Triptych

Summer Soulstice festival, Santa Monica, CA.

I have no comment. I think the man speaks for himself.

a mountain of joy

I don't remember much from my own years in a four-foot frame. I don't think it was as fun as this. I envy them, their unencumbered joy. No bills, no girls, no press of time. Just play. And snacks. And sleep. And Repeat.

tubeheads test screening

Being and randomness on the Wilshire. It would seem the same window-dresser from the His and Hers Hair has been making the rounds in the Miracle Mile... in the little entertainment complex on the south side of the street, near the Page Natural History Museum. Which makes sense, since this is essentially the natural history of the contemporary age...

behind the magic of the modern first-world

"A Refugee Camp in the Heart of the City," is how they billed it: Medecines Sans Frontiers (Doctors without Borders) sent a traveling exhibit of a typical refugee camp (though not typical in any sense, since in each city where this camp was situated, there was actual access to clean water, plumbing, vitamins found in nature and food not pounded into cake, and a not so desperate fear of cordite stinging your nose hairs). A few American cities toured this excursion de douleur. Here in Los Angles, it landed in Griffith Park. Not to far from the steady thrum of the 5 freeway and the thack of the 9-hole. This was a life-sized diorama of the typical elements found in a refugee camp-- but without the very real horror. I have assembled a few visual details below... Donate now!

Upon entering the camp, your infants are weighed, catalogued and the necessary care and feeding is outlined. Like most of our first-world attempts to convey the direness of the third-world (is this this fourth world?), it feels a bit disney meets performance-art. But it is effective nonetheless. People around the world are being driven out of their homes, 42 million have fled armed conflicts and are searching for safety.

Proper procedures for weighing your child will ensure adequate nutrition is provided.

I don't think I was prepared for these. The actual drawings of the children in the camps. As this first one demonstrates... you see a pretty boat. A pretty, blue band of water. Pretty, green leafy trees... and a soldier assassinating who is most certainly your father, or brother-- the only available male still on hand who might pose resistance. But as the two children tucked into the right of the frame are blood red, it would pose that this is perhaps your neighbor. And you made it to the camp, and thus retained your facility to record as such. Click on the images to see them larger and realize the magic of our first-world: we sit. we flush. it disappears. Man we are blessed.

These kids are six....

... and eight

... and five...

... hug your own children. Pray they never discover Crayola red, unless identifying roosters or sunsets. And here we have a toy car made of tin from a industrial-sized tin of insect repellent. Kids. They have a funny way of finding the fun. It's not a gift or a talent. They just don't know any better. Silly kids. Don't they know, tricks are for kids.

A poster alerting you to the early warning signs of that ole pesky TB... that's TB Sheets to you Van Morrison Fans. Tuberculosis.

Couple more, for perspective...

Boys with an unnatural attraction to Sorghum.

Latrine. Or kitchen. Can't remember which.
Weight your infants, care and feeding here.
The view as you approach the exhibit...
Typical multi-family shelter...

From what I've read, pray you leave on one of these...

Did I mention... these people are dying to hear from you? Donate now!

Sorry, that was a cheap shot. At least go see what they're doing here.

Wandering off-stage in h.wood, happened across someone else's "green room." Wondering if one might view this in a post 9/11 era as "nostalgic traumedy?"and in a pre-911 era as "nostalgic zealousy." Regardless of the era, I'm not really sure why this painting makes me uncomfortable. But it does. Is it the sense that I am looking at a Hopper on out-dated anger meds that makes me woozy? What does this painting say to you? Other than, thank god I had a girl (even though she has the looks and temperament of George Washington).

Another display worthy of note. The new Mattel "Kidnap Action" Hostage-Angel-Debbie Doll. Note the zip-ties around her wrists, angelic forced reverent-prayer-grin. As if to communicate to her captors that, indeed, the god of small things will wrest her from their worst intentions.... this was in some knick-knack shop in Richmond, VA a few years back.

happy birthday, Ren-Ren-Renny

... remembering a defining artistic moment, during your infamous blue period.

big bright sun

Remember when all you had to do was show up and smile and life brought you magic that you didn't even ask for? And loving something required not much more from you than attention? And the only thing that came with strings attached, were balloons...

as if they were amish

Each day. On my way to Ralph's for provisions, I get this treat. Snarky wee gems of grooming on the Wilshire, in the Miracle Mile. Mostly, I pass the His and Hers Hair Goods and smile. That display girl has a serious and solid sense of funny. It's been three years now and I have to admit, I am still a bit worried that this complicated-hair-duo will enter my dreams and force upon me their cheery, floating wisdom, or some disembodied, ungodly, night terrors. 

But lately, I've wondered if maybe it's not a joke. The other heads on display are straight up head-work: corn rows, extensions, toupes, wigs and a thing I call "the fluff occasionalle." Stuff everyone but yaks and gorillas will someday deal with. In short, this place sells hair. Serious hair.

So, if this is real wig-work going on and a potential of the craftsmanship to be had inside, I can't help but wonder at the nod to the Amish Peter Pan: did I miss Mary Martin playing Ole Man Stoltzfus in the broadway revival of the movie, Witness?  I'd like to know. Because from what little I do know, the Amish beard is a sign of maturity and wisdom, a thing a man starts to grow once he is married-- and not after taking female-hormone injections. What then? Is this The New Amish Man for the mod century-- a sexy, sartorial beast? If this be the case, I have one question for you. Would you accept a ride in this man's buggy? 

Um. 

Is this before and after what?

A lobotomy? 

For the first year or so, in passing, I thought maybe these tags were part of some upcoming author series -- at the hair and wig store -- and that perhaps someone took down the part of the sign that read :"BEFORE the intermission Tobias Wolff  (pictured at left) will read from his new and collected stories and AFTER the open bar is repaired, Phillip Roth (pictured at right) will read from his new novella." Trust me on the likeness, here. Okay. so, maybe I'm wrong. Someone just tapped my shoulder. This is not Toby and Phil, but in fact, life-like injection-molded casts of Dr. Phil and Phil Spector... so there you go. Stupid, flippant, me.