Saturday, January 11, 2003

Hi, Babypants:



So the peace thing was fine. Goddamn, I love downtown Los Angeles. Its grandeur is epic and polluted, just like its humanity. Walk down Broadway some time--there are faces in the facades, and little planets and stars. The old Herald Examiner building, empty but proud, the movie palaces turned Latino churches, the ginormous Aztec (?) mural, the families out for a Saturday stroll in the shops. Grand Central Market--we ate there after the thing; it was packed and bustling with chilis and pig heads everywhere, sawdust on the floors, colorful neon signs, espresso and burritos and chop suey and shit. Angel's Flight trolley wasn't running today but it sure looked pretty. A butch lesbian janitor lady cleaning out the trash cans with the worst rat tail you ever saw. She had her thing going on. I felt like John Fante was maybe sitting at one of the tables sipping a beer, watching. Whenever the New York Times or any other snobs accuse L.A. of cultural vapidity, I laugh.



Do they have eyes?



Or are brown people invisible to them?



Maybe the problem is in their definition of culture.



If it doesn't include this, I don't want any part of it.



The Surreality Award of the day goes to this moment:



The protest-ubiquitous Jackson Browne singing some damn song about American imperialism, backed up by a Santana-ish--then distinctly metalesque--lead guitar from Slash.



He is one fine damn guitarist, and there's no two ways around that.



There were some good, reasoned, logical speeches. Then there were the lame ones, such as the one trying to turn the Iraq-thing into a debate on the government of Cuba and its blah blah heroic fight blah blah against U.S. terrorism blah. Look, people, Cuba is a dictatorship that jails and kills dissidents. Amazing country, amazing people, incredible history. Shitty government.



Why is it OK, among some Lefties, for certain governments to oppress their people, but not others?



But overall the thing felt pretty mainstream, pretty calm and well-organized and grown-up and non-shrill. It was probably one of the best-organized rallies I've ever attended, and the cops were totally chill, too.



Blah blah.



SuperHillary is here from Minneapolis and we're painting the town blue tomorrow, so I gotta go work on my Top Secret Project to liberate myself from the shackles of celebrity media. It's gonna be great.



Over and Out,



Kate







No comments: