Foreword by Stan Lerner: It is true as stated in the most recent post of “Thought Tools” that wisdom is found in the unemotional ability to understand facts. But sometimes the mind needs the type of rest that can best be found in the world of fiction. So take a few minutes each week and enjoy downtownster’s new superhero The Guardian.

Beginning

Like a dream, Empire city at night lays between the world of all that is possible and the danger of such. One can imagine hovering above such a place. Staring at each and every rooftop, loud claps of thunder deafening to the ear, bright flashes of lightning blinding you in an attempt to prevent your from seeing. But your vision will not be denied. You see the black figure running on the ledges of the rooftops through the driving rain. So intent is your focus that you can see his feet land on the ledge of a slightly lower roof. The water splashes from the puddle—an enormous flash of lightning, much greater than the others. And the black figure is gone.

Through the sheets of rain the sign fades in and out. It reads: “MUSEUM OF SCIENCE AND INDUSTRY” but this sign is not welcoming. Rather, it seems to stand guard at the base of the massive steps that lead to the museum’s entrance. And still more lightning flashes cause it to transcend into menace as the white van pulls to a stop.

The rear doors open violently and ten men in white lab coats disembark running up the steps. The hand in the black glove pushes the doorbuzzer repeatedly—impatient. And then there is a dim light through the wet glass and the distinct silhouette of a security guard making his way to the door.

The elderly security guard looks out the door. He strains to see out of the glass, but the water and its refraction of the lightning make it impossible. All that is visible are several figures in white coats.

The old-timer shakes his head, annoyed and somewhat in disbelief. “Lab guys at this hour? What the hell are they thinking?”

The buzz of the doorbell is insistent. And builds to a crescendo congruent to the old-timer’s annoyance. Perhaps it is this state that pauses his thought process. He inserts his pass card into the wall and punches in his code to unlock the heavy wood and glass door. Continue reading THE GUARDIAN →

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I did it, I got into Pharmaka, 101 West 5th Street, Los Angeles, CA 90013.

I swore to high heaven, last art walk, that I would not step foot near that gallery on the second Thursday of the month. Tonight, standing in front of a locked down Bert Green’s, I felt the pull, the force field that draws practically every hipster to this too tiny gallery.

Tonight, I’m just bowing my head and plunging through the crowd, I thought. I was determined. Turns out, once you elbow past the crowd on the sidewalk and clogging the door, the gallery is actually maneuverable. Once inside I was rewarded with these pretty collage creations in the shapes of dresses, by Georganne Aldrich Heller. They were playful and intricate and completely worth the fight to get in the space. That was my first new experience of the evening. Continue reading Assemblage, Stop Frame and New Life →

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As we came down the impassible sidewalks Stan addressed Ana and I thusly, “I’m kind of hungry.  How do you feel?  It’s almost nine and I haven’t eaten”.

“It’s almost nine?”  I said incredulously.

“Yeah, it is. Time goes by real fast on these Art Walks,” Stan explained.
 
“I could stand a bite,” said Ana with feminine reserve.
 
“I’m definitely hungry.  That’s why I was at the back of the gallery risking swine flu at the table with the crackers and dip,” I said enthusiastically.

“Should we go to the Nickel Diner?” asked Stan.  “Have you been to the Nickel Diner?” he continued, looking at us both considerately.  “It’s right over here,” gesturing with an open hand outstretched in a diagonal line from the near intersection.

Ana said she hadn’t, as did I, but I added: “I read your review of it though…sounds good.”

We were all in agreement as we reached the corner of Spring and 6th and turned toward Main. Continue reading My Travels with Stan & Co. – Part Three →

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REALITY BITES!
SPIDEY… When I was approached for the interview I was caught between the need to verbally and alcoholically humiliate them, and the overwhelming sense that even “I” was too good for them.  I knew I would need to get Heidi alone, so I could get her drunk and find out what she really thinks of that arrogant douchebag she claims to be married to. I chose the Library Bar Downtown, for the simple fact that I am quite confident that they have never actually stepped foot in one….a library that is, not a bar. Continue reading BETTY BOOZE →

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It was mid Monday afternoon and I had the perfect window of time. I took a lighthearted stroll down to FIDM, anticipating the show that was hanging in the foyer. I reached the school only to find it locked. Common sense absent for a moment, I strolled around back through the park to see if they were open in back. Everything was closed. The lights were dark, the security station locked down. I went so far as to even rattle the doors. Perplexed, I rang Stan (The Boss).

“Um, FIDM is closed?”

“Yeah babe…it’s Memorial Day.”

I took a long pause, trying to figure out if there was any way to recover, having spent all morning aware of the holiday and completely blanking when I found the school locked. I murmured a lackluster joke and promised to head back on Wednesday. With that bit of embarrassment over, I took a peek inside the gallery, to see what I could from the closed doors. All I could get a really good look at was a breathtaking alter-like piece hanging front and center. It was three paneled, obviously, coming to a point on each panel. The center painting was biblical in style and in content, very traditional. The two side panels were modern realist, the left side a depiction of a car, the right side a modern day businessman. I strained my eyes against the dark for as long as I could and resolved to come back as soon as possible to drink in this monumental piece. If the one that I could see was this good, the whole collection must be profound. Continue reading FIDM- Now You Know →

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As we exited g727 into the throng who were milling about the doors of the three nearly adjacent galleries, Stan and Ana passed out their handbills, prompting many short conversations. This slowed our entrance into the neighboring Infusion Gallery.

At each gallery, the three of us lit out on our own: Stan to talk to the host to see about leaving some of his handbills and to explore what mutual benefit their two businesses might have; Ana lingering on the images she liked; I doing the same.  At the back of the gallery, they were offering the infamous “Two-buck Chuck” (Trader Vic’s “Charles Shaw” wine) for $2 a glass.  For the first time in my life, I drank a glass.  A man beside the desktop-cum-bar addressed me thusly:

“I want to show you something,” he said, reaching into an artist’s wooden canvas carrier. Continue reading My Travels with Stan & Co. – Part Two →

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Foreword by Stan Lerner: part of the mission of downtownster is to bring a level of writing and information to our readers that they simply and unfortunately are not able to get elsewhere. Alec, is a second generation  great writer from the Silverman family, whom I can always count on to fulfill this part of our mission. So settle in and enjoy this two part post, I assure you it will teach you some things that you probably did not learn in college.

Three p.m.

I had completely forgotten the invite.  I was standing on the expanse of Carrara Marble, a stone quarried in Carrara, Italy that is known to have been revered by Michelangelo, which comprises the floor of the 10,000 square-foot Bottega Louie.  Between the marble, the highly-polished brass trim, the plate glass and cast-iron café tables there was no surface that didn’t bounce sound and the echo in the busy, twenty-foot high restaurant made it impossible to hear my editor on my cellular.       

“Please excuse me; I’m only catching an occasional word.  Let me step outside so I can hear you.”, I pleaded.

I made my way to the little marble landing that has brass railing on two sides, separating it from the barbaric-by-comparison, gummed-up sidewalk at the 7th Street entrance.

“There, much better….Now, what were you saying about Art Walk and the [sic] MusicUnion?  I read your article about MusicUnion”.

As Stan Lerner was answering my query, it came back to me.  At the Monday night wine tasting, where Mike Berger wowed us with a lineup of six merlots, we discussed ideas for articles (I want to know before I write them, if they’re going to be used) and Stan invited me to go on the Art Walk and to the party.  

“I don’t know what you’re doing right now but the Art Walk is tonight and MusicUnion is throwing an after-party at The Globe featuring a bunch of bands.  I’ve got a ticket for you if you want to go.  There’s going to be some of our writers at the party and my friend Ana is going to take the Art Walk with me”.  

Though no critic, I am certainly an aficionado of visual art of all kinds since adolescence.  Also, the opportunity to meet some of the writers I have been reading in Downtownster, sounded appealing, as well as a music scene I had no clue about.

Six-fifteen p.m.

Yet another charming and intelligent person within his milieu, Ana Markosyan came through the glass doors off the parking garage into the lobby of Stan’s building.  She had large, almond-shaped, deep brown eyes and thick, shoulder length, dark brown hair, a pretty mouth and a feminine jawline.  She was wearing casual, open-toed, two-inch heels.  They were scrutinized by Stan who suggested they might not be comfortable enough for a long walk.  She said she had another pair, in her purse “just in case”. Continue reading My Travels with Stan & Co. – Part One →

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I finally did it. I swallowed my pride and returned to the LACMA after a falling out that produced this prodigal art viewer. I think too highly of myself and the LACMA and the director, and for that matter, Mr. Broad, continued their work, completely unaware of my absence. I, however, stewed in it, tapping my foot and withholding my money in a futile attempt to protest recent decisions.

