take my wife...

Back in the late eighties, I worked as an assistant manager at a corporate bookstore in Downtown LA, and walked a few blocks from my bus stop everyday...

You get to know and nod at the regulars, and avoid the unfortunates who were out of their minds, but who were also regulars.

One such, Nora, was a 300 lb. 50 something African American woman who would just love to follow people down "her" block and scream continuously if they didn't say hello to her as they passed...

I usually said "Good Morning" to avoid a scene.

One day, I was walking a few blocks from Nora's area during my lunch, when I see her at the other end of the block coming in my direction.

Then I realized that she was making a straight line at me, looking rather unhappy.

I move to the other side of the sidewalk, and she adjusts course, shoving pedestrians aside, now angrier. And closer.

And when a bee hived unwashed 300 lb woman wrapped in various ill fitting dresses is looking cross eyed at you and now pointing, you begin to feel a tad anxious.

Had I forgotten to say "hello" in the morning? Was my new wave suit and tie too loud? So many thoughts bubbling, but here comes Nora straight at me with all the determination of a torpedo aimed dead ahead.

She's walking pretty fast, I try to step aside and she slams into me with all her body and I get body slammed onto my back on the sidewalk all in an instant.

She yells "HA! YOU IS MY HUSBAND!", begins to cackle and walks away.

I stay on the ground until the cackling seems far enough, and the rare few honestly concerned people have formed a ring around me.

One asks: "Are you OK?"

"Yeah, just stunned."

Another asks: "Do you know that crazy bitch?"

And all I can say is

"That was no bitch, that was my wife."

Ba bum, bum bum.

a barney fife sense of security

So there i am this morning, sitting on the #18 bus east into Downtown LA, for 40 minutes in heavy traffic stuck on a bridge over the freeway, only 2 blocks from my train stop. The driver cannot open the doors to let us out because on this bridge there is no real sidewalk to deposit us onto, so all of the passengers are trapped.

This leg of my commute (the bus part) is usually a 2 or 3 minute ride, so at this point I know that I'm already late for work.

And this being LA, at 8:30 am the temperature outside already 65, but the bus, with no windows that open has, of course, no AC, and the ambiance is that of an overheated boy's locker room, so the misery and anger quotient just gets higher...

I make my way to the driver, just to try yo overhear what he may know:

"...%$#@*&^! film shoot, I think. Dispatcher wont tell. And I gotta go, man..."

Passenger: "It's not a shoot, that's way too much cops and shit."

I don't bother them further...

Suddenly, a break appears in the traffic and we move to the intersection, so he let's us out, and I walk over to the train stop, only to find a mini-police state, full of LAPD upstairs, Sheriffs down below, and a couple of squads of roaming ill-defined security types.

Let's just say I didn't want to be in the metro underground right then.

After a few transit-pass checks I make it to my train, where we promptly sit for another 10 minutes. Rumors pass amongst the passengers, as well as discussions of earthquakes,film shoots, bombs, and riots.

Nice.

Right as the train lurches to a start, two of the stranger uniformed cops come in and stand at the front of the train car. They're both wearing sunglasses, both male and Caucasian, one is 6 foot 3 or 4, the other almost a foot shorter, and both look like musclebound goons ready to split the ugly brown polyester uniforms they've been poured into.

So I ask the shorter one "What's all the fuss?"

And he looks around nervously and says "A suspicious package-"

Beefy Tall interrupts: "It's a film shoot."

Beefy short stammers: "We were told to-"

Tall: "Film shoot."

I thank them as we pull out of the underground tunnel, into the light rail right of way, and into the sunshine of the morning.

your own backyard

So there I am on the commuter train going through that nebulous area south of downtown LA called "Watts" (until recently mostly african american but now equally populated by various mexican & south american immigrants and the poor), when a couple of young gentlemen of a "gangsta" persuasion amble in.

Both in the same crisp white oversized t-shirts, black khakis, expensive athletic shoes, razor shaped hairlines and exact custom jewlry.

First thing I think of when I see the whole identical "angry rapper youth" outfits that they are wearing is of the only other male dress-alikes that I know of in LA, and that's in the various gay communities...these two ganstas guys would probably kill me if they could read my mind, which I'm glad they can't.

Second thing I think of is the cigarette one is holding, and I just know that he's going to light it up on the train, just 'cause he is full of youthful sneer and attitude and can do what he wants.
Sure enough, halfway between stops, there he goes and starts filling up the car with smoke, much to everyone's annoyance.

I rather enjoy not getting in confrontations with pissed off youth of any persuasion, but even as I'm thinking about the whole "choose your battles" mindset, along comes a very old african american grandma who walks right up to the two and says (very loudly):

"You are the stupidest people on this train. Shame on you, you stupid little shits."

And then she sat down. Many of the riders begin laughing.

The smoker, looking sheepish, tosses the cigarette out the door at the next stop, sits down next to the old woman and says:

"Sorry, Grammas. Please don't tell Dad."

