grind - so fine! “
“
One of the worse
“ Do you want a pizza and a fuck?
*slap*
“Wha.. You don’t like pizza? “
And the classics
“ Is your father a baker because he made some sweet, sweet buns! “
“ Are you wearing astronaut pants - because those buns are out of this world!”
“ Get me a library card... because I have to CHECK YOU OUT!”
“ Someone get me a cell phone - I have to call Charlie and tell him he’s missing an ANGEL”
“ Someone get me a quarter - I have to call Mom and tell her I ‘m in LOVE..!”
I know I am missing some - but I remember the one I liked the most was this one from a nerdy tall blond women with very retro glasses.
She took her finger and liked it suggestively - then she touched Laura on the shoulder and said in a matter of fact voice.
“ Your cloths are wet, maybe you should take them off? “
I know I am forgetting some. As I left at 11:30 the two women had enjoyed themselves (the alcohol helped) and were flanking the guy - I said I had to go - gave my regards to Jedi Jen and took off back to my place.
Women entertained. Mission somewhat accomplished.
For Teresa who ??? me about this.
Feeling somewhat -- disassociated and needing some need for a mild visceral escape I wondered aimlessly around the Hollywood area last Wednesday. After a bit I arrived solo at bar Tiki Ti where I have become a (once a week) regular for some strong rum drinks and familiar company. The wide ethnic mix helps the vibe.
The regulars are a cast of characters that have been anchored at the last old school Tiki bar west of the Mississippi. All of them know me and Laura - her appearances are irregular in part because she does not drink.
During my second drink I fell into a conversation with a 50 yo man - younger in looks and attitude - African american and alive. In the ensuing conservation I kept to listening mode. I have - at the Tiki - heard people express the most personal details of there life journeys. This was no exception. I enjoyed the fraternal camaraderie. He had been going to the Tiki for 30 years. He had not met or socialized with me.
In part due to alcohol I did not get a part of the conversation - that I would help him with a pair of women who were arriving shortly. One women was his intended point of focus (ie target) - because he told them that he would have a male friend with him the women brought a female friend. Her friend - if I was lucky - has very nice breasts.
His buddy flaked - I was drafted to be the “friend”. Its was unfolding to me in a slightly unreal haze.
Enter in two lovely, cosmopolitan Latina women. One with feathered hair and the other was - yup a young 20 something women with very nice breasts. A fine featured dark haired brown shaded women. Tasteful display of cleavage.
I peel off to go to the bathroom - when I come back the bar stool is next to the 20 something, her friend the the left of me.
I asked her name - “ Laura “
The universe is filled with irony.
I wait for the potent cocktails arrive - a few tentative sips and I mildly touch into my loser persona. She with some pose says I should not put myself down.
My Philippino side - gregarious and full of shit was pouring out of my alcohol soaked brain. I was trying to get her to be disinterested in me in a charming way so the other guy could keep up his conversation with his object of desire.
I decide to go for broke. As a drafted Wingman I could hear my “buddy” faltering slightly with his paired up gal. I knew if I wanted to keep there interest I would have to amuse Laura but at the same time make her disinterested in me in particular. Its very easy to make someone disinterested in you of you are male. If harder to do so in an entertaining manner.
In my slightly inebriated state - I think of something.
“Your an attractive women - you must get pick up lines all of the time”
“ Not really - I think there cheesy”
“Want to hear my worse Pick up line”
*slight smile* “sure”
“ Do you have any Filipino in you?
“ ..noo”
“Do you want some?”
* a momentary pause - then a chuckle
I then ask - no entreatingly demand anyone around me in this tiny bar to try there worst line pick up line - both male and female. Not surpassingly the women remembered some lines that they recited.
One tall blond guy with a halting delivery
“ I may not he Fred Flintstone - but I do know how to make your BED ROCK”
One regular
“Do you sleep with strangers? Because I am the strangest guy in this bar!!”
A women
“ One gay said to me - Why don’t you sit on my lap and lets see what pops up?”
“ They call me coffee - because I grind - so fine! “
“
One of the worse
“ Do you want a pizza and a fuck?
