Rauch: I want to agree with you. I really do. But I’m not the only one frustrated. The Democrats had a majority in Congress and essentially did nothing with it. There doesn’t seem to be a huge difference between the Bush administration or Obama’s. He continues to coddle Corporate American interests because they buy the elections. They’re always calling the shots. They put up puppets like Gore, Bush, McCain, the Clintons, Obama, and Romney because it won’t matter who wins. Policy stays the same.

Mattsson: Every non-vote casts a yes vote for whomever the Republicans decide to run with.

Rauch: Okay. So, by that rationale, do you blame Nader for Bush in 2000?

Mattsson: No.  A strong third party has never emerged in this nation.  I would place blame on the Electoral College, the collusion between state Republican voting officials, the shady use of voting machines (most of which were owned and operated by Republican supporters), and the weakness of Gore in the political eye, a poor choice in running mate, the Supreme Court interference, and the DNC in general.

Rauch: Yes, those are all excellent points. But, in 2004, wasn’t the electorate still gripped in post-9/11 fear, which the Republicans were exploiting to the max? Also, you could argue that many people were turned off by Kerry, an East Coast “liberal”.

Mattsson: Kerry was his own worst enemy: a monied blue-blood who never really connected with voters.  And yes, the run-of-the-mill voter was pretty terrorized by the incessant harping from the Right on “keeping the homeland safe.”   The Republicans are long-term strategists and stick to a message like Gorilla Glue.  The III Reich’s propaganda machine apparently taught the RNC operatives quite well: tell a lie, tell a big lie, and tell it over and over and over. The 2004 re-election of Bush is the direct result of democrats staying home, which happened again in 2010.

Rauch: Well, for me, the biggest question of all: What would President Gore have done on Sept. 12, 2001?

Mattsson: Sorry to say, but probably the same thing… Most of the big-name Democrats are essentially conservative, protecting the status-quo to protect their government sinecures.

Stay tuned for more…

The Peace Candidate Norman Solomon For Congress

Save American Democracy: Overturn Citizens United

Angels With Dirty Faces

My first taste of LA is of course, the traffic. Worst accident I’ve seen in years. We’re backed up for miles just so we can rubberneck for gore. I wouldn’t think you could bust through a concrete median like that. Already I can sense the tension, the anger…

Then I call my friend Eugene Cherry. He wants to meet me right away to discuss a story he’s working on. Naturally, I’m hoping it’s at a bar, as my thirst just refused to be denied. No such luck. Eugene wants pie, so we meet at the House of Pies on Vermont Ave. Right away I’m in a different era, with the plastic booths and the ticket spinner for the cook. It’s like a Denny’s from another planet, but the colors are menacing and bizarre. I feel like I’m in a David Lynch movie, and something very strange and unsettling is about to occur. The pie was quite good though. Eugene had pecan, and I had the egg custard.

I tell Eugene that I’ve got Wilco tickets, but alas, he can’t go. As usual his love life is causing him problems. He’s hopelessly fallen for a girl. This time she’s married and she’s pregnant with her cheating husband’s quadruplets in her belly, and she keeps sending Eugene the ultrasound photos. She says the quads will be calling him “Uncle Eugene”. Where will it end? Who knows, but I feel for him. What a crazy mess. Guess I’ll call up good ‘old Don Rose.

So we say our goodbyes and I head over to my hotel, back in Hollywood. The Castle Celebrity hardly lives up to it’s name, but it charms me nonetheless with retro carpets and stairways, movie-star posters and circular bar shrouded in palm trees. The drinks were much too pricey, so I head to the dives on the Blvd. I find a place that would have welcomed Charles Bukowski. But even three whiskey-sodas can’t soothe the dark and foreboding squalor, the endless street parade (thank you Joe) of hustlers and crazies, crackheads, drunks and obnoxious frat-boys. Hollywood Blvd is a bit like Times Square, but much dirtier. Just as many tourists but not much to do except hassle the guy in the Darth Vader suit. Maybe he’ll chase me down with his light-sabre. It’s all superbly summed up by the guy on the corner with the cardboard sign that said “Go F@#k Yourself”.

