NOVEMBER 1990

Every once in a while I think about the cultural anthropological problem of living in Los Angeles. This usually happens when I’ve been disappointed by someone who said, “lunch,” and didn’t’ mean it. I call this phenomena anthropology because when you study a culture you realize people behave a certain way based on the standards of the society not on personal morality or rudeness. Society is beyond our control, but we are compelled to try. In the meantime using a theory makes it easier. This way I believe I’ll run into someone who still carries the memory of their former culture and we will understand each other.

When I first moved here from New York city by way of the Bronx I was wounded on a constant basis by what I called people full of shit. It was hard to adjust to having people say things they didn’t mean and me believing what they said. I couldn’t help myself. If someone said they would “call you,” back East, they meant it. Or if someone said, “I love you,” it meant more than passing enthusiasm. I was stunned by the insincerity and the inconsistency. I initially though this meant that people were corrupt, but it really meant they were speaking a different tribal language. We’re way out of Africa.

What I loved about the Little Prince was remembering that what is essential is invisible to the eye and that if you told someone you’d be there by six you meant it. The Little Prince would have hated L.A. It’s a place where “now” is everything and later is never. So here I am in the middle of October feeling that autumn is going to happen any minute, but the hot winds blow and suddenly it’s summer. Maybe it’s the weather that causes this confusion.

In spite of these concerns I got out and about town. By keeping active I find pockets of triumph over the yearning for connection. One of the events I attended that brings home these feelings is the Rape Treatment Center luncheon. They help and treat victims of violent crimes with care and conscience. Nothing could be more necessary when a person is brutally violated. Gail Abarbanel, who runs the Center, is one of my heroes. This year the stars of China Beach were the celebrity hosts. Norman Lear, Peg Yorking, Sherry Lansing (who was also a hostess), Victoria Hammel, Jackie Smith, Kelly McGillis (who was honored), Susan Dey, Corbin Bernsen, Dana Delaney, Jeff Kober, were just some of those who attended. It we a sea of sweet faces sweating under the noonday sun beneath a tent at Ted and Susie Fields’ home which is the old Harold Lloyd estate. What a spread! What a life! What an important day!

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I think that billiards will be a big social event this winter. It’s been a scene in New York for years. Now that more and more women in spandex are playing pool, it’s getting sexier and better lit. There are pool halls all over town. I went to a pre-opening of a new billiard parlor. The Hollywood Athletic Club on Sunset Boulevard is refined and elegant. They serve dinner and there are 41 pool tables. The crowd was dressed from suits to jeans. A nice mix in age. I saw Britt Ekland and her husband Jim McDonnell of the Stray Cats. Joe Strummer from the Clash was at the bar. I was so bad that we lost, but I like leaning on the table and watching the scene.

Went to the Gathering of the Tribes concert at the Pacific Ampitheatre. Got to spend time with my pal Queen Latifah. Sinead O’Connor in a long flowing purple scarf was there just to hang out with Latifah too. She came on stage at one point to say hello during Latifah’s set. The Queen was great. She addressed the mostly white audience with her message of tolerance and peace. Ice T dissed the Indigo Girls by walking through the audience through their set. The Girls noticed and I’m glad to say mentioned it. Backstage was the usual buzz of sad eyed girls and boys. A few Hollywood friends dropped by. Drew Barrymore and her boyfriend Leland Hayward were there looking terrific. Musically the day went from fold, to rap, to rock and roll. It was an odd eclectic musical event.

One Saturday night I went over to Roxbury on Sunset. It was completely nuts up on the Strip, but around Roxbury it was even more insane. It is a hot scene. I waited to get in for a while. The guest list was behind the ropes and the guy holding it was hard to reach. When I got into the club I was told I had to wait in line to get upstairs. I did. Then I was told I had to wait in another line to get into the VIP room. I asked who was around. No one, I was told, but I would have to wait to see if my name was on the list. They couldn’t find it. I left. It was much a do about nothing. I guess I had the best part of the experience. I got in.

Every columnist has a stringer. Someone who attends an event on your behalf. I have an Emmy Award winning one. Anne Beatts went to the 30th Anniversary of Motown. She told me it was an amazing show and party. It was a tribute to African-American culture. Debbie Allen, Terrence Trent D’Arby, Robert Guillame, Robert Townsend, Heavy Mo Dee, Marla Gibbs, Patti LaBelle, The Temptations, The Four Tops, Mary Wells, Whoopi Goldberg, Smokey Robinson, Sinbad, Denzel Washington, Keenan and Damon Wayans, Natalie Cole, Gladys Knight, The Boys. I almost forgot. Michael Bolton was in the show doing a duet with Patti LaBelle. I wonder if they knew he was white, when they booked him. No matter, he has an amazing voice. But something was missing. There were no Jacksons, no Diana Ross. It could have been a perfect show.

By the way, I’m doing a concept/poetry show at Cafe Largo, called Confessions of a Coffee Addict, on November 11 and November 18. It’s more than words. Till next month. I mean it. I’ll be here. I will. I’m not going to make an excuse that it’s a cultural thing.