*slap*
“Wha.. You don’t like pizza? “
And the classics
“ Is your father a baker because he made some sweet, sweet buns! “
“ Are you wearing astronaut pants - because those buns are out of this world!”
“ Get me a library card... because I have to CHECK YOU OUT!”
“ Someone get me a cell phone - I have to call Charlie and tell him he’s missing an ANGEL”
“ Someone get me a quarter - I have to call Mom and tell her I ‘m in LOVE..!”
I know I am missing some - but I remember the one I liked the most was this one from a nerdy tall blond women with very retro glasses.
She took her finger and liked it suggestively - then she touched Laura on the shoulder and said in a matter of fact voice.
“ Your cloths are wet, maybe you should take them off? “
I know I am forgetting some. As I left at 11:30 the two women had enjoyed themselves (the alcohol helped) and were flanking the guy - I said I had to go - gave my regards to Jedi Jen and took off back to my place.
Women entertained. Mission somewhat accomplished.
take Your Son to Work Day
Current mood: tired
Category: Life
I am laying on my back - a needle was placed deep into my lower interior lip. Under the glare of a light placed close to the gash of open flesh, making accessible though my oral cavity exposing it to a woman I just met clothed in plastic and rubber masked in white. She is both intently and nonchalantly pulling, hooking, stabbing and shaping my dental appendages.
The smell of smoke, bits of bone, slivers of flesh dabbed so carefully on a white towel - and humming - she pulled a tool and my half numb face feels a thump - a metal tool arches back and then snaps with a bit of a click. Microscopic chips fly.
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..How many kids do you have Kenneth?..
..None..
- ..tsk...Thats good! I have five...
Five??!!
I eyed her from the chair - the Dr is about 5 feet tall and is probably 30 at the most. It turned out she had the same thyroid condition I had - it kept her thin until they cured it. She has that comforting Philippina accent and had that informal maternal manner.
The insurance would cover two thirds of the cost for the major work I needed. - Did I want to parse out the work over a few days? - Nope do as much as you can in one shot.
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..spit..
My numbed out face turns and the drool/water mixture falls out of my face more to gravity then any force I can put on it.
Six shots of Novocaine can do that to you.
Out of the corner of my eye is .... a kid.
A boy not yet six - he has a look of someone trying to assimilate what was happening. a slight but insistent and alarmed inflection in his voice
..Mommy - what are you doing to that Man?!..
Out of the corner of her mouth she makes a ..tsk.. sound under the drilling - she stops and says reflexively ..HHHOONNNNNNN..
This only increases the alarm with the boy
..Mommmey.... WHAT are you doing to that MAN!..
In a flash an adult version of the boy is towering above him an in less then an instant he is scooped out and taken away
The Dr goes back to her work, muttering something about not being able to find a babysitter that night.
____________________________________________________________________
I walk out making my next Dental appointment with the assistant holding a baby on her lap and a single hand on a keyboard.
I wonder what that did to her son? Probably nothing - but still...................
Category: Life
I am laying on my back - a needle was placed deep into my lower interior lip. Under the glare of a light placed close to the gash of open flesh, making accessible though my oral cavity exposing it to a woman I just met clothed in plastic and rubber masked in white. She is both intently and nonchalantly pulling, hooking, stabbing and shaping my dental appendages.
The smell of smoke, bits of bone, slivers of flesh dabbed so carefully on a white towel - and humming - she pulled a tool and my half numb face feels a thump - a metal tool arches back and then snaps with a bit of a click. Microscopic chips fly.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
..How many kids do you have Kenneth?..
..None..
- ..tsk...Thats good! I have five...
Five??!!
I eyed her from the chair - the Dr is about 5 feet tall and is probably 30 at the most. It turned out she had the same thyroid condition I had - it kept her thin until they cured it. She has that comforting Philippina accent and had that informal maternal manner.
The insurance would cover two thirds of the cost for the major work I needed. - Did I want to parse out the work over a few days? - Nope do as much as you can in one shot.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
..spit..