This place scarcely resembles the Blvd of my youth, the lively street I recall with record stores and awesome imported T-Shirts on every block. The good’s gone. They’ve been replaced by tattoo parlors and head shops, one after another, every damn block, on and on. Hollywood Blvd is a great place to get robbed, get sad, get irritated, eat bad food, get sick, buy a bong, or get a tattoo. I actually considered getting a tattoo of a bong. But of course, I way too old for that sort of thing….

More to come!

Lately I’ve been getting caught up with him, discussing the election year and all the political mayhem past and present:

Rauch: A lot of us on the Left, self-described Progressives, are mired in serious election fatigue, burned out on Obama’s failed promises, failure of a Democratic majority to accomplish much of anything, except to essentially carry on the policies of his predecessor. Does it really matter who wins, or will it be more of the same?

Mattsson: DO NOT SIT THIS ONE OUT.  Hold your nose and vote for Obama.  Would you rather have a man in office who earns his income from buying and selling stocks and people, hides part of the profits in the Cayman Islands, and pays a lousy 15% on the rest?  A man who has taken as many positions on topics as there are people who hold the various views?  A man who’s more than happy to insert government into the reproductive health care of women?  A man who’s church discriminates against gays?  (The Mormons spent millions in CA to defeat prop 8, remember?)  A man who’s so oily that he could power a diesel generator with his flatulence alone?  And there will be other Progressive Democrats in this election and other proposals to vote for: CA’s governor Brown will propose raising taxes to the electorate to try to break the Republican “No” vote block in our state house.

Rauch: Oh, I’ll most certainly vote. We’ve got Norman Solomon running in our district now, a real honest voice. That’s reason enough right there. But the Presidency is such a big-money-election shame game, especially after Citizens United.

Mattsson: Bernie Sanders has had a campaign going for months to push an amendment to overturn Citizen’s United. The momentum is gaining steam with both parties in and out of Congress.  Robert Reich and Common Cause are leading one of the many proposals to do just that.

Mr. 15%

Failing to vote will give the Republicans the advantage; they’re better organized at single-issue voting.  Do you want a repeat of 2010?  We lost that one because too many on our side sat out the election.  That is a pure disgrace.  The tea party is in disarray internally, but they still have the pander factor with the main Republican party members.  Like him or not, we are changing Obama from what we thought he was before we elected him to a part of that bold, progressive man we wanted.  And besides, do you want to listen to Mitt “Of course corporations are people, my friend!” Romney for four years?  Or how about the blatantly racist loon Newt Gangrene – second only to Romney for position changes and lying about it?

Rauch: Yes, but what about all the failed promises? Guantanamo? The Patriot Act?

Mattsson: We projected our hopes for a populist, Progressive president on Obama, who was not that guy and never pretended he was.  Alas, he is a centrist, slightly to the right of Clinton.  That he spent his first three years trying to compromise with an opposition which clearly stated they wanted to make him a one-term president is a shame and his and our loss.

Newt Gangrene

It is interesting to note that the banksters and Wall Street have reduced their bribes to the Democrats by almost 75% since the 2010 mid-term sweep by the tea party Republicans and others like Governors Christy, Scott, and the idiot in Wisconsin.  2012 will likely have Romney running against Obama.  There is no choice but to re-elect Obama and hope his new-found populist voice is real.

More to come next week!

One of a kind, I tell ya. One of a kind.

Well, the tributes just keep rolling in. There’s a book available on this website, and now there’s an art show planned. Gala reception on March 17…isn’t that St. Patrick’s Day? And wasn’t Hamilton Scottish? Oh well, details, details….And by the way, the student in question?, the one on drugs? He’s doing perfectly fine now. Turns out Moonbaby was right. Vive le Red Rebellion! ¡Hasta la victoria siempre!

