All posts by Stan Lerner

Arts & Culture

BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE PART THREE

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Foreword by Stan Lerner: the following novella “Breakfast At Bottega Louie” is a work of fiction meant to give the blog reader a unique literary experience. “Breakfast at Bottega Louie” is a love story that examines the intersection and repair of two broken lives. I am writing it daily and will post it as such—and I promise there will be an ending, although I have not yet punctuated it in my own mind. If you care to comment as to where you would like the story to go—please do so!

BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE PART THREE

          Post Breeze’s departure I sat at Bottega Louie and resumed work on a script long overdue to be finished. Hollywood is a funny little place filled with men and women that split at the seams with self-importance all according to a formula that calls for the less the talent variable to be supplanted by the arrogance constant in every possible calculation. It’s enough to make anyone with even the slightest skill wish that they didn’t have it—so they could then join the ranks of the Hollywood Happy. Me, I do it (write) because I can no longer bring myself to masturbate five or six times a day. Rather, I put my words on paper, usually a hundred pages or so, and let the creative executives do so in the round.

            Currently I am writing the screen adaptation of my novella horror classic titled “Blast”. “Blast”, only available as an ebook for Amazon Kindle, is a gory affair. Kids throwing a rave in a defense plant left vacant and full of death implements of every possible kind. There is teenage rape, cop killing, drug abuse, best friend infidelity…Excuse me I have to yawn…Oh, and the always classic biting off of the bad guy’s penis while being forced to commit oral copulation—always a crowd pleaser that one is. No doubt the MPAA will think this masterpiece deserving of an R rating, anything less would ring disappointing to me. No. I’m not a sellout. I feed these sows this ever increasingly bad slop hoping that they will one day bankrupt themselves, financially speaking since there is no moral account for me to raid amongst this band, and cause their likes to leave the town allowing the type that don’t use the word commercial in every other sentence to once again make motion pictures.

            Later that day—lunchtime, I stood in my high-rise two-bedroom two-bath condominium trying to digest not a peanut butter sandwich I had not eaten yet due to Breeze’s excitement at the improvement she had made to my office, which she insisted I see at once. Continue reading BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE PART THREE →

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Perez Hilton Commits Gay Hate Crime

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 On Sunday night Miss California Carrie Prejean should have been crowned Miss USA, but lost because she answered the question posed to her by Perez Hilton, real name Mario Lavandeira, honestly—and to the majority of heterosexuals correctly. The question? Does she believe in gay marriage? Her answer: a polite no offence, but no.

            With LA Live’s plaza empty, President Obama’s trip to Latin America, war with North Korea and Iran on my mind, not to mention a whole essay worth of economic discourse to write why would I write about a fat, no talent, gossip monger and his beef with a beauty queen? I caught Carrie Prejean being interviewed; she’s beautiful, articulate, and very smart. When she was shown a video of this vial creature who would be nothing, but the nobody that he truly is if he used anything other than a knock off of someone else’s name (Paris Hilton if you’re completely clueless) ranting and raving and calling her a bitch; Carrie Prejean, simply mentioned that she was a Christian and that she loved and forgave the cretin.

            Well, I’m not a good Christian as you might have gathered and I’m weary of this trend in our culture where the best of the best, the Carrie Prejeans of the world, are brought down by the dregs and misfits, the Mario Lavandeira’s of the world. But let me go back a few years.

I was in the process of editing my novel “Stan Lerner’s Criminal”, I’ll spare you the plug, and I would often meet my editor Lawrence at the Coffee Bean on Sunset and Fairfax. Those of you who are familiar with my writing might have understood me, to have in the past, been one of the regulars at the legendary Coffee Bean on Sunset Plaza—don’t be confused, I was. But to meet with Lawrence I would trek down the street and subject myself to, what was, not as desirable a scene—no offence.

            As we perused through the 800 pages of “Criminal” and the red ink of Lawrence’s grievances I could not help but to notice his constant distraction. “Why do you keep looking over at that freak?” I asked. “This is why I prefer you come down to my Coffee Bean.” I stared over at the potato sack with arms and legs that sat up against the back wall with some kind of queen fashion statement of a Hello Kitty hoody pulled over his head. “This is what’s ruining our country. I mean, I know it’s a free country but freedom without some sense of purpose or responsibility can actually be a terribly destructive force…”

            “That’s Perez Hilton,” interrupted Lawrence. “You’re right. He does totally creep me out.”

            “That’s what?” I asked.

            “Perez Hilton,” answered Lawrence, not getting that I had never concerned myself with those who are known for being known—and that’s it. “He has a blog.” Lawrence directed my computer, which was also on the table to Mario’s website.