My numbed out face turns and the drool/water mixture falls out of my face more to gravity then any force I can put on it.
Six shots of Novocaine can do that to you.
Out of the corner of my eye is .... a kid.
A boy not yet six - he has a look of someone trying to assimilate what was happening. a slight but insistent and alarmed inflection in his voice
..Mommy - what are you doing to that Man?!..
Out of the corner of her mouth she makes a ..tsk.. sound under the drilling - she stops and says reflexively ..HHHOONNNNNNN..
This only increases the alarm with the boy
..Mommmey.... WHAT are you doing to that MAN!..
In a flash an adult version of the boy is towering above him an in less then an instant he is scooped out and taken away
The Dr goes back to her work, muttering something about not being able to find a babysitter that night.
____________________________________________________________________
I walk out making my next Dental appointment with the assistant holding a baby on her lap and a single hand on a keyboard.
I wonder what that did to her son? Probably nothing - but still...................
Interlude with.......
Current mood: hopeful
Its was a hot day.
The sun felt like a knife - a sharp physical thing mixing with the smog - forcing breath and making movement in a non AC building a force of will. It cooled off slightly but it was still warm.
My parents place is a high ceiling home predating the first world war that was purchased for 19 grand in 1971. I was raised in a pre gentrified hood with 3 brothers and 2 sisters and a parents who did this amidst the rumbling cultural background of the 70..s and early 80..s. Informal was the philosophy of note with kids at the time - a Polynesian cultural background helped fuel the laid back-ness.
Now a newly minted grandparents the kids came by with the g-kids - the oldest nearly three yeas old. CDV - Cassy.
The heat helped with the laid back nature of the day - we had an informal table and I was gulping a drink of some sort while lazily tipping my chair back. ---not a good ideal ---a slight choking motion and my drink is all over my gray T shirt
Preoccupied with my mess I step out of the dining room - the dining room has curtains obscuring the living room- so I have pull off my T-Shirt and ineffectually try to dab the liquid off my body.
My brother pulls out my dad..s box of t shirts and tosses me one - as I keep dabbing off with one hand I re enter the dining room with not one thought in the world to my momentary topless ness - surrounded by my numerous family members who have seen me at the beach many times.
Well except for one - who apparently due to convoluted circumstance never saw or at least understood what she was seeing until that moment - a topless adult male human
Cassandra stood up on the chair - looked at me and said in a loud definitive voice to every family member within earshot
UNCLE KENNYS NAKED!!!!!!
HES NAKED !!!!!!
UNCLE KENNYS NAKED!!!!!!!!!!
I put on the shirt - ..I..m not naked Cassy..
YOU ARE ! YOUR NAKED!!
Its was a hot day.
The sun felt like a knife - a sharp physical thing mixing with the smog - forcing breath and making movement in a non AC building a force of will. It cooled off slightly but it was still warm.
My parents place is a high ceiling home predating the first world war that was purchased for 19 grand in 1971. I was raised in a pre gentrified hood with 3 brothers and 2 sisters and a parents who did this amidst the rumbling cultural background of the 70..s and early 80..s. Informal was the philosophy of note with kids at the time - a Polynesian cultural background helped fuel the laid back-ness.
Now a newly minted grandparents the kids came by with the g-kids - the oldest nearly three yeas old. CDV - Cassy.
The heat helped with the laid back nature of the day - we had an informal table and I was gulping a drink of some sort while lazily tipping my chair back. ---not a good ideal ---a slight choking motion and my drink is all over my gray T shirt
Preoccupied with my mess I step out of the dining room - the dining room has curtains obscuring the living room- so I have pull off my T-Shirt and ineffectually try to dab the liquid off my body.
My brother pulls out my dad..s box of t shirts and tosses me one - as I keep dabbing off with one hand I re enter the dining room with not one thought in the world to my momentary topless ness - surrounded by my numerous family members who have seen me at the beach many times.
Well except for one - who apparently due to convoluted circumstance never saw or at least understood what she was seeing until that moment - a topless adult male human
Cassandra stood up on the chair - looked at me and said in a loud definitive voice to every family member within earshot
UNCLE KENNYS NAKED!!!!!!
