Category Archives: Downtown Oliver Brown

Forty-something-year-old Oliver Brown, a talented and critically acclaimed writer, just did not find the success he deserved in Hollywood. It made financial sense to move Downtown and no lack of good bars and restaurants eased the pain. Oliver had never even heard of blogging before his move east, but his blog “The Adventures of Downtown Oliver Brown” has made him the oracle of what’s cool in the booming city. Everybody wants Oliver Brown and his eclectic group of friends to hang out at their place. Oliver Brown is indeed Downtown’s writer.


1100 Wilshire had been an office building with no tenants before the most recent housing boom came along and made it a place that people who enjoy a sky-pool call home. Frankly, the pool at the Skyline, where I am currently borrowing a rich friend’s place, is probably the nicest in Downtown—I’ve used it once. Anyway, it was David Kean’s fortieth birthday so there I was.

“Happy birthday, old boy,” I said handing David a bottle of wine that I had just picked up from Mike Berger at Ralph’s.

About a year ago I signed a copy of my last book for a very nice woman who approached me at the Water Grill while I was having dinner. It turned out that her husband is the CEO of Kroger and much like Starbucks I got one of those plastic cards in the mail—I haven’t had a grocery bill in a year.

“Forty, welcome to my world,” I said to Dave.

 “I know. I woke up feeling older,” David mourned.

 “Not to worry old boy, it only gets worse.” I laughed. “Is that an olive spread?” I asked gesturing toward the red, lacquer, Chinioserie tea table.

 “It is, help yourself,” said David, happy to not have to listen to anymore of my getting old jokes.

 I plopped down on the modern, tan, mohair sofa next to Eric Everhard the porn star. I don’t think Everhard is his real last name, but if it is, I hear that it suits him.

 “Hi Eric.”

 “Hey Oliver!”

 I reached for a cracker and some olive spread. “So what’s up…I mean working hard…I mean how’s life treating you?”

 Eric smiled; he’s a very cool guy. “Oliver I’m a porn star, how bad can life be? Other than my back is just killing me—job hazard.”

 I had never thought of the strain that his particular line of work puts on the back and hips, but suddenly it made sense. Continue reading DOWNTOWN OLIVER BROWN AN INTERSECTION OF LOCALS


Foreword by Stan Lerner: as mentioned in a previous foreword, I’m working on the motion picture screenplay for our dear Downtown Oliver Brown, so I thought it a bit of fun to repost some of his classic adventures. Enjoy!!!

“Hey Oliver, slow down a second.”

I stopped half a block short of 7th on Flower so my homeless buddy Stretch could put a torch lighter to the pipe in his hand. I call him Stretch because he’s almost seven- feet-tall and looks like he weighs one-sixty or less. “Stretch, you know I don’t approve of you smoking crack.”

 “Oliver, I’m a homeless black man with HIV—give me a break. Smoking crack is the least of my problems.”

 “Well maybe you wouldn’t be homeless if you didn’t spend all the money you panhandle on drugs.”

 Stretch laughed. “Oliver, you spend more money on coffee than I do on crack.”

 “Not anymore, Howard Schultz sent me a Starbucks’ card with a couple of grand on it, for a signed copy of my last book.”

 “Does that mean you’re going to pay me back the money you owe me?” asked Stretch.

It was my turn to laugh. “I knew there was a reason I hadn’t told you about my Starbucks’ card.” I stopped at the corner and stared up at the Wokcano sign.”

Stretch looked at the sign as well, although thinking a completely different thought than my own. “I did some good business here when this was Burger King—it’s all about foot traffic for me,” said Stretch.

 I had a plan. “You really shouldn’t smoke crack on an empty stomach…Wait here I’m going to get you some sushi.” Continue reading OLIVER BROWN – HANGING WITH STRETCH


Foreword by Stan Lerner: as I began work today on the motion picture screenplay version of Downtown Oliver Brown I could not help but to think he should once again grace the home page of downtownster. And while all of Oliver’s adventures are available under the downtownster feature section there’s nothing like reading him off of the homepage — so enjoy, and I promise there will be some new adventures soon!!!

“I just dropped Kevyn off at the airport, so I can come hang out,” Joe’s voice rang out through my iPhone. “Where are you?”

 “I’m at Starbucks on 11th and Grand—come pick me up,” I answered back, wondering how I was going to get my hair cut at Salon Eleven and meet Joe in the same one hour time frame—oh well.

 Some background: Joe, like most of my friends, has become rich over the years. And yes he’s good looking too—whatever. So, now that he’s sold his luxury mansion rental business in Sun Valley for zillions he’s decided to come back to LA, specifically Downtown to get serious about business.

Who better to call than Oliver Brown? I’ve lived Downtown for fourteen years—that would be before it was cool and the Lakers were still playing in Minnesota or Inglewood or somewhere. Anyway, when my rich friends decide it’s time to get richer or cooler Downtown they usually call.

How did I come to live Downtown? I left the mansion I could no longer afford in Doheny Estates and moved Downtown. Somehow my failure to make enough money as a writer to live in twenty times more space than I needed has made me an artistic / business visionary. If I could have thought that one up and sold it to NBC I probably wouldn’t have moved.