            “So, he’s the queer version of Paris Hilton? Continue reading Perez Hilton Commits Gay Hate Crime →

Arts & Culture

BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE PART TWO

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Foreword by Stan Lerner: the following novella “Breakfast At Bottega Louie” is a work of fiction meant to give the reader a unique literary experience.  “Breakfast at Bottega Louie” is a love story that examines the intersection and repair of two broken lives. I am writing it daily and will post it as such—and I promise there will be an ending, although I have not yet punctuated it in my own mind. If you care to comment as to where you would like the story to go—please do so!

BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE PART TWO

          “My name is Breeze Goodwilling! But my friends call me Breezey and not because it rhymes with easy….You are?” Her hand jutted out toward me.

            “I’m…”

            “No, don’t tell me. I’m just going to call you Man…Like in that book “Anthem”.”

            Forgetting to let go of her hand I asked the obvious, “You’ve read the least known work of Ayn Rand?”

            “And “The Fountain Head”. And “Atlas Shrugged”.” She snapped the fingers of her left hand, which remained free from my grasp. “I’m not going to call you Man, too seventies street, I’m going to call you Roark, like Howard Roark. But you kind of remind me of Hank Rearden also.” She shrugged and clasped her now free hands in her lap in front of her. Then her face lighted up with a thought. “Because you’re an original thinker like Howard Roark in “The Fountain Head” and you look pretty established like “Hank Rearden” in Atlas Shrugged—I’m going to call you Hank Roark. Do you love it, Roarky?”

            “Yes I do. I’ve always wanted to be an objectivist super hero. But seriously my name is Howard—so let’s stick with that, Breezey.”

            Leaning forward she kissed me on the cheek. “I knew you were a Howard.” She leaned back and crossed her arms across her firm, high with youth chest. “Where are you from Howard? It seems like you’ve traveled the world. You’re so worldly postured. And posture never lies.”

            “I was born in East LA. Went to UCLA. Moved to Downtown LA. And once saw a cock fight and bull fight in the same day—in Tijuana, T.J.”

            She leaned forward. “I knew there was something worldly about you. Continue reading BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE PART TWO →

Events

Britney Spears And Me?

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            It was 2003 and I was strolling down Sunset Plaza to the famous Coffee Bean on Sunset—everyone frequented this particular Coffee Bean. Do not go looking for this establishment; like much of Hollywood’s luster—it is gone. So centered was my life around this place and the people that relaxed, schmoozed, and created there I had moved my office down the street. On this particular day it had been yet another argument with Steve over our upcoming DVD release of “Mike Fenton’s Actors Workshop”, a pretty damn good how to make it in Hollywood video.

            Accompanied by my once good friend Daryl Mack I lamented my partnership with Steve up to the moment we walked into the Bean—to find it vacant.

            “Where the hell is everyone?” I asked the girl behind the counter, then checked out the cute little blonde that had walked up at the same moment with the same bewildered look as I. She wore some tight little jeans and a matching jean cap pulled down almost to her eyes.

            “There was a power outage, we just opened a minute ago—literally,” said the girl behind the counter.

            “So, how you doing?” asked the little blonde amused at how overtly I was checking out her posterior.

            “Good,” I answered, pulling back into a more upright position in order to make eye contact. “How you doing?”

            She laughed.

            “Sorry about that. I’m not usually so obvious. Nice though…”

            “That’s a beautiful suite,” she said, letting me off the hook.

            Concluding she was nice and cute and familiar for some reason we all proceeded to order.

            “So what are you up to today?” I asked, genuinely interested.

            “I have to go to the studio,” she responded.

            Normally, I would have inquired further. But I’m bad with faces so I had no idea that I was speaking with Britney Spears. And I was so aggravated with Steve that I couldn’t give what I wrongly assumed to be an aspiring actress the interest I normally would have.

            “But I have some time to hang out and have coffee if you want to sit for a while?” Continue reading Britney Spears And Me? →

Arts & Culture

BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE

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Foreword by Stan Lerner: the following novella “Breakfast At Bottega Louie” is a work of fiction meant to give the blog reader, YOU, a unique literary experience. True, I introduced the serialized semi fictional blog “Downtown Oliver Brown” for much the same reason, but Downtown Oliver Brown is satirical, so by definition the writing is what I would call, “literary light,” and because it is a serial, much like a soap opera, it has no end. “Breakfast at Bottega Louie” is a love story that examines the intersection and repair of two broken lives. I am writing it daily and will post it as such—and I promise there will be an ending, although I have not yet punctuated it in my own mind. If you care to comment as to where you would like the story to go—please do so!

 BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE

 I did not move to Downtown Los Angeles in order to seek adventure nor to help the less privileged, but rather as a small, insignificant dinghy adrift in the sea of life. It’s true that like all writers, although I was a businessman all those years ago, I have had my moments of self-aggrandizement in which I have felt as if I had some special calling in life. I might have even caused a few dozen or so to share in this indulgent maybe even delusional belief. Yet, the reality is fairly simple: I came to live where I have now lived for the last fourteen years because it was inexpensive. Not that it looks inexpensive, rather the converse is in fact the case—I live in the lap of luxury. Indeed it was a once in a lifetime event that imbued such a fortunate circumstance on to me. A golden cage of my own in a thriving part of the city that has on some blocks even surpassed the quality of life that can be found on Ninth Street between Flower and Hope, for this is where I dwell.

One such block to rise in status midst our prosperous neighborhood would be 7th Street. It had some grand old days in the grand old days but had spent forty of the last forty years as a shadow of its former greatness. My own mother, may she rest in piece, reminisced about the trolley cars that had transported her and Aunt Louise to shopping excursions at the stores that once towered above the streets. The original Robinson’s headquarters I’m sure was a favorite stop. And just across the street was Brooks Brothers where my dad had bought suits. I know this latter statement to be absolutely true as I wore a hand-me-down from this very store in my senior picture. I didn’t mind at the time, but now wish I had been wearing a fine suit of my own on this occasion.

With this location, formerly Brooks Brothers, I am inimitably well versed. Because in the days that I sought to build a clothing empire of my own rooted in the value proposition and a familiar sounding name, I toured the premise with the serious intent of turning it into a larger and improved version of my store a block to the north. Why this did not transpire I can no longer recall, but this is easy to forgive as my empire building days left carnage on the streets that would have wowed the Cesar’s—even Caligula, and after praying for much forgiveness some things a man should be allowed to forget.

For three years the site that was once almost part of my rein of business terror seemed to be under perpetual on and off construction. The floors above were with equal sluggishness being transformed into lofts—part of an adaptive reuse boom that was both revitalizing the city and adding substantially to my net worth, which ironically had been increasing daily for years as I benefited from no merit of my own other than the weakness to live the life of what I think of as the faux rich. Interesting that a phantom economy turned my faux rich life into a life of semi substance. No doubt in the future I shall lay claim to visionary status when I inevitably decide that humility no longer suits me. Continue reading BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE →

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100 Posts Celebration!!!

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Yesterday I posted the second blog of the downtownster original series Betty Booze by our very talented young writer Meaghan LiBrizzi. THIS WAS OUR ONE HUNDREDTH POST!!!

I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank all of downtownster’s talented writers and you our readers–now almost ten thousand strong. It’s not easy to launch an unfunded startup in the middle of an economy that is somewhere between recession and depression, but with some great writing and avid readers we have.

Please continue to tell your friends about downtownster and when you like the blog you’ve just read take a moment to use our easy to use share button. There’s no better advertising than word of mouth and for this, downtownster will continue to rely on you.

Be on the lookout for downtownster’s new novella “Breakfast At Bottega Louie” our 103 post, written by yours truly. Debuting later today!

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Ralphs Responds

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As a product of Gen X and the 1980’s culture of “Greed is good,” I never imagined myself in the role of community advocate, let alone community activist. But whether it be the outrage of LA Live’s lack of community events in their not so public plaza or posting Vaughn Blake’s blog about Ralphs’ failing its’ customers—here I am.

            Unlike LA Live, in which I met with Vice President of Communications Michael Roth and have yet to hear back regarding any of our off the record conversation, Ralphs responded—and in a big way. As you may recall, I added a foreword to Vaughn’s post, so Ralphs knew exactly whom to call, and they did, to schedule a meeting with Store Manager Joe Martinez. Let me say here that I’ve found that while it doesn’t make for as interesting a blog if you want to get things done with the guys in charge like Joe, you have to be willing to go off the record—

             Joe took over as manager of Downtown Ralphs just four months ago and with this in consideration I was more than willing to hear him out. But after hearing his explanation as to what’s been going on with the store as of late; I could only stand firm on the position taken in Vaughn’s blog—Ralphs needed to start raising the bar back to where it once was positioned when the store first opened—starting with more cashiers and shorter lines. Also, a staff with a renewed sense of being part of a community, namely ours, that is happy to have a job and not just be looking to take home a paycheck.