HES NAKED !!!!!!
UNCLE KENNYS NAKED!!!!!!!!!!
I put on the shirt - ..I..m not naked Cassy..
YOU ARE ! YOUR NAKED!!
LACC - The late 80s
LACC - The late 80s
CINEMA 002 3.00 UNITS
BEGINNING MOTION PICTURE WORKSHOP (UC:CSU)
DESCRIPTION: Required for all Cinema Majors. Introductory workshop in practical filmmaking. Each student will be responsible for the making of short films in super 8
Four shorts need to be created
one abstract, one how to, one short story, one .........
Aww man cant do it.
Why?
Got an assignment, the film class has me doing a set of four films, I need to create an abstract film.
Any fucked up shit can be on it? _ Yes _ lets do this!
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Reseda
Whats going on man! - it was RJ, I havent seen him for about a year, at my friends place in Reseda,
High School was a mess for me, I was an inner city kid with very bad acne and a bad case of depression, Mom knew I was miserable in King Jr high and so she applied and shipped me off with the city of Los Angeles Magnet school program.
It was as the height of the Reagan 80s - the Valley soaked in a Trillion (not a typo - a trillion) dollars in creating the gravestone for communism - the New Wave/Preppie movement rose, felt its quick height and would fall all with my tenure of being bussed over the hill - I despised the bright colors and snotty - too young to be arrogant - kids, but to be fair I was a snot myself - I was sent off in 8th grade - I would finish out high school being bussed.
It was browning out as the 80s leached to its meaningless end. - The lower middle class brown people were stating to crowd the center and glitzy rot held the air still-- I really really really did not fit in - but I made no local friends
We banded together hunched over Atari computers - reading Douglas Adams, reciting Monty Python and listening to metal - aesthetically I was a nerd - I had glasses an inch thick and wore sweaters in the summer - two hours daily commute via bus and the sourness in me was slightly mitigated by my friends -- culturally I did know - Echo Park and Reseda were both one in heart in some way that was surrounded by cultures - Silverlake in its Gayest moment and Sherman Oaks in its citadel of aspiring to be a poor mans more tasteful West LA - Cocaine highs trying to push a 70s ecstasy way past the expiration date with a bit of suburban bliss.
By the end of my run I was running on a self image that had tanked. Hard. I did not fit in with my Valley friends but I did not have the wherewithal to connect to the aspects that I felt but could not vocalize - and the virginity was not helping... at all.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I enrolled in a set of general education, philosophy was a favorite -- I came to the conclusion that it was fuck of all - I WANTED to toss my future on its ass
-it wasn't much and I wasn't much ----_-==__ so I did the most punk thing I an inner city bookworm could think of doing
I became a film student.
_______________________________________________________________
Reseda cont....
The night was filled with the electricity that one only finds in youth - I needed some compelling visuals and I had little time in doing so - the rushes that I had where muddy and not usable - I had a bit of color kodachrome and a borrowed City 8mm and we had a pocket of Jim Beam - less then sense
I knew I needed light - and a road trip to Sherman Oaks at midnight was just the thing - The old Sherman Oaks Galleria was the neon womb of innerworld that encased all into its plastic sealant - coming from a family that felt K-Mart was the apex of material accession it filled me with mild envy and the slightest dread....and a desire to see it all ascend to landfill -- and for the girls to be bowed to me --needing me ,,,
The garage is what fascinated me - it was oil pitted concrete that the blue tinged neon lit up - I took a damn class on the chemical properties of film and still did not know how to work the damn camera - the filmed result would be lights draped by blurred vague darkness.
We broke into the garage - as far as I knew the security did not care - I rolled down the window stuck my upper body out of the window and pointed the camera upward and we threw the Honda Civic in neutral and rolled down the garage - - I could not get the camera steady. Cursing to myself RJ noticed -
Hay let me have this - OK what are you going to do? - let me try this - a gleam filled his eyes -
Back to the top of the garage - RJ has less sense then guts but even for me this is nuts, he is a guy who is about 210 pounds and he lays on his back on the hood of the car and then we kick the Civic back into neutral and let gravity take it course from the top of the garage, a small car in neutral can reach some decent speed going downhill with the drivers vision is impaired.
