from www.freerangezucchini.com

Los Angeles seems to have a talent for the carnivalesque.  What I mean is a scene where people are packed together in a dense, noisy stream, flowing through streets lined with bright, colorful sights and music.  The L.A. Art Walk is like that, at least in mid-summer.  The Día de los Muertos celebration in Hollywood Forever Cemetery is also an explosion of crowd feeling and popular creativity.  People flow through the cemetery along paths lined with ofrendas, the traditional free-form altars built on this holiday to honor and recall the dead.  At Hollywood Forever, the inventiveness is amazing: lights, candles, video, illuminated balloons, photographs, paintings and other art, live music and live (dead) dancers.  These are not ofrendas like your abuelita used to make.  Near the entrance is a display of Aztec drumming and dancing.  Costumed dead roam the paths; many  visitors are also in costume and makeup to fit the occasion.  And of course there are food trucks, souvenir booths, films projected on the large walls, and performances on the main stage (roughly where they show movies on other weekends).  We caught the following before one act: “…recordamos nuestros muertitos, se nos imaginamos cuando eran jóvenes y gozaban de la vida, del sexo, del amor, de la comida…” (we remember our dead darlings, we imagine them when they were young and full of the joy of life, sex, love, food).  It is the pure spirit of carnival.

Occupy L.A. is not far removed from this.  People swarm over it with the most varied agendas: end the Fed (Ron Paul’s minions were much in evidence that day), legalize marijuana, go vegan, PETA, peace (of course), neo-Zapatista, go green, 9/11 conspiracy, anti-9/11-conspiracy.  Raps and speeches from the podium are non-stop.  The grounds are covered with camping tents; it is dirty, scruffy, fascinating.

I don’t know if other cities are like this (I assume the “Occupy” areas are somewhat similar).  I don’t know if L.A. has always been like this.  Is it a special time in the city’s history?  Will we look back with nostalgia on the Decade of Dudamel?

Anyway, the path led us to Father’s Office, the iconic gastropub on Montana Avenue in Santa Monica.  It is not a brewery, since they don’t make their own beer, but it has one of the best selections anywhere, especially at the high end.  I have never seen a beer on any menu elsewhere for $72.00 (I suppose it’s worth it, but I’ll never know…).  There were several others for $20.00 and up, along with many at normal prices.  We had a Hangar 24 Chocolate Porter at 8%, which was immediately acclaimed a favorite.  We would have tried others, but it’s a long drive back to Irvine.

What about the “gastro” part?  Well, enough has been written about that.  We tried the Office Burger and a mushroom salad; picture the dog Snuffles from the old Quick Draw McGraw cartoons: <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zldJlUSJ9OI&feature=related>http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zldJlUSJ9OI&feature=related.  What they say about this place is true.

A note on the ambiance: it is loud, crowded and youthful, with open seating and shared tables.  You place your order at the bar, and service is quick.

The world is where we live from WWF on Vimeo.

“Bonk” author Mary Roach delves into obscure scientific research, some of it centuries old, to make 10 surprising claims about sexual climax, ranging from the bizarre to the hilarious. (This talk is aimed at adults. Viewer discretion advised.)

>

Anthropologist Helen Fisher takes on a tricky topic — love –- and explains its evolution, its biochemical foundations and its social importance. She closes with a warning about the potential disaster inherent in antidepressant abuse.

Fifty two years ago, Christian Dior brought one of his most recent fashion collections to Moscow. The leading designer Yves Saint Laurent decided to conduct an experiment. He dressed his models in the latest Paris fashions and sent them into the Moscow streets, arcades, and subway stations. The Russian people had never seen anything like it before. This was quite a culture shock, especially for the Russian “Babushkas,” who looked at the French fashion divas as if they were Napoleon’s invading army. Dior took some interesting photos that were later published in Life magazine.

Paul met with Ivan in a gay club on Saturday night. He came home next morning all exited and upbeat.

I wanted to know everything about his first date with Ivan. For the last eleven months all my sexual discussions and fantasies had been around Paul’s personal life. Today it was different, however. I had a lover of my own, and I was ready to share experiences. After all, Paul and I were best friends and best confidants for each other.