Moonbaby on Hollywood Blvd

Hey there! Terribly divorced, hopelessly horny but harmless
movie buff in search of the same, only female. Looking for
somebody warm who wants to see a movie and talk about it
later. Call me, okay
I gave up on women. My wife threw me away for a reason. The
women I met online echoed her sentiment, and I agreed with
them. I dressed poorly. I was out of shape, and I ate too
much junk food. I was a smart ass when I should have been
serious, I was passive when I should have been aggressive,
and I was broke.
While I drove to see a special screening of Plan 9 from Outer
Space in Glendale, some idiot in a BMW cut me off on Ventura
Boulevard (only to get stuck at a red light). I pulled up
beside him, rolled down my window and gave him my biggest
shit-eating grin. He went ballistic and began to make jackoff
motions at me. The light turned green, and I drove away
feeling wonderful and never looked back. That’s the kind of
asshole I am.

I first saw her standing under the marquee at the historic
Alex Theatre in Glendale. She was wearing a green cardigan
and faded Levis. She appeared like a brunette angel out of
this open, heartbroken sewer, out of this confused condition
called life. She was alone and examining her fingernails the
way women sometimes do… And I mistook her for my ex-wife.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of her and was about to say,
“Hello, how have you been?” Then I realized that she only
looked like my ex-wife, enough to be her twin, and my heart
sank. But then she surprised me with a greeting, and I
immediately assumed that she was waiting for a blind movie
date, just as I had done so many times before. “Hi, are you
Robert?”
Without missing a beat, I lied and said “Yes.” The next
thing I knew I was walking into the theatre with a stolen
date and a lie on my resume.
As soon as we got into the lobby I realized that I didn’t
know her name. She looked just like Jan, but she wasn’t Jan.
Her nose was a bit crooked, and she had a sensual dimple on her
lower lip. Her eyes were green, not brown, and she smelled
like nutmeg on a warm cookie. Jan had smelled like an open
bottle of vanilla in a shady patch of ivy.
I made a big deal out of forgetting her name and actually
placed a hand on my forehead. “Oh jeez, I just drew a blank
on your name.”
She blinked like a cat a smiled. “That’s not good Robert.
You probably should have kept that one to yourself.” I must
have looked upset because she quickly touched my shoulder and
said, “My name is Audrey.”
“Oh, duh, that’s right, as in Hepburn.”
“Or as in Tautou,” she added. “But actually, I’m Audrey
Gardner.”
I could barely breathe the words, “Lot of pretty girls named
Audrey in this world.” She smiled as we entered the historic
theatre. I wanted to kiss the dimple on her lower lip, and I
imagined that her mouth would taste like pumpkin pie. That
would have been good because the one thing I hate about the
Alex Theatre is that due to its historical status there is NO
FOOD OR DRINK ALLOWED!
The show began with Jumpin’ Jupiter (1955), a classic Merry
Melodies cartoon from Warner Brothers which was directed by
the great Chuck Jones. Jumpin’ Jupiter stars Sylvester and
Porky Pig. To see these cartoons projected onto the big
screen from a 35 mm print always takes me back to my
childhood when all movies opened with a cartoon. That’s what
I love about the Alex Film Society. They do it right for
those of us who are old enough to remember, but they also
school L.A. kids who are in love with film culture.
Audrey laughed several times during the cartoon, and I wanted
so badly to just gaze at her profile in the merry light. The
muscle in my neck was actually fighting not to obey the
thought in my brain, and my neck was suddenly tight and sore
from the tug of war. Forget the cartoon, look at her! No!
If you look at her she’ll think you’re weird!

Gregory Walcott, the last surviving actor of Plan 9 from Outer
Space was at the screening to reminisce . He took the stage
before the film was shown, and the audience gave him a hearty
round of applause. It was a great moment. He was dressed
sharply in a suit jacket and slacks, and he was flanked by
younger men who made sure he was able to get to his seat
without falling. He wasn’t a strapping, handsome young star
anymore. He was a regal, old dude with a warm voice and
long, skinny ankles in black socks. But he was happy! He
was happy to tell the story of his unique experience with Ed
Wood and J. Edward Reynolds. The only time that a hint of
sadness entered his voice was when he confided that he
thought J. Edward Reynolds, who had spent his last dime to
finance Plan 9, and died of a broken heart because he was
unable to find a distributor for Plan 9.