Basic physics says - a sudden stop or a sharp turn and 210 pounds of human flesh holding a City owned 8 mm film camera gets tossed onto blue neon drenched concrete. This is something you can do when you are 19 and desperate for entertainment. JR was sliding slightly and held the camera upward - it was the best shot I ever got.
Fucking cool! - We where now infected - AJ suggested we get more lights - like the mad Kerouacen Dharma Bums running down the mountain chasing life by tasting the spice of danger, lets get the shot - damn personal safety!........
Right by the Galleria is an interchange of freeways- Sherman Oaks nexus of connection with the rest of the valley. Near one interchange there was a fence that had a hole, unnoticed that we slid under - climbing up and pushing the brush away we were exposed to the freeway at a sharp turn - The headlights streaked straight ahead to your face and then they looked liked they cut a sharp right - it was a bit of an illusion but the cars where going 70 plus as we stood right on the corner where the dirt met the freeway- the automotive headlights bobbed came dangerously close, closer then streaked away.
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Is Ken there?
Ya - Kennny!
Huh?
Phone
Listen can you help me I am going to need help and I know you are a good guy and I need help!!!!!
OK - GP - (I secretly wanted her - all of her nicotine stained breath, her short kinky hair, her rapier wit and artistic pretension - but she was living with a successful 30 something was right out of the playbook that I even I would not cross - it fed my I am the worse loser in the known universe anti ego that was ego - only 19 year old males who never dated or even connected on some gray level could know )
A short walk to Silverlake and I was in a short bungalow house - the Dad was a single post hippy parent of two collage age women and was not around this afternoon - GP wanted to create a short film with her Sister B as a nymph - the background would be the window that I would have to setup lights.
Her sister - they must not have had the same mother - she was the opposite in many ways - dark skinned, straight dark hair, a lean body in a multi veiled costume -- shear near topless
I was braking out in a sweat as I duck-taped the lights to the wall - moved the bed, hung drapes, was told to turn around as B would change her costume (I guess topless was OK but not the full Monty) - She arched her back as the blue shaded her form - the top fell off - fluidly the outline moved --------my inner lecherous young man kept perfectly still
Later we put away all of the stuff - sliding down the dead drop hillside she thanked me with Cafe Tropical coffee and pastries, ---was she flirting with me? cant tell..
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In film history we saw Double Indemnity - and examined the film noir period of Hollywood, it brought forth clearly that the current movies hollywood was churning out was - at lest in terms of dialog - shite
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the Red and the White - a communist allegory. Alejandro Jodorowsky - nutjob or genuis? - both, French New Wave - good but not as good as one thinks, - wanna have a vision a dream -- how did they do this? -- 70 rule -
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Studying film - i.e. watching good old movies and reading about them - talking about trends in movies over the years - messing with cameras and actors and shots in a nervous sort of way -- class at 10am - time to dream - criticizing the current crop of films - arguing over the relative merits of the New Waves--late nights at galleys with too little light and too much caffeine
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The eyes are opened the greats of the past - the golden 30s, the dark 40s the experimental 60s the banal blockbuster 80s
What academia does not tell you is that the utter transience transcendence of an ecstatic film experience - the one that haunts your dreams - makes daily living worth it - the primal force of your first realized narrative --- is something they simply can not teach you, skills yes - the underlying story of primal myth - yes,,,,,,,,,,,,,but vision the ability to touch people in ways that strike a comment primal cord
That is only born out of a combination of very hard work and love and a lot of luck - transmitting the ability to feel alive its a bright comet streaking in the sky - it lights up all of the darkness around you then vanishes.....