To which she replies:

"I won't. You will." and begins to laugh herself silly.

Heh Heh.

shiny buddha

As a child, my family (Costa Rican immigrants) lived in a Los Angeles "suburb" called Culver City where it seemed that almost everyone was white and well off.

Not us. We were poor. Poor, poor, poor. My father drank most of his 2 job's earnings away, and the only job my mother had (for a year) was at a nursing home, but then my father got all Latin macho and forbade her to work anymore. For the entire sixth grade I had one pair of jeans. Really. We never stayed in one rental for very long, since we were always being evicted.

What a swell time that was.

Well, typical of the working poor, Christmas time was the big to-do, especially for the kids. And for my brother and I, the "big ticket" items were always the latest Action Figures (they were known as dolls for the girls)...Major Matt Mason,Johnny West, The Noble Nights, Captain Action, and of course, G.I. Joe.

We had a Mercury Astronaut (with Capsule!) G.I. Joe, various international military G.I. Joes, scuba diving Joe, "scientist" Joe, the Black Joe (with fro) and my favorite: explorer Joe, with mountain climbing gear, various boots, radio, dynamite, sleeping bag, tent, canteen and you get the picture.

All Joes came in a rugged looking "military" style boot camp box, and all the kits came with a comic book essentially telling you what to do with your doll, er, action figure, after you got him dressed up for "action" (and what a field day that phrase was later for my late pal Bruce-very gay and into men in uniforms-but I digress)...

This explorers ultimate "prize" was called, I believe, the Golden Buddha and after using all the "gadgets" Joe was able to pry the big red "diamond" off the Buddha's forehead (his 3rd eye?) and the back of the Buddha would open to reveal lots of hidden gems and pirate-booty looking stuff).

Cool.

That Golden Buddha was always near my bed, and occasionally used to hide "secret" things, as only a growing boy would need to hide-my first love note was kept in there for a year...and joints, and pills and all sorts of whatnot. No one ever suspected that the old G.I. Joe accessory still held "treasures".

That Buddha was all shiny and golden and cheap 60's plastic-y and as I grew older often the topic of conversation when noticed by visitors.

He also, after many years of looking at him just as I would nod off inspired me to look into Buddhism (along with Kung-Fu with Mr Carradine).

Over the years, most of my old toys were destroyed, lost, sold or used in weird art pieces (don't ask), but not the Buddha. He has always remained near my bed, with a diamond-less hole in his forehead.

And when pried open, he stores condoms.

I'VE GOT SEOUL

Living in Los Angeles, you become accustomed to the constant presence of film shoots and crews, as well as celebrity sightings in everyday settings (hell, my kid went to preschool with John C. Reilly's kid and my ex-wife's boyfriend was Beck)...

You just get used to the film/entertainment world.

Now, downtown Los Angeles has doubled for just about every other city in the world, both in exteriors and interiors -in one week, our Biltmore Hotel became a middle eastern disco on 'Alias' and the White House on ' The West Wing'- and the streets are constantly used- as Detroit in Robocop, for instance - and passing through these outdoor 'sets' can be amusing...

On my way to catch my train from downtown LA to work, I found that the first block of Wilshire Blvd. had been transformed into some Korean city, complete with all street signs and business fronts, even the newspaper kiosks and the homeless (all Korean actors) and, of course, the billboards!

A previously non-existent food store had all sorts of cool Korean treats not for sale, much to the chagrin of a couple of clueless office drones trying to get into the store...

The only English signs that had not been changed were for a golf store (!) and an ad featuring...MC Hammer, promoting some kind of energy drink...

MC Hammer?

Maybe it was a retro Korean movie .

can't turn around

so, as some of you may know, i am a dj, and have been for 20 plus years...

not just my internet radio show (killradio.org, thurs 7-9pm left coast time), or my stint as a pirate broadcaster, but actual live party/club things...

i used to do it a lot more, but whenever it ceases to be fun or too much like work, i take breaks...

well, this new year's found me djing a party for a pal, and even though the set up was primitive (2 cd players, a guitar mixer and a home stereo-I've worked with worse) and the bulk of the attendees unfamiliar (mostly 20-30 somethings on the local music scene) we all had a pretty good time...

until this one ditzy woman (and did she have to be blonde? no! she chose to be,as she drunkenly told me...) chose to begin commenting or complaining about every other number i played)

to an old rock steady tune: "we've all heard burning spear before"

to some buzzcocks: "don't you have any led zep?"

to led zep: "do you have any of the earlier stuff?" (the track was from #2)

to the staple singers: "any james brown?"

to james brown: "any parliament?"

you get the picture...eventually i told her to fuck off, to which she replied: "hey, I'm paying you for this party!!"

which was a surprise, because i was doing it as a favor to my pal, and this woman hadn't even been invited. She'd crashed.

time for another break.