It was a pleasure to listen to Gregory Walcott, a man who has
worked with Spielberg and Eastwood, admit that this campy
little movie did more for his career than any serious film he
ever made. The audience gave him love and applause all night
long, and it felt really good to be a part of the crowd on
this night. Especially sitting there next to Audrey as she
clapped with such enthusiasm and respect.
*For more on this whole crazy affair, please see the great
movie, Ed Wood, which was directed by Tim Burton.

Alex Film Society Presents PLAN 9 FROM OUTER SPACE
Written, produced and Directed by Ed Wood Jr.
Executive Producer: J. Edward Reynolds
Director of Photography: William C. Thompson Starring:
Bela Lugosi, Gregory Walcott, Tor Johnson, Vampira, Lyle
Talbot, Criswell, Tom Keene and Paul Marco

Have you seen Plan 9 from Outer Space? It is considered by
some to be the “worst movie ever made.” It was released in
1959, and the synopsis on the poster says it all:
“Unspeakable horrors from outer space paralyze the living and
resurrect the dead!” It was Bela Lugosi’s last screen
performance, but his scenes were not an original part of the
movie’s narrative. In fact, Bela had been dead for two years
when Ed Wood patched in the footage and added voice-over
narration to better link the footage to Plan 9.
Personally, I don’t think that Plan 9 is the worst movie ever
made. In fact, I think the scenes with the detectives in the
graveyard are hilarious. The scenes where Vampira steps out
of the graveyard bushes, her long hands illuminated by the
key light, are very artistic (in an Andy Warhol sort of way).
It’s a good film for late-night stoners and single people who
have nothing better to do than try to meet other single
people online.
After the show Audrey and I walked out into the warm night.
Brand Boulevard was alive with cute young Armenian women in
little black dresses on their way to a nightclub. These
visions made me want to fast forward and slip Audrey out of
her jeans and cardigan, but she quickly let me know that she
had to go get some sleep for work the next day.
AUDREY: I swear I’m not blowing you off, Robert. I like
you. Let’s do this again soon.
EUGENE: Hey, how about this Cartoon Hall of Fame Big Screen
Event next week? But I’d really like to have a chance to
talk next time.
AUDREY: Okay! Sounds great! And now that I know you’re not
a hunchback, you can call me…

She leaned in and gave me a quick hug and a big grin before
stepping in the opposite direction. She put her hand up to
her ear as she went.
AUDREY: Call me.
How could I call her? I didn’t have her phone number. I
wasn’t Robert. What had I done? I really, really liked her.
I liked her green eyes and her crooked nose and the dimple on
her lip. No, I loved her green eyes, her crooked nose, and I
longed to kiss the dimple on her lip. I loved the idea of
pumpkin pie kisses under the mistletoe on Thanksgiving
instead of Christmas. I couldn’t let her go, so I pulled out
my iPhone…
EUGENE: Hey, I got a new phone and a new number. What’s
your number again? I’ll call you so you have my new number.
She gave me the number. I made the call and took
satisfaction in seeing the pocket of her cardigan light up
when her phone began to vibrate.
AUDREY: Okay, Robert, got it. I’ll talk to you later.
She walked away, but I wasn’t Robert. I was a dead man.

Hey there! Terribly divorced, hopelessly horny but harmless
movie buff in search of the same, only female. Looking for
somebody warm who wants to see a movie and talk about it
later. Call me, okay
I stopped in at the dry cleaners to pick up my jacket.
Megan, her arms speckled with flower tattoos, was working the
counter. Megan once told me that George Clooney had dropped
off his suit jacket, and as soon as he walked out of the
store she put it on and hugged herself. I’ve always
cherished her for that story.
EUGENE: Hey Megan. Let me ask you something. What do you
think I could do to improve my chances at getting a date?
She gave me a quick glance.
MEGAN: Well, you have hips, and hips don’t look good on a
man.
I was shocked. My voice cracked. The horror…
EUGENE: I have hips?
MEGAN. Yes, hips and a big ass. And you used to be so
skinny. How much milk do you drink?
EUGENE: About a half gallon every three days…
MEGAN: You better stop with the dairy. Too much estrogen.
You’re developing a womanly body.
EUGENE: Oh, Jesus.
MEGAN: And stay away from the soy. It’ll make your boobs
get bigger.
EUGENE: My boobs? I have boobs? Oh my God! You vegan
bitch!
Oops. I shouldn’t have said that.
MEGAN: Did you just call me a vegan bitch?
EUGENE: I did, but I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.
Now she was really pissed.
MEGAN: Let me tell you something else! You know those birds
that bob back and forth that people stick on their
dashboards? When you walk, your head bobs back and forth
like one of those birds!
She began to pace behind the counter and bobbed her head back
and forth in order to emphasize her point. I was so
embarrassed I turned around and bobbed out of the store. She
followed me to the door, threw my jacket out into the parking
lot and screamed:
MEGAN: Hey, Eugene! You forgot your moo moo!
I f@cking hate vegans.
I’ve been working on another script that will never be
produced, and I haven’t had a lot of time for movies this
summer, but here are a few that you might want to catch
on DVD or at the local discount cineplex:

