Bits and Pieces from L.A.

I'm back from L.A., and would like to report on the following.

I managed to finish a chapter of my novel and start another. Total was about 4500 words, which is not bad. It's tough for me to squeeze out more than that in a two-day period, which was essentially what I had to work with, and considering I spent almost all of Saturday galivanting around, 4500 words isn't bad at all.

One of the main things I did was see a reading in the Larchmont district -- I supose it's a district -- by Mary Woronov. She's the artist and actress who became famous for her performance as the domineering woman on the bed in "The Chelsea Girls." She has written a short book called "Eyewitness to Warhol" (2002: Victoria Dailey Publisher, Los Angeles; ISBN 0-9657858-3-1; P.O. Box 461150, L.A., 90046) and read an essay from it. She is tall, greying, still quite handsome, which is a term I believe one is allowed to use for une femme du certain age. She conducted a lively question-and-answer session and then signed books.

I got a digital camera while I was in L.A. and I took pictures of Mary Woronov as well as my friend Christine, and I will publish them just as soon as I can figure out how to transfer them out of the camera.

After the reading I drove to Santa Monica and saw a British film called "24 Hour Party People," a very enjoyable comedy about the Manchester music scene in the 1970s and 80s. Then I took a walk along the Santa Monica promenade as the sun set through the fogbank.

I then found Venice, since I'd never been there before and wanted to see if it really did look like the set of "Touch of Evil." By this time I was quite hungry but delayed eating while I logged into the internet and checked for messages. I did this all weekend at various places because the modem on my laptop was broken. It turned out to be a good thing that it was broken, because it kept me from wasting as much time in the hotel room as I normally do.

I wanted to go to a sushi place there in Venice but as soon as I opened the door, I saw it was full of chattering hipsters who seems to be having some sort of standup party, so I didn't even cross the threshhold. Instead I drove back to the airport and ate a sandwhich at the Carl's Junior next to the hotel. Horrible, I know, but the prices at the hotel were so high I didn't want to give them the satisfaction.

Then I really couldn't resist my curiosity any longer about the strip club next to the hamburger joint, so I went in ($5 admission). It was a bit like the Bada Bing in "The Sopranos," only less glitzy and less ominous-seeming. Stacked girls with incredible bodies went on the stage one by one, and then filtered around the audience trying to talk guys into lap dances. The atmosphere was so much less predatory than the same kind of place in San Francisco, and the women seemed somewhat more wholesome too, not to say clone-like. Not all of them had -- what's the polite term -- implants, but they all had perfect hourglass figures without a shred of fat. It was like one of those episodes of Star Trek where they go to the planet of the perfect bimbos. No piercings, no tattoos -- rather bland, if you want to know the truth.