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    October 20, 2007

    Green Day - Gutter Punks- Your Child Could Become One

    Green Day's American Idiot song, released in 2004, remains tops in describing the pathology involving our society.  American Idiot the album portrays American families with teens or twenty-somethings under their broken wings. American Idiot the album seems to have been the first recording of the struggle of an American lower middle class single parent family with a reality of doom for high school drop-outs. Nowadays there are no jobs even for college graduates. The appeal of the album is universal as unemployment strikes the world thru globalization.
    Some say Billie Joe Armstrong spent a couple of weeks roaming around the Bay Area to catch the vibe for this touching depiction of our youth while others see a touch of autobiography in the creation of Jesus of Suburbia, Saint Jimmy, and What's-Her-Name.

    The album portrays social phenomena referred to as ghetto punks(the poor regardless of color), or gutter punks. The latter are younger than ever, ten year-olds, roaming the streets, highly self-destructive and hopeless.
    There's not much new in depicting the lost children of broken homes. Axl Rose did it in "Mr. Brownstone", a song about addiction and abandoned buildings on Western Avenue, next to Holywood. I remember seeing the children, tattooed and drugged, roaming Hollywood Boulevard. Before that, others, such as Allen Ginsberg, lamented the fate of our youth albeit in a different context.


    Continue reading "Green Day - Gutter Punks- Your Child Could Become One" »

    August 22, 2007

    The Obese, the Freaked Out, and the Beautiful

    I took a cab to get a friend's first grandchild a couple of my favorite baby gifts: the little duck for him to play with in the tub, I had one, and a satin blanket with cherry blossom motif. This was the first time I was out by myself since the hospitalizations I went thru in July/August.

    The cabbie, Leon, left home in bermudas and a tank top to cater to my needs. My favorite cabbie passed away nearly two years ago -- now light one more cig.

    Leon and I got lost in a chic-chic area in town. I asked him to stop so I could ask a Sylvan center for help. His cell. my cell. were dead.

    Leon was shunned away. Dangling on my crutch, I go to the manager's desk. Both she and her secretary were new to the Westside. No, they couldn't call 411 to help me, no, they didn't have a phone book, but I spotted one.

    Alas! The store wasn't listed under any of possible categories. Finally, I let them know I am a CTY SDB Johns Hopkins scholar, class of 1999. I could write a good recommendation or a bad one.

    The secretary decided to "turn on the Internet." I guided her on her Google search -- practice makes perfect. They'd been on the job for two days or weeks. No finesse necessary to deal with Westside Los Angeles folks. We found I had switched the digits in my head, 901 instead of 109. ;-P

    I got to the boutique for the li'l ones. Oh, they're nice, Kit and Nazarene. I mean nice and bodacious, both fluent in Valspeak.

    I am obese now. I am freaked out by the lack of skills the service sector displays in catering to the disabled. Who is beautiful? Everyone can make an effort. We, the handicapped, are protected by law. In a lawless country -Ha!

    Moral: Get yourself beautiful now!

    August 14, 2007

    Game Can Turn On You

    She was a fox. Todd was head over heels for her.  Her slender but well-packed sillouette; her chichis firm, round and up.  A bubble butt, red lipstick and drop dead gawgeous blue eyes.

    She even reminded him of that dud of an actress, Scarlett J. Sigh-sigh.  Had her name been Bobby,  he could call her B.J. - a function more appropriate for those pouting lips of hers.  Inner giggle.  His attention moved to her blue eyes.  It wasn't enough to capture them in photos.
    Edgar Allan Poe had had his Berenice.   The box.  Mementos.  Her smile.


    The obsession grew in Todd along with his plans.  One day, coast-to-coast rags flashed some weird news.  Even the Washington Post sent Woodie to cover any unusual  incident.
    A weirdo had been caught by a river, drenched in scarlet blood.  Clasped in his hands, his throat choked to asfixia gravis . Perfectly spheric blue marbles found in his throat.  They looked like blue eyes. Eerie.

    His sexual obsession gone too far, he may have had the orgasm Billy Budd didn't at hanging.

    Some reported to Woody they saw the word,"Berenice," form in the freezing morning air.

    Moral of the story: What you see is all you can get.

    ©Anarchic_Universe, 2007

    Vinicius de Moraes and Edu Lobo "O Haver"

    June 02, 2007

    If - Living in Greater Los Angeles

    This poem used to be found framed on the wall in nearly every middle class home in Rio de Janeiro of the 60s.  It's Rudyard Kipliing's "If" Here, from Google Video, with Dennis Hopper.

    It is hard for younger people to believe Dennis Hopper once was as handsome as James Dean once was or Marlon Brando once was.  I have a friend in Sugar HIll, Harlem, who says everybody is good looking when young.  He was just fine.

    In Greater Los Angeles  it's no big deal to run into a celeb.  Rule of thumb is not to stare or address them.  There was a time, in the very early nineties, everywhere I went I would run into Keanu Reeves, of " Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventures."  While crossing Santa Monica Boulevard on Second Street, I'd look to my side, there he was.  Bringing my friends to Venice Beach, look to my left, there he was.  In those pre-Neo days I am sure it'd be okay to address him.  Susan-I'll leave if W. wins- Sarandon was having frozen yogurt with a child of hers in the chi-chi part of town.  I barely looked into the store, she brought a newspaper up.  Like I care.  Her bosom is nice, anyone remember Atlantic City, by Louis Malle?

    The greatest thrill in my life, regarding film, was to attend a Billy Wilder Festival at the Directors' Guild of America, DGA, as we refer to it.  Those were the last days of my pregnancy.  My belly was as big as a southern watermelon. People dress down to go to the DGA.  A cap of your current "project" is part of the agoraphobic chic.  I saw John Singleton and watched most of Billy Wilder's films.  There is only one eatery near the DGA. Those people reall yendure long hours just watching films.  My husband and I went to this deli across the street.  Who's sitting right next to us? Dennis Hopper and his pregnant wife.  He has those crazed eyes; she was a sweet young thing, who looked like Michelle Phillips and dressed the part.  I could have kicked my husband in his derrière for staring.

    Billy Wilder was very funny.  Great scents and poison in small flasks, that's him. He talked about everyting and anybody, from Garbo to film noir to comedy.  He is my favorite director.

    Sometime ago we went to a small theater to see a French movie, what else?  Three women came into the theater when it went dark.  One had a little dog, which pissed me off big time.  As we leave the theater, we see Babs, in pink from head to toes, glasses and all, her assistant carrying the poodle, and her friend.  Nico wanted to talk to Barbra. Say what?  "Gee, you look younger than you did in 'Funny Girl'?"

    I had one nasty experience.  That was the Flying Nun. How does a person, even a miniscule one, want to pretend a "I want to be alone" 'tude wearing a plastic pink overcoat?

    Next time I want to narrate our excellent adventures in rock shows. For now,  You can do some Google Video searches.  There are some awesome finds.

    If you are a blogger, just paste this code to your photo before blogging straight from Flickr.com.  I happened to read the TOS/TOU and your Flickr must have photos whose copyright is yours.  Sharing knowledge is healthy.
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