Just when you think you know the answers - the questions change - you change and so does everything around you ---------
Primal memories remain but transmitting the dirt and grit and power to those who do not see what you see, and did not feel what you felt so acutely ...... usually having them understand what Popular culture meant so deeply to you .... it does not work - most people do not posses desire (nor the need!) to connect to that spirit and if they do it needs to be seduction not propaganda
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I have allways found seduction hard and ego brusing - but keep trying - keep moving
CINEMA 002 3.00 UNITS
BEGINNING MOTION PICTURE WORKSHOP (UC:CSU)
DESCRIPTION: Required for all Cinema Majors. Introductory workshop in practical filmmaking. Each student will be responsible for the making of short films in super 8
Four shorts need to be created
one abstract, one how to, one short story, one .........
Aww man cant do it.
Why?
Got an assignment, the film class has me doing a set of four films, I need to create an abstract film.
Any fucked up shit can be on it? _ Yes _ lets do this!
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Reseda
Whats going on man! - it was RJ, I havent seen him for about a year, at my friends place in Reseda,
High School was a mess for me, I was an inner city kid with very bad acne and a bad case of depression, Mom knew I was miserable in King Jr high and so she applied and shipped me off with the city of Los Angeles Magnet school program.
It was as the height of the Reagan 80s - the Valley soaked in a Trillion (not a typo - a trillion) dollars in creating the gravestone for communism - the New Wave/Preppie movement rose, felt its quick height and would fall all with my tenure of being bussed over the hill - I despised the bright colors and snotty - too young to be arrogant - kids, but to be fair I was a snot myself - I was sent off in 8th grade - I would finish out high school being bussed.
It was browning out as the 80s leached to its meaningless end. - The lower middle class brown people were stating to crowd the center and glitzy rot held the air still-- I really really really did not fit in - but I made no local friends
We banded together hunched over Atari computers - reading Douglas Adams, reciting Monty Python and listening to metal - aesthetically I was a nerd - I had glasses an inch thick and wore sweaters in the summer - two hours daily commute via bus and the sourness in me was slightly mitigated by my friends -- culturally I did know - Echo Park and Reseda were both one in heart in some way that was surrounded by cultures - Silverlake in its Gayest moment and Sherman Oaks in its citadel of aspiring to be a poor mans more tasteful West LA - Cocaine highs trying to push a 70s ecstasy way past the expiration date with a bit of suburban bliss.
By the end of my run I was running on a self image that had tanked. Hard. I did not fit in with my Valley friends but I did not have the wherewithal to connect to the aspects that I felt but could not vocalize - and the virginity was not helping... at all.
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I enrolled in a set of general education, philosophy was a favorite -- I came to the conclusion that it was fuck of all - I WANTED to toss my future on its ass
-it wasn't much and I wasn't much ----_-==__ so I did the most punk thing I an inner city bookworm could think of doing
I became a film student.
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Reseda cont....
The night was filled with the electricity that one only finds in youth - I needed some compelling visuals and I had little time in doing so - the rushes that I had where muddy and not usable - I had a bit of color kodachrome and a borrowed City 8mm and we had a pocket of Jim Beam - less then sense
I knew I needed light - and a road trip to Sherman Oaks at midnight was just the thing - The old Sherman Oaks Galleria was the neon womb of innerworld that encased all into its plastic sealant - coming from a family that felt K-Mart was the apex of material accession it filled me with mild envy and the slightest dread....and a desire to see it all ascend to landfill -- and for the girls to be bowed to me --needing me ,,,
The garage is what fascinated me - it was oil pitted concrete that the blue tinged neon lit up - I took a damn class on the chemical properties of film and still did not know how to work the damn camera - the filmed result would be lights draped by blurred vague darkness.
We broke into the garage - as far as I knew the security did not care - I rolled down the window stuck my upper body out of the window and pointed the camera upward and we threw the Honda Civic in neutral and rolled down the garage - - I could not get the camera steady. Cursing to myself RJ noticed -
Hay let me have this - OK what are you going to do? - let me try this - a gleam filled his eyes -
Back to the top of the garage - RJ has less sense then guts but even for me this is nuts, he is a guy who is about 210 pounds and he lays on his back on the hood of the car and then we kick the Civic back into neutral and let gravity take it course from the top of the garage, a small car in neutral can reach some decent speed going downhill with the drivers vision is impaired.