DON’T BE AFRAID OF THE DARK

• Directed by: Troy Nixey
• Written by: Guillermo del Toro and Matthew Robbins
• Starring: Bailee Madison, Katie Holmes and Guy Pierce

This is a creepy remake of a 1973 made-for-television horror
movie, written by Guillermo del Toro, the magic man who
brought us Pan’s Labyrinth. The little demons in the bowels
of the basement fireplace want to eat the teeth of your
children. They only come out at night, whispering through
razor-sharp fangs and hungry for souls and bone marrow.
Bailee Madison is great as the lonely little girl who
stumbles upon a real nightmare. Three stars.

TABLOID

• A film by: Errol Morris
• Starring: former Miss Wyoming, Joyce McKinney

Joyce McKinney became a famous tabloid queen in the 1970s
after she allegedly kidnapped and chained a Mormon missionary
to a motel bed and raped him for three days in order to win
his hand in marriage. In response to the rape allegation,
Joyce muses, “It wasn’t rape. That would be like stuffing a
marshmallow into a parking meter.” This is her true story,
believe it or not, as documented by the one and only Errol
Morris. Four stars.

TERRI

• Directed by: Azazel Jacobs
• Starring: Jacob Wysocki, Creed Bratton, Olivia Crocicchia,
• Bridger Zadina, Mary Anne McGarry and John C. Reilly

This is the best movie about teen outsiders and high school
that I have ever seen. The young actors are all
extraordinary, and John C. Reilly is hilarious and heartfelt
as Mr. Fitzgerald. The last sequence had me squirming in my
seat, and you will too. That’s because you were there once,
and that’s how it really felt. Three stars.

RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES

• Directed by: Rupert Wyatt
• Written by: Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver
• Starring: James Franco, Frieda Pinto, John Lithgow, Brian
• Cox, Tom Felton

I was eight years old when I saw the original Planet of The
Apes, and that movie opened up my imagination and changed my
life. It inspired me to become a screenwriter. This movie
didn’t change my life, and there is no Charlton Heston here,
but the story of Cesar the chimpanzee is scary, compelling,
heartbreaking and a lot of fun. Three stars.
Later…
I drove to Whole Foods to get some organic produce and a
carton of almond milk. Cute little vegan butts in cute
little skirts were everywhere. I saw a particularly cute
soccer mom pick up a bunch of bananas, and I considered
asking her a flirtatious question. “Hey, would you like a
banana to go with your bananas?” Naw. Not even funny.
Jeez, I was in a slump.
I got my goods, paid and left. I stepped out into the
sunshine and knew what I had to do. I’d have to walk for two
hours every day and hit the gym at least three times a week.
The dude cannot abide with hips and man boobs. I bit into a
carrot and longed for a malt ball.
Thanks, Megan.

“Who’s Here??”…I can still hear that voice, echoing from the front of that near-empty house, twenty-four years later. Can still feel that chill. Can still feel the fear creeping up the back of my spine…Dude…this is so not cool…

You see, Patterson’s Mom was never home. She owned several houses around Northern California. She played the real estate game. Buying and selling. So for a year or so, she had left her Ukiah house empty and in the care of her wild, high-flying, hard-drinking, loudmouthed and boorish, frat-boy-wannabe son Don. Crazy, right? What was she thinking? What sweet line of bull-crock was he feeding her? She took most of the furniture out, but fortunately for us, she left the barstools in the back room, and the cable TV was still hooked up. The perfect storm for our beer-fueled hijinks.