            To Joe Martinez’s credit, pay attention to this Michael Roth / AEG LA Live, the staffing was changed in less than 24 HOURS. At least three cashiers were put on until 11:00pm and two until closing and the u-scan open until midnight. I came to see with my own eyes the lines that had been extending down the aisles during the late night hours—GONE! THANK YOU JOE! Continue reading Ralphs Responds →

Poetry, Travel

GRAND AGAIN

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Foreword by Stan Lerner: Last August I found myself at the Northern tip of Michigan on Mackinac Island. Famous for fudge and horse drawn carriages, no cars are allowed to drive on the island, I sat on the porch of the Grand Hotel in suit and tie and wrote a poem. Consider this a downtownster travel post and maybe something a little bit more.

A Poem By Stan Lerner

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about the air, not on the island but out there.
Too often polluted by despair.

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about the Rouge Plant asleep, a betrayed soul which was all of ours to keep.
Once a symbol of might, now a symbol of darkness like the night.

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about hearing the old tired voice of Robert Frost speak of the road less traveled—an endeavor in which I have also dabbled.
There was indeed a fork in the road, a part of life which we have all been told.

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about click, click, klop, click, klop, a horse passed by.
A sound from another time.

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I asked myself, “Better off now or better off then? Will civilization need to begin again?”
I talked to myself about this a lot, click, klop, click, klop…

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about dress too casual, the few with vision, the abundance without, the profanity spoken by teenagers, how base we’ve become, and the beauty of an island surrounded by blue water that tolerates it all.
The Grand does make one feel small.

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about what might become of the rest of my years.
A bird flew near, then off toward a lighthouse no longer in use.

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about what might become of the rest of my years.
All of the hopes and a few of the fears.

On the porch of the Grand I sat and rocked.
And to myself I talked.
I talked to myself about taking time to love and time to think—a slight breeze blew from a direction I did not expect.
I watched as the flags moved by the wind and hoped we could all be Grand again.

Downtown Oliver Brown

DOWNTOWN OLIVER BROWN MORE XS

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Last week on Downtown Oliver Brown we ended with:

We followed Jared into XS the sixty-thousand-foot twelve-million-dollar-club. I no longer had ten million in gambling debts on my mind. My girlfriend was back in Los Angeles studying for midterms at USC or something…I felt that exited feeling that you can only feel in anticipation of a goodtime in Vegas. Steve Wynn was indeed a wise man. It was good that I quit while I was ahead. And then came the crushing of arms around my neck and breasts against my chest.

“Oliver,” panted April The Stripper into my ear. Then here tongue was in my mouth, so I couldn’t possibly tell her about my girlfriend Nichole. “You came back for me! Who told you I was going to be at XS tonight? Oh it doesn’t matter just so that you’re here and we’re together.”

 This week:

 Now as I described in previous blogs, nobody kisses like April. In fact nobody does anything like April and I’ve done everything. Anyway, the kiss was a mixture of pleasure and pain due to the right-hook the former First Lady, Barbara Bush, had delivered to my jaw at the poker table—sore looser that old dame. Then much to Whiskey Peet, Stan Peters, Dave The Jew, and Fat Andy’s delight she delivered several more bone crushing hugs.

“I love this mare…” Whiskey Peet hoisted her off the ground and spun her around in a 360-degree circle. “It’s about time you come back and saddle her up for another ride. Especially since she bought you that nice house to live in with her!”

Now as you may recall April bought the incredible house with the money she had won gambling at Whiskey Peet’s private casino—mostly while Dave The Jew and I were driving around hallucinating from a strong dose of peyote (Lophophora williamsii). Then she caught me by surprise by taking me there and having sex with me on the floor—while the boys apparently, rather than excuse themselves, took iphone pics. This conceivably facilitated my breakup with Misha, but had faded from memory by the time I had met Nichole. Continue reading DOWNTOWN OLIVER BROWN MORE XS →

Politics

President Obama Fails To Deliver Abroad

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Several people over the last few weeks have asked me to deliver on the downtownster promise to not just write about the City State of Downtown Los Angeles—my world of preference. But to weigh in on larger matters from the downtownster, sophisticated, urban perspective. Downtownster has a political section without a single post; the words to come will rectify the vacuous plight of our political section and no doubt raise a few brows. And since the idea is to look at the larger world around our little island why bother with LA’s own half a billion dollar budget shortfall—the President is abroad.

The President boarded Air Force One for London to attend the G-20 summit last week. The media celebrated as if the fact that President Obama is not President Bush was in itself the solution to all that troubles mankind. President Obama made it clear that his goal was to convince the other members of the G-20 to spend more on their own economies, in effect adopting the Obama Economic Doctrine of spending one’s way out of financial crisis.

Continue reading President Obama Fails To Deliver Abroad →