Basic physics says - a sudden stop or a sharp turn and 210 pounds of human flesh holding a City owned 8 mm film camera gets tossed onto blue neon drenched concrete. This is something you can do when you are 19 and desperate for entertainment. JR was sliding slightly and held the camera upward - it was the best shot I ever got.
Fucking cool! - We where now infected - AJ suggested we get more lights - like the mad Kerouacen Dharma Bums running down the mountain chasing life by tasting the spice of danger, lets get the shot - damn personal safety!........
Right by the Galleria is an interchange of freeways- Sherman Oaks nexus of connection with the rest of the valley. Near one interchange there was a fence that had a hole, unnoticed that we slid under - climbing up and pushing the brush away we were exposed to the freeway at a sharp turn - The headlights streaked straight ahead to your face and then they looked liked they cut a sharp right - it was a bit of an illusion but the cars where going 70 plus as we stood right on the corner where the dirt met the freeway- the automotive headlights bobbed came dangerously close, closer then streaked away.
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Is Ken there?
Ya - Kennny!
Huh?
Phone
Listen can you help me I am going to need help and I know you are a good guy and I need help!!!!!
OK - GP - (I secretly wanted her - all of her nicotine stained breath, her short kinky hair, her rapier wit and artistic pretension - but she was living with a successful 30 something was right out of the playbook that I even I would not cross - it fed my I am the worse loser in the known universe anti ego that was ego - only 19 year old males who never dated or even connected on some gray level could know )
A short walk to Silverlake and I was in a short bungalow house - the Dad was a single post hippy parent of two collage age women and was not around this afternoon - GP wanted to create a short film with her Sister B as a nymph - the background would be the window that I would have to setup lights.
Her sister - they must not have had the same mother - she was the opposite in many ways - dark skinned, straight dark hair, a lean body in a multi veiled costume -- shear near topless
I was braking out in a sweat as I duck-taped the lights to the wall - moved the bed, hung drapes, was told to turn around as B would change her costume (I guess topless was OK but not the full Monty) - She arched her back as the blue shaded her form - the top fell off - fluidly the outline moved --------my inner lecherous young man kept perfectly still
Later we put away all of the stuff - sliding down the dead drop hillside she thanked me with Cafe Tropical coffee and pastries, ---was she flirting with me? cant tell..
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In film history we saw Double Indemnity - and examined the film noir period of Hollywood, it brought forth clearly that the current movies hollywood was churning out was - at lest in terms of dialog - shite
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the Red and the White - a communist allegory. Alejandro Jodorowsky - nutjob or genuis? - both, French New Wave - good but not as good as one thinks, - wanna have a vision a dream -- how did they do this? -- 70 rule -
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Studying film - i.e. watching good old movies and reading about them - talking about trends in movies over the years - messing with cameras and actors and shots in a nervous sort of way -- class at 10am - time to dream - criticizing the current crop of films - arguing over the relative merits of the New Waves--late nights at galleys with too little light and too much caffeine
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The eyes are opened the greats of the past - the golden 30s, the dark 40s the experimental 60s the banal blockbuster 80s
What academia does not tell you is that the utter transience transcendence of an ecstatic film experience - the one that haunts your dreams - makes daily living worth it - the primal force of your first realized narrative --- is something they simply can not teach you, skills yes - the underlying story of primal myth - yes,,,,,,,,,,,,,but vision the ability to touch people in ways that strike a comment primal cord
That is only born out of a combination of very hard work and love and a lot of luck - transmitting the ability to feel alive its a bright comet streaking in the sky - it lights up all of the darkness around you then vanishes.....
Just when you think you know the answers - the questions change - you change and so does everything around you ---------
Primal memories remain but transmitting the dirt and grit and power to those who do not see what you see, and did not feel what you felt so acutely ...... usually having them understand what Popular culture meant so deeply to you .... it does not work - most people do not posses desire (nor the need!) to connect to that spirit and if they do it needs to be seduction not propaganda
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
I have allways found seduction hard and ego brusing - but keep trying - keep moving
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