This is Paul’s story, very slightly edited. I have tried to find the proper substitute for his constant use of the word “fuck.” I actually checked the meaning of the work “fuck” in Wikipedia, and here is what I found: “Fuck is an English word that is generally considered profane which, in its most literal meaning, refers to the act of sexual intercourse. However, by extension it may be used to negatively characterize anything that can be dismissed, disdained, defiled, or destroyed.”

But Ivan and Paul definitely did not defile or destroy anything so far. So, I will use the phrase “making love” instead of the profane word “fuck.”

This is Paul’s story edited by me:

When we first met, Ivan sounded pretty tired, and I thought maybe he did not find me attractive. His jacket was tightly buttoned, and he looked more like he was going to a business meeting than to a gay night club.

To my surprise, he already had a reserved table waiting for us. Ivan was no stranger in this club; in fact, it sounded as though he knew a lot of the guys. What if he did make love to some of these guys? So what? Life was beautiful, and I was ready to enjoy it without analyzing it.

I ordered a glass of wine, and Ivan ordered a straight up shot of vodka. He started with one and then kept ordering more and more. I was afraid that he would get really drunk, but to my surprise he did not. Later, Ivan shared with me one of his many secrets on how not to get drunk. His recipe was very simple: just do not mix drinks and do not drink on an empty stomach. He was living proof that this works, since he probably had around 15 shots of vodka and was OK.

First we talked about gay rights organizations that he and I actively supported, and then our conversation moved to the recent Oscar Nominations. I was shocked to find out that Ivan saw almost all the Oscar-nominated movies, and when I asked how he found the time, he replied that movies had always been his passion and he watched almost every movie he could find; he also read three newspapers a day and compared their treatment of the news. (Christian Science Monitor, L.A. Times and N.Y. Times). I listened to his political comments with great interest. He struck me as an intelligent and cultured person, and for a moment I felt even a little intimidated by him. All of a sudden he changed the topic and started talking about his acquaintances with different Hollywood celebrities (supposedly known by me) and his personal relations with them. He spoke so fast and with such a heavy accent, mixing English words with Hollywood slang, that I had a hard time understanding him. I decided just to let him talk. He was probably getting drunk, and this was the only one way he showed it, I thought.

Finally, Ivan decided that the small talk was over and he could relax and enjoy himself.

He took off his jacket and revealed (to my surprise) a very tight, almost see-through pink shirt. Now he looked just right for a Hollywood gay club. His shirt was so tight that I could almost see the contours of his perfect body. God was definitely gay, and he probably looked like Ivan, I thought for a moment. The slow jazzy music started, and we joined the dancing crowd. Our bodies embraced for the first time and I felt as though an electric shock passee all over me. Our faces touched and we fell into a long passionate kiss. I felt his full lips, his milky white skin and soft yellow blond hair. We were dancing and kissing; then he softly whispered in my ear with his sexy Russian spy accent: “I only want to be with you now and always. Your kiss is so delicious and the sounds of your voice are like music to my ear. For this moment you my joy and all for me. I am jealous of you.”

His words were like dialogue from an old foreign movie. I wanted to “make love” to him right away on the dance floor. I was definitely losing control, and I started taking his shirt off, but he stopped my hand and whispered in my ear, “I don’t think this club is ready for my naked body, but I can assure you that my body has some wonderful parts which I would love to show you later in my apartment.” “Sounds good to me,” I replied. “Are we ready to go?” “Sure,” replied Ivan, “I just want to finish our dance. You are such a good dancer.” And he was right, we were dancing beautifully. We defiantly looked like a hot couple, and a lot of guys were checking us out. Ivan was a hot blond Russian, and I was a dark-haired Brazilian.