It gets a little bit sticky, you see, so we will start at the beginning. The seed was planted at the Dia at Beacon in upstate New York. The trip away from the city was nice, necessary. The scenery was beautiful, the art collection immaculate. It was quiet and peaceful and, though the gallery was full, the experience felt very private. I rather enjoyed it, minus the beautiful, copious space devoted solely to Flavin’s fluorescent lights. His concept is solid, to paint a space with light, but his execution gets under my skin. It reads as tacky no matter how many retrospectives I go to. So, I’m in the Dia, trying every angle to see if I may just take a shine to Flavin after all. This director has put a lot of stock in him, i might give him a fighting chance. When you boil it down, countless light and space artists set after and achieved Flavin’s goal with much more grace, see James Turrell.

Fast forward to the present day scandal, Continue reading Richard Sera, Now That’s a Way to Go →

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The Hockey Beard is a phenomenon I’d only just heard about.  It came up when some friends and I were ganging up on my roommate to try and convince him to shave his wretched beard that his girlfriend proclaims “smells like wet cheese.”

“I can’t shave now.” He declared, “It’s the playoffs.”

“What in god’s name are you talking about?” I asked.

“It’s the third round of the playoffs.  You know, hockey.  It’s a Hockey Beard now.”

“What?”

“You know, a Hockey Beard.  You’ve never heard of this?”

“Heard of what?”

“Oh, man!  You don’t know about the Hockey Beard?”

“What’s a Hockey Beard?”

He explained, “Every year at the beginning of the Stanley Cup Playoffs hardcore hockey fans start growing a beard until their team gets eliminated.  That’s why, at the Stanley Cup Finals, most of the crowd has beards.”

“I’ve never heard of this.  And besides all that, what does hockey have to do with you and your beard?  You’ve never watched a game of hockey in your life.”

“Not true,” he proclaimed, “this is a Hockey Beard and the Red Wings are still in it.  I can’t shave.”

“Bullocks,” I told him.  “You’ve been growing this beard for months now.  It has nothing to do with hockey.  Besides, you’ve never even been to Detroit.”

“Detroit?” he asked.  “Who’s talking about Detroit?  I’m just a fan of red wings.”  He laughed a drug addled laugh and took a sip of his beer.

I had seen through his façade easily enough, but he had sparked new questions in my brain.  I was now fixated on the Hockey Beard.  How long has this been going on?  Where did it originate?  Why hadn’t I heard about it until just now?  Is this somehow related to the phenomenon of the bad indie rock beard of this decade?  Are the hockey playoffs partly responsible for why hipsters everywhere are running around dressed like Tom Sawyer?  Perhaps this is the missing link I’ve been looking for.  Perhaps the Hockey Beard is the root of all my confusion as to why pop culture has been so generally rotten and foul for the last 9 years. Continue reading The Hockey BeardPart 2 →

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Foreword by Stan Lerner: so why not a writer who lives in Olympia WA, we have readers around the world–literally. And my crazy intern, I have no idea where she’s at. So I present to you a funny story by a guy who writes like a downtownster.

My roommate is hell bent on growing a four-foot long ZZ Top style beard for no good reason at all except that he can.  He has made several beard attempts in recent years, but they all have ended with feelings of despair, regret, and shame.

The first time he tried was in the autumn of 2003; the only attempt with any logic behind it.  He had been cast a small speaking role in a production of The Medea, an ancient Greek tragedy by Sophocles.  He, as well as every other male character, was required to grow a sizable beard for his role.

And grow a sizable beard he did indeed.  Jabe is half Italian and very hairy.  His beard grows fast and thick as does the hair on his head.  After 6 weeks he was sporting a full thick mat of hair on his face that would rival that of any Alaskan fishing boat captain.

Being the loyal friend that I am I decided to join him in a “sympathy beard”.  I also refrained from shaving for 6 long weeks.  My beard, by comparison, was pathetic.  It didn’t look all that bad, but compared to Jabe’s it was the difference between a sporty economy coupe and a Formula 1 racecar.  My beard had no real shape and you could still see skin and the remnants of a once-attractive man beneath it.

It was the last time I let any facial hair get out of control.  I didn’t like who I became.  The beard started taking over. Continue reading The Hockey Beard Part I →

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