We had a few parties, but most of the time was spent with cheap canned beer, bong-hits, and whatever crap we could find on the Tube. To break the monotony, we’d play games like Beer Trek. It was easy. You waited for the nightly repeat of Star Trek at 11:00, picked a character, and drank every time he had a line. McCoy says “He’s dead, Jim”, and you drink. Sounds fun, huh? Just don’t pick Captain Kirk, unless you really wanted a bad night. Think about it.

Anyways, one day Don split town, like he often did. No idea when he’d back, but guess what? He leaves the backdoor open, says we can use the house anytime we want. What a guy! How dedicated can one guy be? It was so important to have a place to hang out and drink in Ukiah, a one-horse hick-town with nowhere to go, nothing to do. The cops had chased us out of every little hole we could find. Every park, bridge or golf course was a potential bust. The only thing that would save us from the endless Boredom, night after miserable night, was the promise of cheap beer and bong hits with friends.

So there we were, another night of Beer Trek. Maybe I was Spock or Sulu. Mick Nass was there, always brave or dumb enough to be Captain Kirk, Holden Christensen (“McCoy”), and Dirk O’Toole (“Scotty”), the one guy old enough to buy the  beer. Anyhow, after so many beers and most certainly a toke or three of that super fine Mendo herb, the whole scene came crashing down. The Klingons took down our shields, and de-activated our warp drive….We were soon boarded by an alien presence.

“Who’s here?” Suddenly I was overcome by a bad feeling, and just stood there, helpless. Holden was standing by the backdoor, and was quick enough to slip out and hop the fence, the lucky bastard. But the rest of us dumb stoners stood there like deer in the headlights, as Patterson’s Mom came strolling into the back room. Looking like she’d just stuck her finger in a light socket, or she was playing the lead role in The Hairdo From Another Planet.

“What is going on? What are you doing here?”, etc…We tried reasoning with her (“Don gave us permission”), but all hope was lost when Patterson’s big brother walked in and took charge in all his macho-swagger glory. An off-duty cop, perpetually seething anger and rage, primed to take it all out on us poor punks. I’d heard the horror stories about Don’s asshole big cop brother, but had never had the pleasure until now. There was no chance for Scotty to beam us out. The Cop even brought out his gun, in case we threw our bong-water at him, I guess? That’s when the nightmare really began. The berating. The threats. The accusations. He would have most likely tied us up and pistol whipped us if the real cops hadn’t shown up. The only time in my life I’ve been glad to see real cops.

I suppose they could have arrested us, and I’m not sure why they didn’t. Maybe it was that pathetic look in my eyes as I pleaded with Patterson’s Mom to let us go. At first she pretended not to know us, but later she must have realized we were harmless; just a few of Don’s stoned out friends. I do remember she lectured the living hell out of us for a while. Was that punishment enough? (Answer: definitely).

Why didn’t she press charges? Who knows? It sure wasn’t my Vulcan mind powers. And Mick didn’t challenge Big Bro Cop in a Kirk-like climactic fight to the death scene. We were doomed back to some dusty hole with no beer, no pot, and no free cable TV.

When I was little I had blue and pink stuffed animals on my
dresser. I used to feel positive like those colors. I felt
like sunshine on roses. Green grass. Do you know how that
feels? Can you make me feel like that? Can I make you feel
like that?
If I do take a chance on you, is there any chance you could
come visit? I’ll send you my phone number. I’m not up
mornings, but any other time, really… if you do try, and I
don’t get it, leave your name so I know who you are. I’m more
likely to pick up if I know who’s calling.

One Nation?, or one Corporation? Under God?…whose God? The God of Greed and Money? A god that fucks the poor and powerless, and continues to enslave and imprison? A god that steals the land, rapes the land and covets what’s left of this poor planet spinning miserably into chaos?

Will it always be Winter in America for our tired, huddled masses?

Bombs away…

Banksy

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