That night I learned a lot about Ivan’s body. I been introduced to a small tattoo at his left thigh that said “Little Butterfly.” We “made love” so hard that we turned his apartment into a “no-fly zone.” In the middle of the night, naked, I went to the bathroom, and to my surprise I found a skinny guy in glasses sitting on the toilet and reading a book. I was shocked, but he did not show any sign of emotion and continued to read. When I told Ivan about my restroom encounter, he said that this was his roommate Allan, a UCLA medical student. He was apparently very quiet and studied all the time, and they didn’t have much interaction with each other. He didn’t even notice strange naked guys in his apartment? “Well, don’t worry about him,” laughed Ivan, “He is writing a research paper on ‘Increasing heterosexuality among homosexuals’.” “I don’t think you are a good subject for him.” “Probably not, but nevertheless we live very peacefully together. He has accepted my lifestyle, and I don’t care about his ideas. I even gave him an original idea to improve his own lifestyle, namely, how to turn hemp milk to marijuana. Allan is a big fan of marijuana and constantly complains that it is too expensive.

When I was ready to go home, I finally realized that Ekaterina the Great (Ivan’s dog) was not present. Paul explained me that Ekaterina the Great was visiting her girlfriend in Orange County and that he would pick her up later today.

I gave Ivan a kiss and promise to call him next week. As I was driving home, I repeated “Little Butterfly” over and over.

Dear Supporters, Members and Undecided,

We are happy to inform you that our coalition is growing exponentially.

Our members continue to hunt successfully in all urban areas of the United

States of America, thus saving money on food and significantly enhancing

their lifestyles.

The Urban Hunting Coalition is proud to say that we have already made

a significant economic contribution to the American economy.

Here are a few examples:

a. The “Whole Food” supermarket chain has downsized their downsizing.

b. The “Quick and Easy” chain is growing, especially since they joined

our Urban Hunting Coalition Affiliates Program.

c. UHC has now opened its own new fast food chain, Pigeons Feast (for

a quick bite if you haven’t had time to hunt).

Social Activities:

a. Host your own Tea Party movement.

b. Participate in our Hummer parade, held each year in beautiful Pasadena,

California.

c. Become a contestant in the Miss Urban Hunter Beauty Pageant (women only!).

Volunteer Opportunities:

Join our women’s movement, “Save America’s Borders.” Our female members

personally take their stand on the Mexican border to block the illegal

traffic of immigrants, drug smugglers, and anchor babies.

Questions and Concerns:

Since the Urban Hunting movement has grown so quickly, we have fewer

and fewer species to hunt. There are almost no pigeons left in the Los

Angeles, New York, and Boston areas. Do you think we should start some

kind of endangered species list, or just keep hunting until the job is done?

Paul and I were SO inspired recently by Sarah Palin’s moose hunting (moose killing) episode on her reality show.I think she is a political genius.  Her appeal to the target audience here (no pun intended) is very powerful.

Paul and I were fantasizing about what would happen if we were to follow her example in Los Angeles or some other urban area.

First, we could open a nonprofit organization with a name like “Urban Hunting Coalition.”  Membership would be private, with special discounts for tea party members activists.  I would be in charge of fund raising campaigns in the Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York areas.  (Highly profitable and less profitable areas would be equally divided among the other hunters.)  It would focus on equal opportunity employment for hunters; I like to be politically correct and avoid potential confrontations with Hunters Union members.  If I raise enough money, I can quit my corporate job (which I don’t like that much anyway).

Training Manual for Urban Hunters:

(Especially recommended to Whole Foods shoppers, for major grocery bill reduction, and to Tea Party activists, because it is the quickest way back to traditional American values.)

1. Prepare and plan your road kill trip carefully.

2. If you have a dog, you can train your pooch to be a hunting helper (cats, not so much).  We recommend taking your dog to hunting classes at your local dog fashion boutiques.

3. If you wish to buy a hunting dog, the most recommended breeds are:

Poodles (all sizes, including tea cup poodle).  Don’t be afraid that tea cup poodles are too small; they especially good for hunting pigeons.  Pigeons may not be so great as food, due to their toilet habits, but hunting them is good for the environment.

Chihuahuas.  They have proven to be a good hunting dogs, especially for skunks.  Skunks are known to have a special sexual attraction to urban Chihuahuas (they get so aroused that they forget to fart, and if you are quick you can kill them with a knife).

4. The best hunting outfits can be purchased at Neiman Marcus, Bloomingdales, on Rodeo Drive, Sunset Plaza, and Fascist Island; by now, we assume there are also good spots in the Manhattan area.