Starbucks on 11th and Grand is as good a neighborhood hangout as one can ask for. I spend most of the day writing there. Continue reading INTRODUCING DOWNTOWN OLIVER BROWN


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


Foreword: I started posting Downtown Oliver Brown on blogdowntown, a mostly news blog, back in 2008. It took just a few weeks for me to realize that  Downtown Oliver Brown needed a home like downtownster and so did a lot of other writers. And in 2009 downtownster was born. So now with downtownster up and running here is the first Downtown Oliver Brown written exclusively for downtownster:

Kristen, in public relations, could not believe such a matter could have fallen on her shoulders. Thousands of employees at the nicest resort casino in the world and it was her walking into the spa…to do the unthinkable.

            “Hi Danny, I need to speak to Mr. Wynn right away.”

            “He’s in the middle of a massage.”

            “It can’t wait, take me back there.”

            “Are you crazy?”

            “No, I just happened to stay late and be the only one in the office,” she said forcing a smile. “Lucky me,” she thought to herself.

            “This better be good,” said Steve Wynn, the legendary hotel and casino owner.

            “It’s all how you define good Mr. Wynn. If you mean good news…”

            “I mean good enough to interrupt my massage.”

            “Unfortunately, I’m afraid it’s exactly that kind of good.”

            “Don’t tell me…”

            “I’m sorry Mr. Wynn, but it seems as though Downtown Oliver Brown is in the hotel with his friends…”

            “Tell me he’s not with Dave The Jew and Stan Peters Hollywood’s scummiest and most powerful producer—again.”

            “They’re with him.”


            “Whiskey Peet and fat Andy are too.”

            Steve Wynn rolled off of the table wrapped in the 1,000-thread-count sheet. “First a global financial meltdown and now this. Can’t a billionaire get a break these days? Please tell me they haven’t made it to the tables yet…”

            “They’re playing a million hand…”



            “I love this place!” I said, betting another million. Originally, as you might recall from earlier blogs, playing million dollar a hand poker had made me nervous, but after hanging around with Whiskey Peet, Dave The Jew, Fat Andy, and Stan Peters (Hollywood’s scummiest and most powerful producer) long enough I had somehow become acclimated to this totally irresponsible behavior – given that unlike my friends I have, at best, two cents to rub together and at the time of this story still owed about ten million give or take from my previous trip to Vegas.

            “My boy! My boy! Of course you love this place! You live in Laaas Angeleees with 34 million liberal fagooots! What’s with all the fruity butterflies? Shiiiit not one dead animal carcass on the walls to be found…We should have just played at my place!” He turned to Dave The Jew. “Did you check on the White Lightning before you left?”

            “Sure I did,” responded Dave, going all in. Continue reading DOWNTOWN OLIVER BROWN XS


I sat and stared out at the cold driving rain from my window table at Starbucks 11th and Grand. Eric Everhard the porn star crossed the street with his smoking hot girlfriend Kim. I was sad to see them leave—although pleased that Eric had returned the bail money I had lent him. Nichole’s words, “I can’t do this,” were still fresh in my head. Why can’t I just get a nice girl like Eric has?” I was thinking when the phone rang. Continue reading OLIVER FINDS A MONEY TREE?


Starbucks, Starbucks, Starbucks, just let me get to Starbucks and have a coffee before…ring ring ring. Before you ring I said to my iphone, not out loud, as it ringed the old school ring I had it set to.

“Oliver, it’s Lee.” Meaning Mr. Lee my Korean accountant who takes my permanent state of financial crisis far more seriously than I myself am capable of—because there is no longer such a thing as debtor’s prison.

“Hey Mr. Lee,” I answered, hoping that he was not expecting me to have figured out how to pay for the damage Misha did by driving my SL500 into that swimming pool, because I told her I was too old for her. Continue reading OLIVER DOES DISHES AT FLEMING’S


I strolled to Starbucks at 11th and Grand contemplating for some reason how much the world had changed since my youth, which this day, two days subsequent to my forty-fourth birthday seemed like a lifetime ago. My phone rang just as I eyed the girls sitting around the park next to FIDM. So young—

“Oliver, it’s Lee.” That would be Mr. Lee my accountant who, if you recall in my last blog, had called to inform me that I was managing to spend twice what I was earning. I then proceeded to enjoy my Friday night at not one, but two restaurants, Rivera and Yard House, then had a pack of friends over and drank and did readings til sunrise. Continue reading OLIVER’S SOUTH PARK STORY


Life seemed momentarily back to normal as I sat at Starbucks surrounded by Gay David, not to be confused with Dave The Jew from Vegas, Eric Everhard, my friend the porn star, Eric the blogger, whom to the best of my knowledge doesn’t even watch porn, and Andy The Printer, otherwise known as Andy from Colombia—one of my favorite countries due to its agricultural output if you know what I mean. Continue reading OLIVER SPENDS AN EVENING AT RIVERA AND YARD HOUSE


When April first suggested the blindfold I simply thought she had something kinky in mind, but little did I know that she really meant that she had a surprise for me.

At this sooner point of our story I should clarify that my spontaneous trip to Sin City on Stan Peters’ Gulfstream V private jet was totaling fourteen days. Stan and myself remained captives of James Whiskey Peet III the handsome, wild, gun-toting cowboy who is apparently one of the richest men on the face of the earth. Dave The Jew, Whiskey Peet’s best friend, seemed to be suffering the same fate, at one point confiding in me that he hadn’t been to his own home in almost a year. Continue reading OLIVER’S FIRST READING OF 2009