If you are a bargain hunter, we recommend use Loehmanns, Fifth Avenue Off, and Nordstrom Rock.  For online shopping, try Guilt.com: they have some special road-kill jewelry, shoes, and clothes on sale.  You can shop there while at work.

5. Please use Japanese Samurai blades.  Very sharp, quick, and easy to wash blood off.

6. Do not hunt for dogs; you could end up killing your boss’s dog.

7. Squirrels are good road kill.  They are adorable, and you can reuse their skin for fur coats or short jackets.  The more squirrels you kill, the longer the jacket you have.  Something to be proud of.

8. The best brand of jeans for urban hunters is True Religion.  They have a lot of pockets in the back; you can keep your bullets and other ammunition there.  Your ass will become a weapon of mass distruction!  Tip: you can also use false breasts for this purpose.

9. Use American made weapons; avoid Kalashnikovs and Uzis.  We don’t buy products from our competitors (probably most of them are made in China anyway).  We don’t want to move American jobs to China and India.

That’s it for now.  We are currently working on additions and modifications to our training manuals.  Please feel free to share your thoughts and ideas on the subject.

I almost forgot.  Sarah Palin, thank you very much for the inspiration you give to all of us, and feel free to share all your current and future ideas on this subject and other subjects as well.  It is our pleasure to offer you completementary free membership in our newly established  ”Urban Hunting Coalition.”

Meet Ben

From the moment I saw Ben in his red cashmere sweater with long dark curls lying wildly on his shoulder, my first thought was, What took you so long? I was ready to have sex with him right then in the hotel elevator. Thank God, Standard Hotel had 22 floors, and we would probably have had a great time in transit.

It didn’t happen in the elevator, but much later in his downtown loft. Were he able to explain to me in colorful detail why the female orgasm is so complicated and strange, it could come only from God himself. I felt his magic touch in every part of my body, and 11 months of virginity were broken into little pieces. Finally I could make the proper connection between oral sex, Ben’s art studio table, and the tribulations of being the lover of a street artist. As our liberated parrot Pontius Pilate would say, “Free love my friends!!!”

In between my sexual liberation in Ben’s loft and our dinner conversations in the hotel I had a great time. He was incredibly funny and a great story teller. This is what I found out about Ben:

When he was in elementary school his mother took him to a lot of classical ballet classes; that is how she saw his path to success and personal wealth. Of course, that was far from realistic, like a lot of things in his mother’s perspective on reality. First of all, Ben born with 2 left feet, and had to wear specially made shoes until he was 6 years old. Ben’s dad was one of the most successful trial lawyers in New York. They lived in Martha’s Vineyard, and his mother did not work a day of her married life.

Since the dance classes cost tons of money, his teacher never even discussed with Mrs. Bronstein (Ben’s mother) that her son was not about to become the next Mikhail Baryshnikov. He had to leave the dance academy later, when his teacher caught him sneaking to the girls’ changing room to watch them undress.

Mrs. Bronstein was absolutely determined to give Ben the best possible upbringing. She spent most of her afternoons in PTA meetings and the morning hours with her shrink, Dr. Katz. Ben did not remember his parents’ ever getting into fights (probably because his father was never at home much). He did remember arguments about Dr. Katz’s enormous bills, and later on the story of how his father tried to write them off as a business expense. The IRS did not allow it, on the grounds that Dr. Katz was entertainment, not business. Mrs. Bronstein saw him three times a week, and shared with him every detail of her personal life, even digestive issues, which were not exactly Dr. Katz’s specialty. She discussed everything but sex. Dr. Katz happened to be gay, which may have been the cause for this reticence.

When Ben was in the 6th grade she took him to a career counselor, and he had to take the Meyers-Briggs test. Based on the results, the counselor told her that at Ben’s current age he could pretty much do anything, except work with agricultural products. That was OK with me and satisfactory for Mrs. Bronstein as well.

He graduated from Columbia University with a degree in Creative Writing. He took a lot of abstract courses like Truth Now and Absolute Beauty; as a result of his fine liberal arts education, he came to consider himself a true intellectual. His parents were sure that their money had been well spent.

I could go on and on, but it’s getting late.

My next post will be about Ben’s graffiti art and street art community.

Ben’s street art